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Pan’s Labyrinth Review

June 16, 2016 by JD Hansel

WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS (mildly) GRAPHIC IMAGES

Oh, and also, spoilers.

As of the moment I’m typing this, I’m not sure I’ll be able to publish this review. I have had so many complex thoughts and feelings about this film since I watched it in early May that I don’t know how to boil my thoughts down to something readable. If I had to pick a place to start though, I’d start with a Google search. Could you do me a favor right now? Do a Google image search for Pan’s Labyrinth before continuing to read this review. Got it? Now take a look at this poster:

This is a fairly standard poster for the film. Most of the posters looked something like this, emphasizing the fantasy elements. The Google image search just showed several pictures of the fantasy creatures in the movie, but almost none of the real-world story that takes up at least half of the movie. What story is that? The one about the brutal fascist in post-war Spain who beats a man to death by smashing a bottle into his face, then deliberately cuts his own neck, then gets his face sliced open, then gets heavily drugged, and finally shoots his stepdaughter. With this in mind, let me propose my own poster for the film, and this will serve as a makeshift abstract to my explication of the movie’s true focus: the devil in the details.

This movie is a wee bit obsessed with graphic violence – or at least what I, a little squeamish wimp, would consider graphic violence. It’s harder for me to watch than Twelve Years a Slave – I’d put some scenes in Passion of the Christ territory. The violence is done not in a fun way that emphasizes the fantasy elements, as is the case with a Marvel movie, but in a way that adds painful realism to the film. The movie is designed to be anchored in an uncomfortable reality – and by gosh does it try to be uncomfortably realistic – to prompt a desire to explore fantasy. Here’s my first problem with this: we don’t need to be shown reality to remember that we want to escape it. Each and every person who has seen Pan’s Labyrinth already exists in reality, and most of us only pay for movies so we can escape into a fantasy for a little while, which makes the side of the story in fascist Spain rather redundant.

Here’s another issue I have with this approach: it’s deceptive. Again, consider the first poster. This suggests that we’re getting something in the vein of Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, or Time Bandits, or The NeverEnding Story, or Willow, or maybe just a slightly darker Wizard of Oz. At first, the movie makes it seem plausible that this is where we’re headed. Then, as the scenes in the real world grow in number and length, it becomes clear that the weed of realism all but consumes what tiny garden of fantasy the filmmaker has presented. This makes Guillermo del Toro, the writer/director/producer/god of this picture, a fascinating artist in my opinion – he’s extremely knowledgeable of old mythology and fairy tales, and he obsesses over Phantom of the Paradise even more than I do – yet he was very conservative with creative, dramatic, and whimsical fantasy when writing this film.

When the fantasy is present, however, it’s often rather weak in my opinion. Now, admittedly, I am spoiled when it comes to fantasy because I’m accustomed to tentacled sea witches, hands that form talking faces, a giant animatronic plant, and medicine that changes color when poured into different spoons (and I still haven’t figured out how on earth they were able to pull off that last one). Still, the fact that I’m used to seeing fantasy set to a high bar is no reason for me to accept fantasy that’s set to a lower bar. Sometimes this movie does do a good job with some of its fantasy elements – using very nice costumes for all of its many (and by many I mean two) humanoid fantasy creatures – but for the most part, we get hideous CG. The scene with the stones that inexplicably make a giant frog vomit itself out of its body is certainly unlike anything that’s been done in film before, but I think the reason why no previous movies had ever done such a thing is that it makes absolutely no friggin’ (or froggin’?) sense.

The worst thing about this fairy tale is that I think it almost works. The faun is, as I learned from reading interviews with del Toro for a research paper I wrote on this movie, traditionally the trickster in ancient mythology. The fact that it is the faun offering an escape for the protagonist – a little girl named Ophelia – puts him in a position to be the devil of a “Faust” story, because he can offer her everything she’s dreamed of if only she’ll comply with his (seemingly mostly harmless) demands. Now, everyone loves a good “Faustian” movie – it’s clear that I do because of my infatuation with Frank Oz’s Little Shop of Horrors, and it’s clear that del Toro does too because he wanted to name his daughter after Phoenix from Phantom of the Paradise. What del Toro does instead is make the faun seem untrustworthy, and then reveal he’s really not trustworthy, only to ultimately reveal that he’s been totally doing the right thing all along … or at least that’s what the movie tries to suggest. When the movie ends with Ophelia arriving in the strangely heavenly Underworld, the faun is just chillin’ there, and it turns out his unethical commandment to take blood from a baby was just testing her to make sure she would disobey when it came down to morality. While it’s true that this test is far more ethical than God’s test of Abraham with the order to kill Isaac, this still puts the faun right up at the line of what my conscience can stand, so it seems out of place for him to be seen as an angelic figure in the Underworld. I intend to explain later how del Toro’s view of the faun’s role in the story actually makes him even more devilish than this, but for now, the key takeaway here is that the faun is just serpentine enough to be the antagonist of a “Faust” story, leading Ophelia further and further down a path of bad decisions until she can’t escape (hence the “labyrinth” theme). This “Faustian” story seems incomplete without a Serling ending: she arrives in the Underworld to find that it’s actually Hell.

Having explained my issues with the fantasy, it seems to me that the next step in my cathartic diatribe is to address the supposed themes of empowerment and liberation. Because I already wrote a research paper on this subject for my university, I would be bored if I had to write the same material again, so I will instead summarize my views on this as briefly as possible, leaving the paper I wrote online for any curious readers to view if they so choose. In short, it seems as though this is a story that may be empowering for women, and the creation of the film may be inspiring to filmmakers who aspire to obtain just as much creative control over their films as del Toro had over this one. Both of these perspectives strike me as misguided, because the way I see it, the movie fails to effectively deliver its message about the freedom in disobedience, fails to follow through with its message of the power of women, fails to free the director as an artist, and fails to offer a liberating conclusion.

Let’s start with the first point. Guillermo del Toro has stated that the movie is largely focused on the “virtue” of disobedience. As he stated in one interview, “Disobedience is one of the strongest signals of your conscience of what is right and what is wrong. . . . Instinct and disobedience will always point you in a direction that should be natural, should be organic to the world. So I think that disobedience is a virtue and blind obedience is a sin.” Throughout the film, he uses the theme of choice (echoing the fairy tales and mythology he knows so well) to reveal who the characters truly are, and the paramount choice in the movie is Ophelia’s act of disobedience against the faun. While I could easily argue that the idea of getting a drop of blood from a baby isn’t exactly the most morally deplorable concept conceived in cinema, the issue here that concerns me the most is that her disobedience against the faun earlier in the film, even though she had no choice but to be disobedient, is deplorable. Her disobedience regarding a freaking grape caused fairies to die. A baby can recover from a tiny prick on the finger, but those poor, innocent fairies can’t recover from death (until they inexplicably . . . well, do recover from death, because with how inconsistent the logic of this movie has been so far, I guess anything goes).

Then there’s the matter of the women’s empowerment themes. Think about this for a minute. Both Ophelia and that other lady I kept confusing for Ophelia’s mom (What’s her name? Mustang? Chevy? Corvette?) had every reason to kill the captain, and we know they would have been fully justified in doing so. They also displayed the ability to kill the captain, but oddly enough, neither of their clever, creative tactics to fight against the captain actually succeed at killing the guy. I’m guessing that Ophelia’s intent was only to disorient him with the drugs, not kill him, but I find it hard to believe that the knife Honda Accord stabbed right through the captain’s chest was just meant to be a paper-cut. Miraculously, because the one thing del Toro did take from Phantom when he wrote this story is Swan’s ability to survive a stab through the heart, the captain just keeps going. In spite of his wounds and his drugs, he succeeds in killing Ophelia, and then keeps going until Volkswagen’s brother shows up to save the day by simply shooting him. Sure the girls had far more clever ways of fighting him, and sure they had more of a direct relationship with him that would make it more climactic for them to be the ones who defeated him, but apparently it takes a man with a gun to do the job. Tune in next time when Humphrey Boghart can’t kill Major Heinrich Strasser, but Sam the piano-player knocks him dead with a good punch in the face.

My third point about the director’s freedom may not seem related to the content of the film so much as the story behind its production, but I believe it’s actually relevant to the meaning of the film as a whole. Remember what I said before about del Toro’s use of the theme of choice to explore the characters? Here’s how he elaborates on that: “Extremes are incredibly powerful in cinema and the fact that this 11-year-old girl is much more comfortable in her skin than this fascist that hates himself so much that he slits his own throat in the mirror and negates his father’s watch and does these crazy things, that gives the girl power and gives the other guy the illusion of power and the choice of cruelty. Choice is key in what we are.” What choice is he referring to in regards to the captain? His obsession with little details. Captain ~~Violent~~ ~~Vile~~ Vidal is seen in the film using a magnifying glass multiple times to reflect the fact that he’s “So obsessed by the little things – how shiny his boots are, how well his watch runs . . . that he loses perspective of the larger stuff.”

I took the above quote from his audio commentary on the DVD, and I cannot help but find his commentary track hilariously ironic. Throughout his commentary, he himself focuses on the tiny details in every single scene. He had images of the faun subtly carved into parts of the house, and he had a particular color palette for each of the film’s locations, and he made sure there was moss in the labyrinth that would show off the blue and green filters he used for those scenes, and he put gears behind the captain’s desk to visually “rhyme” the gears in his watch, and he came up with a special design for the legs of the faun costume that would allow the performer inside to “puppeteer” the legs in a style based on bunraku puppetry. I know all this from just the first 25 minutes of his two-hour recording. I find it amazing that he had to fight hard to keep total creative control over this project, only for it to nearly destroy him, taking “45 pounds off my body” due to his fixation on detail, which was his slavery more than it was his freedom. Clearly, this filmmaker’s primary condemnation of his evil protagonist, consumption by an obsession with tiny details, is just as much a problem for him as it is for the character he so despises. Ironic, isn’t it?

Let’s bring my tirade back to the contents of the movie. The fourth point that I must address, as outlined five paragraphs ago, is my issue with the conclusion. It may feel like I already dealt with the conclusion when I brought up Casablanca, but there is much more to it than the matter of who gets to kill the villain. Since the first minute of the movie, I was promised that there’s a very real magical world at the end of this story, and Ophelia is going to get there. Because this movie is intended to be everything I hate in cinema, the reality of the fantasy is left open to interpretation for most of the film. Towards the end, however, del Toro practically negates this mysterious theme by showing a wall of the labyrinth opening up for Ophelia magically, before closing up for the captain, which makes it hard for the viewer to think of a way that the magic could all be in her head. This makes it appear that the ending is not open to interpretation – that the story definitely does end with Ophelia reaching the Underworld. The problem with this is that it’s just not believable; it’s almost as though del Toro was trying to make sure the audience wouldn’t buy it.

Throughout cinema, I’ve found that suspension of disbelief can go very, very far into fantasy, but its bounds are found in human reactions. When a certain silly super hero suddenly becomes gigantic in Cival War, it’s a little hard to swallow since the previous Captain America movies tended to be too serious for that kind of thing, but with Stark referring to it as a “fantastic abilit[y],” I buy it. In Pan’s Labyrinth, Ophelia should still be sad about losing her brother, and should feel at least a little sense of loss since she’ll never see anything or anyone she cared about in her home-world again. Similarly, the king and queen should be leaping out of their thrones to embrace their beloved child. Instead, we get a picture that’s unlike the way this scene would play out if the motivations of the characters were consistent with their personalities, interests, and experiences, and more like the way people behave in a dream – with inexplicable behavior that does not naturally follow from character and motivation. This suggests that the ending is merely a dying vision, which means our beloved protagonist is dead. To make it clear that this is not my subjective reading of the film based on my experience, the evidence backing up this interpretation is found in the presence of the fairies in the Underworld, even though those are the exact same fairies (and del Toro has stated that they definitely are the very same fairies) who were decapitated by the Pale Man.

Guillermo del Toro has attempted to get around this problem, but the way he does this creates further problems. He says that the presence of those same fairies is evidence supporting his reading of the film, which is that the Pale Man was just the faun in disguise. First of all, shut up. I’ve seen video of Penn and Teller showing how the old trick of sawing a woman in half is usually done, and then they somehow proceed to saw her in half in a different way that I can’t figure out for the life of me, but I doubt even they could succeed at biting off someone’s head, leaving him/her undoubtedly decapitated, and then reveal that the guy was fine the whole time. Still, even if we assume that the faun did posses the near omnipotence required to pull off such a feat, this means that he terrified this little girl with the most gruesome of party tricks for no good reason. As I may have mentioned earlier, her character isn’t even being tested here, because she’s under the influence of fruity voodoo, and it’s an even stupider test if the faun is involved in each and every part of it. This is unethical manipulation, meaning that the faun is in no position to test Ophelia’s morality since he is lacking in morality himself, thus hurting the logic of the film even more.

So there’s a simplified list of my biggest issues with Pan’s Labyrinth. I really wanted to love this movie, but it wasn’t what it appeared to be. I find it amusing that the film is not only hypocritical in its condemnation of Captain Vidal’s perfectionism, but also because it’s just as much of a deceptive, manipulative trickster as the faun. I’ll do anything short of nailing 95 of its flaws to a church’s door to persuade others to share my contempt for this film. This is the movie that made me so incredibly angry after seeing its ending that I walked to the nearest shop to buy an umbrella to beat a cardboard box with so I could get my rage out before trying to sleep that night, and I can think of no other cinematic experience that has made me respond so violently. I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. So it sucks that it’s actually very impressive.

It’s amazing that del Toro was able to pull off this movie without Hollywood, and it’s honestly one of the most impressive films I’ve seen in a long time. This filmmaker pulled from a bazillion myths and fairy tales to create his own original, memorable, and modern fairy tale that stands out against all other fairy tale movies that came out at its time. As a filmmaker, his attention to the grammar of film on a visual level is unbelievable, creating a “ballet” as he called it between the camera and the actors, and using straight lines and vertical wipes for the captain’s world to contrast with the curvatures and horizontal wipes of Ophelia’s world. Since I generally value storytelling with sound as much as I value storytelling with visuals, I must also mention that the soundtrack has an absolutely excellent theme song, which establishes a “hauntingly beautiful” kind of tone for the fantasy elements. He manages to use the trickiest of emotions for a film to present – heart – with no sense of sappiness, creating a beautiful scene between Ophelia and her then-unborn brother. The simple irony of Mercedes (hey, THAT’S her name!) wiping off the knife after stabbing Captain Vidal the same we she did when she used the knife to serve him is one of the most satisfying moments to date in the cinema of the 21st century.

So, as much as I want to give this movie the lowest rating possible, what I have written above has shown that I cannot, but not just because it has its good moments. I really do consider this to be the most hypocritical film I’ve ever seen, but just as the faun is in no position to judge Ophelia’s morality, I’m in no position to judge this movie’s hypocrisy, because I am just as hypocritical. The fact is, I’ve been writing the most detailed review of my life, very carefully noting each and every one of the film’s flawed details, and I’ve been referring to interviews and the audio commentary to ensure that I make my point as clearly as possible. It’s been at least a month since I finished watching Pan’s Labyrinth, and since then I’ve been thinking about it and thinking about it aggressively trying to formulate my thoughts as well as possible, without missing any opportunity to criticize it. My research paper on Pan’s for my college went well over the page requirement even though I wrote the vast majority of the paper in just two days, and this review is even longer than that research paper was. I had to request that my county’s library system send a copy of the DVD to my local library so I could continue through the audio commentary where I left off, and I intend to finish the commentary track after I’m done with this review, because after all this time I’m still not done obsessing over this abominable movie. I haven’t been working on any other reviews since I did The Parallax View back in May, because this film has had me mentally enslaved.

Clearly, my primary condemnation of this filmmaker’s primary condemnation of his evil protagonist, consumption by an obsession with tiny details, is just as much a problem for me as it is for him as it is for the character he so despises. Ironic, isn’t it?

The Parallax View Review

May 31, 2016 by JD Hansel

I generally don’t watch conspiracy thrillers. And now I know why.

This movie strikes me as being guilty of what I might call “Preacher’s Realism” – trying to make a movie that convinces people they’re seeing what life is really like by playing to their suspicions and intuitions, just to stir up a passion for the subject matter. This may sound like another word for propaganda, but propaganda sounds too official, whereas this is more petty, like a kid on YouTube trying to convince people that President Obama is the Antichrist. We’ve seen this in the religious films from Pure Flix, and the semi-religious Tomorrowland ~~sermon~~ movie. The Parallax View sets itself apart from these films by avoiding focusing on a real event that conspiracy theorists care about, instead fabricating events to build original conspiracy theories around. That being said, the way that the movie is done, particularly with its bookends, is surely designed to anger the viewers by making them feel as though they are being lied to by a government that chooses not to see the truth, claiming instead to accept “evidence.”

I can understand why many people appreciate this film. It’s written cleverly, has some neat visuals, and a good cast – I particularly love seeing William Daniels in just about any role, which made his character in this movie fun to watch. I can’t say that it’s a very boring film, or that it’s stupid. Technically, it is well done. I just can’t bring myself to like it very much, for two main reasons. First of all, I have a hard time getting into a genre that focuses on realistic events if they aren’t real events – I like fictional stories to feel like fantasies. This kind of film is sometimes considered to be a re-imagining of the film noir genre, and it takes a lot for me to really enjoy the story of a film noir movie more than the atmosphere, which this film does not achieve on the level of, for example, Blade Runner. Secondly, and most importantly, I am offended by the thought of a film that sets out to make its viewers angry with those who base their views on evidence, and make them value evidence less as a result. This is unhealthy for the culture, and it is an abuse of the power of cinema.

Blade Runner Review

May 12, 2016 by JD Hansel

I must say, I did not like this film as much as I hoped I would – as much as I expected I would. That being said, since my expectations were based only on what I knew of its exemplary visual style and eerie aura, they were “sky-high” to say the least. What I soon discovered is that it’s the kind of movie that’s more of an environment than anything else, in that (after seeing it and learning the plot) it can be kept on in the background to set the tone or mood of the room, like a fireplace or lava lamp. Much like The Dark Crystal, the goal here doesn’t seem to be to tell a new and exciting story so much as it is to explore a world. However, the story and world are completely intertwined here, both necessary to explore, reveal, and shape one another, which makes it a good film.

I suppose I should explain the reasoning behind my previous statement. At the root of a story – or at least the great majority of mainstream novels, classic fables, and Hollywood films – is a very simple concept: given this unique set of conditions, here is the surprising outcome that follows. Need an example? Under the conditions that a boy travels through time to the year when his parents met, he could accidentally keep them from falling in love, erasing his own existence. I hypothesize that what is most often the driving factor in determining what movies we want to see based on their trailers is in fact our desire to find out “what would happen if . . . .” When we heard about a movie with the premise that toys come to life if no one’s looking, we were curious enough about what would follow from these conditions that we paid Pixar plenty of money just to see them show us . . . three times.

While I would certainly not wish to imply that any story based on this logic is a good one, I do think that this shows how Blade Runner is a step above other ambiance films. Consider again The Dark Crystal. The whole point of the film is exploring this unique world, but most of the key aspects of this world that make it unique are essentially inert as far as the plot is concerned. The puppet designs, inventive sets, and practical effects do not necessitate the plot and mostly aren’t necessitated by the plot (or at least not specifically, because the story only requires that fantasy elements of any sort be present to signify the kind of world it is). Reciprocally, the fact that there are weird sandy turtle hippies called Mystics and purple Shakespearean pterodactyls called Skeksis does not entail that they were once the same species before a big crystal broke – that stuff had to be added so the movie could have something of a story. With Blade Runner, the world’s defining quality is a problem with robots (that are indistinguishable from humans) running amok. From this premise, it follows that authorities would try to find, follow, and destroy these robots, and so it is no surprise that the story follows someone working with the authorities to do just that.

Still, the story is not the most interesting I’ve ever heard, and I wonder if perhaps this is because the movie is rather slow. I can deal with the slow pacing because I enjoy getting to wander around in this special, vivid version of Earth that’s been so creatively envisioned, but consequently, the movie runs rather long for such a simple storyline (at least in the version I watched, which is the original two-hour theatrical cut). It’s largely the visuals and sound that make this film work, not to mention the actors, and I generally do not reward a film based solely on mastery of these secondary elements – which are arguably mere affectations. This film, however, unlike other artistic works such as 2001, uses its visuals, sounds, and people not as a substitute for plot, but to highlight and saturate the plot. They do not distract from the story’s drama – they bring it vivid life, which does not make this movie perfect, but does make it a very special film that must never go unappreciated.

Deadpool Review

April 9, 2016 by JD Hansel

This is, first and foremost, a comic book movie. I would not consider this to be a farcical comedy film that simply borrows elements from superhero stories, or that parodies comic books in the way that Holy Musical B@man does. This is a comic book movie that borrows from the farcical comedy. When looked at this way, it is a unique and very admirable film, which may even be ahead of its time.

I will address the issue that so many have had with this picture, which is its offensive nature. It is deliberately as inappropriate for children as possible, and many consider it terribly “dirty” or immoral. With as much as I may have been disgusted at times by some of the bloody and/or horrific images used, I do wish to respond to the complaints that it went too far with two main thoughts to consider. The first of these points looks at it as comedy. I very much appreciate Groucho Marx’s criticism of dirty comedy, but I do think that even the filthiest comedy can very good comedy – perhaps even intellectual comedy – if it is cleverly and creatively crafted (and I think even Groucho got a little risque on occasion). In this movie, clearly the writers did put thought and care into the dirty comedy, and most importantly, they used it to ruin, taint, or disgrace the comic book movie, which is exactly the kind of thing that comedy should do. My second point is that the reason why the film had to be this way is to make Deadpool a unique character. He seems to me to be completely separate from both the usual kind of Marvel hero, and the kind of hero that appears in comedy projects based on more official heroes.

Not every little bit of the film is perfect, and far better critics than I have already done a fine job at expressing why/how this is, so I will not waste my time with it. What I will say is that I am pleased that this year has introduced something new and original to cinema, which I think has the potential to make the movies a lot more fun.

The Motorcycle Diaries Review

February 22, 2016 by JD Hansel

I debated about whether or not I would review this film. Keep in mind, I do not (at this time) review documentaries, mostly because I think approaching something that tries to accurately capture real history – or accurately capture a real person’s perspective on his/her history – is perhaps too great a task for me. Assessing historical accuracy has never been my forte, and I I’m not sure how to review a story if that story is an unchangeable matter of fact. Still, this movie is clearly not a documentary – it’s a fascinating “what if” movie that shows what a young, idealistic, quickly-evolving Che Guevara might have been like on his road trip through South America. When viewed as such, it’s really quite fascinating.

This film breaks one of the rules of storytelling in a way, which polarizes the audience in terms of strength, effect, and maybe even aesthetic distance depending on what knowledge of Che the viewer has at the onset. Generally, movies are very focused on set-ups and pay-offs, always making sure that every moment the audience sees will make the following scenes (and/or the previous scenes) more meaningful. This film, however, is designed as a sort of prologue or prequel to the infamy of Che Guevara, so the set-ups for the irony, and arguably for the importance of each scene, are in all in the knowledge that the viewer supposedly has of what Che would become. Fortunately, because I saw this movie in a film class, I was informed of Che’s legacy, controversy, and infamy, so I really enjoyed the movie. However, had I not known who Che is, I would not have been able to enjoy the movie nearly as much – perhaps I would have hated it. While I do think that this is a fun story that succeeds at opening up one’s mind to new ways of looking at history and the world, I must withhold my praise to some extent because the movie works best as a supplement to a separate story that the audience is left to figure out for themselves.

Still, after a tiny bit of research, this is a really different kind of road trip comedy that can be really enjoyable.

Brazil Review

January 28, 2016 by JD Hansel

SPOILER ALERT

I think I finally understand what happened here! Not what happens in the movie Brazil – I could never understand that – but what happened to Labyrinth and Time Bandits. Some movie buffs and comedy lovers may know that the Monty Python approach to writing movies was generally to come up with different scenes/sketches that would be funny all centered around a general theme, and then a loose story would be created out of stringing the pieces of the movie together. Naturally, when someone who approaches screenwriting this way has the challenge of writing a more traditional narrative story (that’s focused on likable characters dealing with a dramatic plot, even if that drama is not meant to be taken seriously) we can expect issues to arise with the flow of the story. For Labyrinth, Terry Jones’ screenplay had to be doctored in secret by other writers because it needed a lot of work before it could be made into the film Jim wanted (which still had leftover story problems in the end). For Time Bandits, fellow Pythoner Terry Gilliam made a bizarre family film that makes no sense whatsoever, and is often more awkward and convoluted than entertaining. For Brazil, Gilliam made an iconic ’80s movie masterpiece, but it had similar flaws.

Before going any further, I must recognize that this is, in some ways, a brilliant film. As satire, it’s practically perfect in every way, and makes the human race seem hilariously absurd. At some moments, its comedic criticism of war is better than Stanley Kubrick’s. Much of the film is good fun, and the performances are perfect. The world Gilliam created is brilliantly clever, and the visuals are absolutely outstanding. This truly is one of the most beautiful movies I have ever laid eyes upon, as far as visual art is concerned, because the lighting, the colors, the set designs, and the cinematography are all spot-on. It’s a masterful work of art that raises the bar for the genre of comedy films, and I can respect it if people love this movie a heck of a lot more than I do.

I, however, just don’t get it. Every now and again, I encounter a movie that has me saying to myself, “What the heck IS this movie?!” more and more as the film progresses. It’s a very memorable experience, and it usually means that the movie is going to mean a lot to me for a long time, regardless of whether I think of it positively or negatively. This film had that special quality to it like no movie I’ve seen in a long time, if ever, and I can’t help but be reminded of the first time I saw Gremlins 2, one of my favorite films, and the first time I saw 2001: A Space Odyssey, one of my least favorite. As blown away as I was with just how perfect certain elements of the film are, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that the story didn’t make enough sense. Some of that special feeling I mentioned above was coming from a sense of being immensely impressed, but some was coming from being annoyingly confused. I now understand why Roger Ebert only gave Brazil just two stars saying, “This is a confused and unsatisfying film in which the magnitude of the special effects, and the chaotic implications of the plot, make the movie hard work for any audience to follow, let alone appreciate.”

So, my first criticism is that the movie doesn’t make enough sense. What starts off seeming like it offers too little with its minimalist plot (which consists of a man trying to meet the woman he’s seen in his dreams) eventually unravels into a psychedelic acid rock song that’s sad about the loss of friendships and angry with society’s constraints. There is very little correlation between what happens in Sam’s dreams and what he deals with in real life, and this gives the audience too big of a chore when they have to try to find the patterns and the meaning in all this. Heck, even the movie’s title, and its titular song of the same name, don’t seem to be very connected to the film at all. There are just too many things that Gilliam did not communicate as efficiently as one would hope.

My second big criticism is directly tied into the first, as it pertains to the lack of satisfaction. I’m not against a movie that doesn’t end with the characters living happily ever after, but I am against endings that don’t feel “correct.” I may have written a bit too much about this before, but screenwriter Terry Rossio’s rules about how an ending must be set up, inevitable, and yet unexpected are a good way to figure out why one might feel unsatisfied by a movie. If the simplistic plot consists of navigating through a dystopian future to marry a dream-girl, there had better be a good reason for missing the one goal we’re rooting for Sam to achieve, but this Gilliam’s only reason seems to be that he wanted to blow one last raspberry at western governments before he had to step down from his soap box.

I think it’s plain to see that I have mixed feelings about this unique work of art. The various trains of thought that I’ve boarded because of this film are so numerous and labyrinthine that I can reach no final verdict. I can completely respect the opinion that this is one of the greatest motion pictures of all time, and I can equally respect the opinion that this movie is whiny, bitter rubbish. Any efforts to unveil what exactly I feel because of Brazil seem to be disappointingly futile, but perhaps the important thing is that it made me feel, and it did so profusely. When it comes to rating the visuals, however, my feelings are clear: it’s in the 99.9th percentile, A++.