David Lynch Friday #1 – Eraserhead

Eraserhead. Been awhile. Like much of Lynch’s work, Erasherhead benefits from time and exposure. The more time you spend with the film, the more you will get out of it. This was Lynch’s feature film debut, way back in 1977 and in the spirit of total honesty, it’s a miracle anyone saw this film and then decided to give Lynch money to make a second feature. This isn’t a knock on the film, it’s a wonderfully complex work and supremely assured for a debut feature but the film is also a nightmarish puzzle box. It is not easily digestible and at times it’s even a bit offensive to the senses. Lynch is challenging his audience right out of the starting gate, a trait that will never abandon him.

Watching it again now, after Lynch was able to revisit Twin Peaks, it’s clear that there is a lot here that either exists in the same universe of Twin Peaks or at least the universe of the Black Lodge. Erasherhead will be a major talking point when we wrap this project up with the sure-to-be massive post featuring everything Twin Peaks. For reference:

The apartment lobby floor is the same as the Black Lodge.
Electricity is prominently displayed throughout the film.
The electric, old-fashioned humidifier looks a lot like Phillip Jeffries.
The tree growing in Henry’s apartment looks exactly like THE ARM from the Black Lodge.
There is also a small photo of an atomic bomb explosion next to Henry’s bed.

So yeah, we will be revisiting all of this because I feel like I am on the verge of some new, mind blowing Twin Peaks revelations. But we will get back to that at a later date.

One of the themes of Erasherhead is that of parenthood and specifically fatherhood. The opening scene with Henry’s face superimposed over some kind of cosmic egg is an easy to grasp metaphor for the paranoia of parenthood. Lynch loves the technique of superimposing and still uses it to this day as a filmmaker. Jack Nance also has a face made for closeups — I swear it’s as malleable as clay. It says, “what have I done?” This could also be Lynch working through his feelings on birthing an idea and creating life in art.

An undervalued aspect of Lynch’s work is how funny it often is. Erasherhead is full of body horror and psychological torment but it’s also hilariously uncomfortable. Lynch uses black and white photography to cloak the film in shadow, like there is a looming, negative force overseeing everything. This also serves to exude a silent film vibe. It’s like if Charlie Chaplin were cast in Nosferatu. I love this. The dinner scene where Henry visits his girlfriend’s family is uproariously creepy. Everything is there to be considered normal but it’s all heightened enough to be off. The catatonic grandmothers cigarette. The tiny chickens and enormous carving knife. Then comes the blood. Then comes the tiny chicken seizures. Later on, Henry literally loses his head and some kid runs over and steals the severed head. Again, wild and hilarious. The kid then sells the head to the pencil factory where they turn it into a literal eraser head. I am not making this up.

So, what could this all mean?

There is more than just a singular theme — this is true for all of Lynch’s work. Sure it’s about fatherhood but it goes deeper. It touches on how children are our soul transferred into a new being all while being born of our own faults and demons. It’s also about how alien-like babies are and Lynch establishes this in the most heightened way possible. Lynch is also commenting on nature versus industry. We are inundated with images of machinery and general industry encroaching on and diminishing nature. Lynch then gives us plenty of background scenery depicting nature attempting to reclaim its place by invading the characters’ homes.

This brings me to one final conclusion: Erasherhead is very spiritual. Lynch drives us through an intense white light and I think he’s depicting how birth and death are the same. He then pushes us through a soupy mess and into a puddle that turns into a black hole. This is him differentiating between duty and desire — daily life and intense lust. I’ve also contemplated the possibility that the barnacled man is Henry’s grown-up son who has trapped his father in some kind of nightmare purgatory of his own creation. It’s like an eternity being forced to live through all of your own failings.

In the end I think that part of the film is Henry’s subconscious shown to us as real life. Henry is full of self doubt and this is best represented by the baby. The infant is a slimy, hideous creature who resembles ET in the worst possible way. Here’s the thing: the baby doesn’t actually look like how we see it. The baby is a manifestation of Henry’s self doubt. Parents worry, especially with newborns, that there is something wrong with their child. Their baby is different in a bad way. It’s a trick the mind plays on its subject. This is where Erasherhead leaves us, with Henry attempting to free his child by murdering it — killing his self doubt. Lynch hits out at life as an all encompassing process.

Birth. Life. Failure. Sex. Duty. Murder. Death.

Next week, The Elephant Man. Until then, love each other.

David Lynch Friday #0 – The Intro

My first experience with David Lynch was watching Dune as a child. I loved it. Now, I know that isn’t exactly the popular opinion with that film but it certainly mesmerized me. I also recall my parents watching The Elephant Man and then Blue Velvet. I specifically remember Blue Velvet because my mother thought it was crazy in a good way and my father thought the exact opposite — not at all his type of movie. Next was Twin Peaks. I was about ten years old when Twin Peaks came out. My mother was excited and I was already a huge fan of detective stories. To me, a new show from the guy who did Dune, starring the guy from Dune, and it was sort of a detective story? Yes please.

As I grew older, Lynch faded from me for a bit. I began my true obsession with his work when I was in high school. This was the jump off and I never looked back. I’ve devoured his work ever since and have loved it all, even when I hated it. There was only one film of his that I missed completely, The Straight Story. Disney Plus rectified that for me and now my only blank spot is Inland Empire. For the record, I’ve watched it, just not all the way through. I have a blu-ray waiting for me and I’ve revisited the Rabbits in the years since. I’m looking forward to it now.

This is what I cherish about Lynch’s work — it is uncompromising. Even when Twin Peaks returned, there were moments that drove me up the wall but I have learned to trust Lynch’s process and have found rewards at every turn. He is my favorite. He’s been my favorite for a long time and only recently challenged for the title by Sofia Coppola. We’ll see how this all holds upon this new revisiting of his oeuvre. Typically, I would focus solely on feature films but Twin Peaks in it’s entirety will be thrown in here because it is my absolute, number one, favorite thing ever. I will also be breaking the timeline and holding Twin Peaks for the very end. There is a chance that week will see my largest post ever. I always have a ton of thoughts on Twin Peaks and there is not a day that goes by without me thinking about the show.

Here we go. The David Lynch project will begin with Eraserhead next Friday. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #12 – The Wrap-Up

We find ourselves at the end of the Terry Gilliam project — twelve straight weeks of the madman’s work. We began with his Monty Python efforts and ended with his finally finished dream project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. What a ride. I was reminded of films I loved, found new love for films I originally struggled with, and some old loves now fell flat. Throughout this project, I was reminded that from a visual standpoint, Gilliam stands alone. His films are each unique in their own way and even more when compared to where cinema was in general when each of those films released.

But seriously, what did I learn from all of this?

Let us begin with Gilliam as a visual artist. Every single film he has ever crafted has been visually stunning. He is a true auteur, unafraid of any subject matter and uncompromising in his vision. He forces the viewer to buy in. Whatever you gain from viewing his work will always come on his terms. This is something that will shut down some viewers and keep them away. The flip side to this ideal is that those who buy in willingly, typically come away astonished. I also learned that Gilliam hates bureaucracy — hates it. Most of his films have a subtext dealing with the annoyance of red tape and failed governance. He is also an artist obsessed with paranoia and juxtaposition. You will find this on a constant basis in his films with the palettes he uses and his deep focus camera shots. Everything in his films is heightened in order to hold the viewer’s supreme focus while still keeping them off balance.

One other thing we must get to right away is that I now wonder if Gilliam has a problem with women. It cannot be overstated that his comments earlier this year about how tired he is that white men get blamed for everything, is extremely troubling. He has also thrown support behind Harvey Weinstein which is blatantly wrong-headed. I don’t sanction or agree with any of this — hard pass for me. With that said, I wonder where this stems from? And that’s the craziest aspect of all of this: Gilliam the person is still largely a mystery. We can infer all of these things we’ve already discussed but he has still managed to keep us all at bay — protecting his innermost desires to the end. I both like and dislike how he views the world. He paints in his films with a childlike wonder. Gilliam shows us worlds that are like electric carnivals used as a mask for societal rot and despair. He also shows heart here, especially with how he depicts the homeless in many of his films — the unfortunates are ignored and trampled by the powerful. This is in stark contrast to his depiction of women in most of his films. The truth is, as I’ve gone film to film, the women are mostly seen as annoying, trouble, or both. Many times they are devices to serve the plot. His visual talent is so extraordinary that I think these themes become overshadowed but they are there if you look hard enough. Two films stand out to me where this was not the case: The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys. They also happen to be two films that Gilliam did not write. This definitely begs for further discussion.

The final thing we’ll discuss today is how Gilliam’s career is split into three sections (and hopefully an upcoming fourth). His early work is where he found his feet. Working as a member of the Python troupe allowed him creative freedom. It’s the least populated portion of his career. He followed this up with a thirteen year prime where he dealt masterful film after masterful film. This is an insane run from a filmmaker uninterested in making typical studio fare. Brazil, The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen, The Fisher King, Twelve Monkeys, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Any filmmaker would kill to make one of these films. Gilliam made them all…in a row.

Of course, with the highs come the lows. Gilliam’s disastrous attempt to make his dream project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, derailed his career. He then entered a ten year funk where he still hit some high notes but his films felt more disjointed and angry — lacking the intrepid energy from his earlier work. He began to regain his footing with The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus and again, tragedy struck that film multiple times.

Terry Gilliam finally got the proverbial monkey off his back when his dream was finally realized. The Man Who Killed Don Quixote showed me that the madman still has the goods to be a true auteur. We will see if he has the stuff to give us some more to chew on.

I’ll leave you with this, a ranking of his solo films. This means that I’m not counting the python work. Worst to first, here we go:

The Brothers Grimm

The Zero Theorem

Jabberwocky

Time Bandits

Tideland

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Brazil

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Twelve Monkeys

The Fisher King

And that is a wrap. I had fun revisiting these films and filmmaker I have adored nearly my entire life. I found it enlightening and not always in a good way. I now look at Gilliam a little differently because of his depiction of women on film — something I was either not able to see while younger or just willfully ignorant of until now. I guess I learned some things about myself as well — things I still need to work on. I’m willing to do the work.

Next up on the docket is another of my faves, Sofia Coppola. I’ll outline the project next week and then dive into The Virgin Suicides on Friday, September 18th. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #7 – Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

Holy hell. This one was wild. I knew it, sort of. Like many of Gilliam’s films, it had been quite awhile since I last saw Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. I liked it then and I like it even more now. Gilliam is just showing off with this film. Every single aspect is firing on all cylinders. Reading about all of the behind the scenes trouble that permeated the entire production is absolute bananas when the finished product came out this polished.

The film is based on Hunter S. Thompson’s semi-autobiographical novel of the same name. It took years of development to arrive at the point where they could actually begin filming this thing. Johnny Depp, for his role as Hunter/Raoul Duke, lived with Thompson for four months. He studied the writer’s habits and mannerisms. Nearly all of the clothes and props that Depp wears/uses in the film are actual items that Thompson owned. Depp even bought the red convertible and drove it non-stop before filming began. Hell, Thompson himself shaved Depp’s head to match his own male pattern baldness.

The film itself never lets up. If you’re in, you must be in all the way. I’ve never seen a film that made the viewer feel higher and more off balance in my life. It is exhausting. As Duke and Gonzo spiral further into madness we spiral along with them, looking for anything we can hold onto that will keep us tethered to our own sanity.

Gilliam’s trademark use of deep focus shots and extreme Dutch angles is more effective in this film than any other film of his to date. Where The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys may be better overall films, I’d argue that Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas is Gilliam’s most accomplished effort as a director. I cannot imagine anyone else in the world being able to pull this off and tell Thompson’s story in Thompson’s way. There are narration passages that are so stunningly beautiful they feel like the words of God. These asides are also refreshing for us, the viewer, as a welcome respite from the drug fueled mayhem. It’s when the film goes introspective that it elevates itself to masterpiece territory. It perfectly and beautifully captures the haunting mania of Thompson’s writing. This is important because if you’re looking for a plot-centric story, this is not for you. The film wants nothing to do with plot and everything to do with studying a fugue state. Like I said at the top, You have to be in all the way.

My notes I took during the film (I watched it 2-1/2 times in three days) make no sense. I couldn’t help but laugh as I sifted through all of the WTF’s and underlined words like: insane, nuts, lol, what the actual fuck, etc. As a comedy, the film works. It is insanely hilarious and Depp gives one of the best performances of his career. He delivers his lines like a typewriter punching words onto a page. It’s perfect in its deadpan delivery of madness. Gilliam counters the deadpan delivery by using his camera like a drug addict along for the ride. It is never quite stable and makes us feel as high as Duke and Gonzo.

Speaking of Gonzo, Benicio Del Toro hovers over every scene like a devil on Duke’s shoulder. He’s constantly egging him on to further depravity. I wonder if Gonzo even really exists or if he’s the ego to Duke’s Id or vice versa. They both tell the same stories about each other and it often leads to hilariously uncomfortable results.

We could go further into the guts of the film and examine some of the outrageously over the top moments like the reptile hallucination or the flying Fellinis or the entire circus for that matter. Even Depp’s walk is outrageous. In lesser hands, this could all have devolved into indigestible bullshit but Gilliam fully commits and convinces everyone involved to join him. What we get out of the deal is a special film that has more than aged well and can provide many different types of film lovers something to chew on. Unless you’re that business man who happened upon Duke and a stranger in a bathroom doing lsd off the sleeve of his flannel. If you’re that guy, you’re life is ruined for having the curtain pulled back on a life you didn’t know existed.

The only bad thing about this film is that it marks the end of Gilliam’s prime. A prime that spanned thirteen years and five films. Upon this film’s release, Gilliam began shooting the Man Who Killed Don Quixote, a film that would plague him for twenty nine years and rob him of the momentum he had as an artist. From this point on, he struggled to regain it and we’ll see that in the next few weeks. There is always a story to tell. We’re in the second half now but there is still some wonderful places to go.

Next week, a double feature with The Brothers Grimm and Tideland. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #5 – The Fisher King

This one was fun. The Fisher King is a 1991 film directed by Terry Gilliam. It also happens to be the first time Gilliam directed something he did not write. Now, I like Gilliam as a writer. He is always full of fascinating ideas but there is no denying how wonderful this script is by itself. As written, there are several clever little things done in order to convey character truth to us throughout the film — most of it early on when we need it most.

The story is about a radio shock jock named Jack, played by Jeff Bridges. He sucks as a human being. The early scenes of the film, inside the radio station, are shot from up high and shrouded in shadow. This lends the film a sinister feel and the camera acts like God looking down in judgment. Jack is a self-obsessed asshole who secretly hates himself. This is where the script gets clever in creating a few quiet scenes of Jack by himself. We know men like this. It will forever be a shame that men like Jack often cannot get out of their own way and seek other means as a method to fill that void inside themselves.

The story kicks into gear when a regular caller-in of Jack’s show is admonished by Jack for giving in to love again. Jack berates the man and tells him to stay away from yuppie bars and that he’s not good enough for them. This goes on for some time and we pick back up with Jack, at home, reading lines for a proposed sitcom starring himself. His star is about skyrocket but he glances at the tv to see a news report about a man, Jack’s regular caller-in, who carried a shotgun into that aforementioned yuppie bar, killed seven people and then himself. This is where Gilliam begins to shine. He pulls in tight to Jack’s face, ever so slowly, as the news report continues. We live the horror through Jack’s expression as he realizes the gravity of something he carelessly helped set in motion. Bridges absolutely nails this scene and Gilliam is smart to flood the screen with nothing but his face.

The film then fast forwards three years with Jack running a small video rental shop with his girlfriend. He is miserable and his career is in the toilet. The problem with Jack is that he is wallowing in self pity without dealing with any of his issues. He’s not fully realized yet, not a flaw of the film, a flaw within the person. He’s upset about the shooting but thus far only because it has negatively affected him. Jack throws a fit, his girlfriend tells him to leave and eventually he walks the streets alone save for a bottle of liquor. He ends up beneath a bridge, with cinderblocks tied to his legs, about to kill himself. Two punks attack him, mistaking him for a vagrant, until a homeless man shows up to intervene. This is our introduction to Parry.

As Parry, Robin Williams is extraordinary. Our intro to him is legendary as he, along with the help of some friends, make quick work of the punks and escort Jack to safety. It should be noted that Gilliam uses his trademark deep focus shots here for Jack, acting as a drunk/paranoia cam, and it works beautifully — further immersing us in this story. I should also note that there is the use of a few problematic slurs in this film but they don’t feel wrong or out of place at all. It is clear that those using the slurs are totally wrong for doing it and not at all what we would consider good people.

It’s been hinted that Gilliam originally intended to just shoot the script as is and rebuffed ideas of injecting more fantastical elements. He was reeling a bit after the commercial flop of his previous movie and didn’t want this to carry the stigma of being “just a Gilliam film.” He eventually tossed this negativity aside and trusted himself as a filmmaker — a lesson in itself. The result takes this film to newer heights. Gilliam had total faith in the script, with good reason, adding his flair like a secret spice to take a meal to the next level.

When we meet Parry, we see him as a homeless man who is out of touch with reality. He’s all manic energy, rambling about a mythic quest to reclaim the Holy Grail for God. Of course Jack doesn’t believe him — he doesn’t even want to help Parry and so he leaves. It’s when Jack is stopped by the owner of the building where Parry sleeps in the boiler room, that he begins to see Parry differently. This is where we find out that Parry, who’s real name is Henry, was a college professor whose wife was murdered in front of him while having drinks at a yuppie bar. Yes, that yuppie bar. This sends Jack spiraling and as he digs deeper into who Parry was, Gilliam makes great use of a Dutch angle to leave us feeling as askew as Jack.

Finally, Jack comes up with an idea to help Parry. He can’t help but like Parry — we all do. Robin Williams’ performance is awe-inspiring and I’d argue that it’s the greatest performance of his career. Parry needs Jack to help on the quest because outside in the world, Parry is being stalked by the mythical red knight. The design of the red knight is like a carnival come to life. More fantastic design by Gilliam’s team. Parry has drawn symbols of the red knight and when you realize what the symbol (and red knight himself) represents, it will bring you to your knees. It is horrifically devastating. It’s a miracle that Parry has only mostly lost his mind and it is easy to empathize with him. Parry’s heart isn’t finished though, as he’s been secretly watching a woman for a long time on her daily commute and has subsequently fallen in love. The entire love story plays out in Parry’s mind as a beautifully choreographed waltz through the crowd of people at Port Authority. Jack seizes this information to formulate his plan on how to help Parry.

Jack and his girlfriend Anne, played wonderfully by Mercedes Ruehl, concoct a scheme to get this woman, Lydia, to their video store so she and Parry can meet. This leads to a hilariously awkward and clumsy scene between the two. It’s followed by the four of them going out to dinner for Chinese food and I’m just going to leave that scene alone. It may be my favorite scene in the entire film. It is full of humor, blossoming love and whimsy. Speaking of whimsy, there is traces of it flowing throughout the film. When the story begins to creep into darker territory, Gilliam uses whimsical flourishes to pull us out of the depths. It’s a wonderful touch and Gilliam firmly plants his flag in the soil of it being an antidote to the cruel, poisonous world.

Parry and Lydia share a wonderful scene (seriously, Amanda Plummer is marvelous in this film) where Lydia shares her insecurities and Parry bares his soul. It ends with a kiss but Parry spots the red knight and becomes lost inside his own mind again. We see his full flashback and the event that led to him going insane is shown to us with awful clarity. Gilliam pulls the camera back on Parry as he screams, leaving him small and alone in this world with nothing but his fantasies. This is in stark contrast to pulling in on Jack’s face. In one door and out the other. Parry ends up beneath another bridge and with nobody around to help, he is attacked by punks, brutally beaten, sliced open, and left for dead.

Jack wakes up to a new world. He feels like he did some good and an enormous weight has been lifted off his chest. He’s on the phone with his agent and finds out his show is ready to be back on the air as soon as he is ready. Jack’s star is rising again. Except, Jack hasn’t earned this. He immediately breaks up with Anne, a cruel touch, and receives a phone call about Parry being in the hospital. Jack and Anne visit Parry, who is in a form of coma, before leaving to go their separate ways.

The film fast forwards some time and Jack is back on top again. There is something nagging at Jack though, like his conscience is recognizing that he hasn’t earned his freedom from being haunted. He visits Parry again to find out that Lydia hasn’t given up on the man and at least checks in on Parry, sometimes with gifts, nearly every day. Jack decides that he must fulfill Parry’s wish for the Holy Grail. He adds that if he does this, it’s for no other reason than because he wants to. This is crucial because Jack has finally broken through. He’s not looking to help because it may affect him in any positive way, he’s looking to help simply because he wants to help. Jack carries out the plan and returns with the Grail, setting it on Parry’s chest. He stays with his friend, falls asleep, and wakes to a new Parry/Henry hybrid. A man still a little insane but a man ready to deal with his wife’s death rather than run from it.

This is all wonderful to behold as we watch every single character grow on screen. Gilliam uses his own tricks to great effect and even tries on some new ones for fun. The film is timely beyond measure — like all great art. It deals with mental illness in a real way while also tackling cancel culture, mass shootings and the plight of the homeless. This, in particular, is sad because it still rings so true. The homeless are constantly derided if not downright ignored by us. They are invisible to us at best. We don’t realize how thin that line is between us and them and we act like it is some great divide. We are wrong and this film holds our head in place, forcing us to see.

Gilliam also uses the color red to great effect. Parry’s symbol is of course red, thanks to the red knight, and he is constantly vexed by the color. Jack, on the other hand, is constantly using and/or abusing anything in red. His phone is red. Anne is often wearing red in some way. This establishes a connection that Jack is the source of Parry’s pain. At the very end of the film, when Jack returns to Anne and finally proclaims that he loves her, he gives her a flower. This flower is red and Anne tosses it away and in doing so, tosses away the toxicity in their lives. So I guess Gilliam took on toxic masculinity as well.

What a film. I think, upon this new watch, The Fisher King has become my favorite Gilliam film. Next up, another one I love, Twelve Monkeys. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #4 – The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen

We are ending our first month of this Terry Gilliam project and up next is his 1988 film, The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. This film is one-of-a-kind. I believe this is Gilliam revisiting themes from Time Bandits but perfecting his pitch. Every aspect of this film works in concert with each other. Where Time Bandits felt chaotic and untethered to itself, the story of the Baron has a clear thread running throughout and holding it all together. Like, Time Bandits, this film is essentially a series of short films thinly held together. The difference is that all of the vignettes come together to tell one larger story.

The production design is lush and ornate from the get-go. We begin in a war torn country on the precipice of doom and from there we head to a Sultan’s kingdom and then the moon and then into the fires that stoke a world. We meet larger than life figures and even a goddess. Gilliam considered this film the last act in his “trilogy of imagination.” Time Bandits was seen through the eyes of a child and Brazil was seen through they eyes of a middle-aged man. Here, we see the world through the eyes of the Baron, an old man. What’s interesting is that we don’t only see things through the Baron’s eyes — sure, it is his story but the young girl played by Sarah Polley is a major influence on us, and him. She is present throughout the entire story, almost as if the Baron is attempting to justify himself and his actions to a younger generation.

Gilliam again tackles the bureaucratic nightmare of unsure leaders and even levels an indictment against the idea of lobbyists. Of course, Jonathan Pryce’s character is not labeled a lobbyist but his actions are exactly what we’ve come to know as lobbying. As we are whisked from one adventure to the next, Gilliam again uses practical effects to heighten the surrealism of what we’re seeing. The Baron shows up at a stage production of his adventures and attempts to set the record straight. He then gets carried away on a new adventure in an attempt to the save the town he is visiting. The young Sarah Polley is the glue that holds the story from diving headfirst into madness. I think she is the main reason this film works better than Time Bandits — she’s a much more accomplished child actor.

John Neville plays the Baron with a madman’s touch. It’s easy to see why people would believe his stories to be nothing more than legend but there is also that twinkle in his eye that could only exist in a man who knows more than he lets on. The sequence early on with the Sultan perfectly sets the tone. The Sultan plays an organ which doubles as a torture device while eunuchs sing a song titled, Cut Off In My Prime. This is all hilariously absurd and if you’re in right now, you’re in all the way — it’s a great litmus test. We also get treated to a wildly insane Robin Williams performance as the King Of The Moon and seeing it now makes me miss that man all the more.

Ultimately, Gilliam continues his obsession with Lewis Carroll by creating another rich world for his own personal Alice to traverse. And in doing so, tells a poignant story about the absurdity of war and the even more absurd things men are willing to fight over. This is what continues to drive me back to Terry Gilliam’s films, they are layered with multiple themes. At a glance, his films are unkempt and like throwing ideas at a fan. This is a fair criticism of some of his work. What I will defend is that I will always take a chance on a film that may have too many ideas behind it than a film with nothing to say at all. For better or worse, Gilliam always has a lot to say. The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen stands with some of his finest work. It’s a gem.

Next Friday, The Fisher King. I haven’t watched this film in over twenty years — looking forward to it. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #3 – Brazil

Here we are in week three of the Gilliam project and we’ve already had some surprises. This week, however, no surprise with Brazil and its genius. This is a film I check in on every few years and like other high-level art, it is a film that strikes me as more relevant than ever.

Brazil stars Jonathan Pryce as Sam Lowry, a middle-of-the-road office worker for the totalitarian Ministry of Information. Gilliam begins the proceedings showing us another worker hunting down a bug, killing it, and creating a misprint on a docket labeling an innocent man as a threat to society. They are after a known terrorist named Tuttle (played by a game Robert DeNiro) but instead arrest a man named Buttle. The innocent man is tortured and accidentally killed because his heart condition wasn’t disclosed on the other man’s medical history. This is clarified in a hilariously inept exchange between Sam and a friend who happens to be the torturer. It is an indictment on the increasingly bureaucratic tendencies of modern government. All anyone does is blame another department, create fixes that break more things and eventually try and quiet dissenters.

We first meet Sam in the midst of a fantastical dream. While asleep, Sam sees himself as a majestic winged warrior, fighting monsters in order to save the damsel in distress. His dreams are shot with Sam mostly attacking from above, lending an air of superiority. This is in stark contrast to his real life which is mundane and small — with an overbearing mother to boot. Sam is content in his life until he sees an image of the woman he has been dreaming of. This sets Sam off on an adventure to find this literal woman of his dreams. The woman in question was a neighbor of Buttle and is searching for what happened to the innocent man. Sam gets wrapped up in her quest while also dealing with the real terrorist, Tuttle, who pops up every now and again to help Sam out of a pickle. These small events in particular are key in understanding where Gilliam is ultimately going with the story.

Gilliam has constructed two worlds in this film, one of majestic beauty, while the other is a hulking dystopia. Sam feels powerful in the world of his dreams and Pryce portrays him as calm and confident. The real world is where Pryce truly shines by playing Sam as a smallish yet determined man full of nervous energy. He so desperately wants a win and to do something that truly matters. He’s willing to go the distance. In a wonderful twist, Sam is actually way more heroic in the real world. Gilliam loads up the real world with trope imagery. All office workers look and dress the same, managers are the same, assistants are the same, kids all are the same — you see where I’m going with this. The society is beholden to the technology they crave — TVs and radios are everywhere. In classic Gilliam fashion, the future again looks antiquated. We quickly realize how this film represents a perfect marriage of material and artist. Gilliam has always had an adversarial relationship with authority and Brazil is a commentary on this aspect of society — it is also so much more. Gilliam is also rubbing our faces in our own fascist relationship with technology. The more we seek the comfort and ease of tech, the quicker and easier we become a slave to it. Is tech a stand-in for God?

Gilliam blasts out of the gates on fire. His camera creates terror, confusion and paranoia in nearly every scene. It is constantly chaotic and hilariously absurd. This is also the director’s most focused film to this point in his career. He bought in and the film is instantly laser focused. Another thing of note is the whimsical, musical sensibility Gilliam instills in the real world setting. This creates a perfect and telling rhythm to the film and Gilliam never loses it here. Everything works like a finely tuned piece of machinery from start to finish.

It’s important for Gilliam to maintain total control as the narrative spirals into madness. The stakes get higher and Sam’s fantasy dream world begins to blend into the real world. I feel like Brazil was a major influence for the film, Being John Malkovich. With that said, there is still more to unpack with the film because it would stand as a classic without even delving into the twist of the finale. Eventually, Sam is captured and before he can be tortured, he is rescued by Tuttle and other insurgents. Sam and Tuttle are chased with Tuttle literally disappearing in a storm of loose papers. The chase for Sam continues as his dream world and real world fully blend together. Sam is then confronted and chased by his own failures as a man and by every facet of society he has thus far faced. Gilliam is showing us that middle age is a confrontation of what happens if you give up on your dreams — you’re destined to be imprisoned by your own shortcomings. This is the cost of what we give up in order to join the rat race instead of chasing the wants and hopes of our youth. Sam is confronted by his mother who, through plastic surgery, now looks just like the woman from Sam’s dreams. Sam then disappears into a void and ends up rescued by his dream woman — rescued by love.

Except he isn’t rescued at all. Sam is last seen having been captured and lobotomized — destined to live out his days in the bliss of a manufactured simpleton.

What does it all mean?

I’ll stake my flag right here saying that Sam was actually Tuttle all along. The Tuttle we saw represented by DeNiro was never really there, nor was the woman of Sam’s dreams. No, Sam was captured early on and tortured in order for the Ministry of Information to maintain control. This is a sour ending to a visually joyous film but it’s also a profound lesson for us to learn about how delusion can alter our perception of even the simplest of things. Gilliam hit one out of the park with Brazil, one of his best films, and one of the most inventive films Hollywood has seen. I loved it my whole life and I love it even more now.

Next Friday is the day for the Baron. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #2 – Time Bandits

Here we are in the second week of my Terry Gilliam long look. This entry will be dealing with his 1981 film, Time Bandits. It’s the story of a young boy who joins a group of time hopping dwarves on an adventure that spans ages.

I loved this film as a kid. Most people my age, who saw this as a child, probably feel the same. What’s not to love? This film was like our imaginations come to life. Now, decades later, I actually feel quite different about this film. Right from the start, it rubbed me the wrong way. There is so much chaos in this film and Gilliam fails to ever really harness this energy. We’re thrust into this caper with no clue as to what is going on. The imagery is all over the place. Are there things to love about this film? Absolutely. This isn’t a bad film, it’s just an unfocused one. First, the dwarves are electric. Once they show up, their magical energy somehow grounds the film and focuses the narrative as much as possible. The only problem here is that there is only so much focusing this band of merry idiots can bring.

With Jabberwocky, Gilliam settled down and told a singular story (maybe thanks mostly to Lewis Carroll). Here, Time Bandits feels like a series of sketches thinly held together by a boy wanting to learn about the world. It’s a great idea and it does work more often than not but the entire film lacks cohesion. This is one of those films where my notes point out a slew of things I loved but my overall feeling on this film is less enthusiastic. Perhaps it has more to do with having recently watched The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen, a film that bounces around time in a more thoughtful manner. There are many similarities between the films but the Baron is a much greater presence in that film and a young Sarah Polley is a much better actor than they boy in this film.

My intention here is not to drown this film in criticism because there is plenty to enjoy. For example, Ian Holm’s Napoleon is extraordinary. That segment of the film is its best and the scene with the diminutive ruler namedropping other short historical figures is an all time classic. I also loved the Robin Hood segment, right down to the ridiculously cartoonish costume that John Cleese dons. I couldn’t stop laughing. This is around the time of the film where the real antagonist, Evil, is revealed in breathtaking fashion. At this point, I’m all in, chalking up the early hiccups to the film finding its feet. I love how Evil is shot with a low angle and lit to resemble someone telling a scary campfire story. The problem is that everything that follows is lesser and the film continues to trip over itself.

The intro to Agamemnon is great. The entire fight scene is dizzying in the best possible way. The rest of this segment falls short — even a game Sean Connery cannot save it. Gilliam does use some interesting techniques to better immerse us in this world. He uses different focal points to create tension — be it despair, paranoia, or elation. There are some truly lush sequences — colorful production design and the film is brimming with spirit. I love how inventive Gilliam is at every turn and how the film maintains the sense of adventure throughout its runtime.

The theme is also wonderful. We are seeing this all through the eyes of a child desperate to learn about the world. He not only gets to learn about history but live through it. I could best sum this up by saying that through art, we are all time travelers. The past is never dead because we keep it alive and we learn from it while pondering the future.

Overall, I can’t say this film totally held up for me. The story is still there but it really makes you work for it. Though there are plenty of highlights, the film never totally comes together as a whole. I actually prefer Jabberwocky, which is crazy to hear myself say out loud. Still, it’s a worthwhile watch — lots to learn from this film.

Next week, another favorite, Brazil. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #1 – An Intro Into The Madman’s World And Jabberwocky

If this pandemic has given me one thing, it’s been time to revisit certain filmmakers and reignite my fire for their work. Early in the year, I had the joy of seeing Terry Gilliam’s latest film, The Man Who killed Don Quixote. I loved it and began the train of thought that Gilliam was a filmmaker whose catalog was one in need of revisiting. Then life happened. We sold our house. I left my job. We packed up and moved. Pandemic. All the while, I began writing again, more and more. There was now plenty of time to the thing I wanted to do. Criterion helped me out by putting an expiration date on The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. I made sure to watch the film before it disappeared and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. A new idea was born. A week by week, long form piece about Gilliam’s career.

In my research, I’ve come to a conclusion: Gilliam has subconsciously been a major inspiration for my own work, my entire life. The first novel I ever finished is littered with influenced imagery from Gilliam. He’s a fantastic world builder and always, good or bad, executes his vision — as uncompromising as they sometimes come. The Gilliam “look” is unlike any other filmmaker I can conjure up in my mind. He is unique. The thing I’ve come to appreciate the most from his work is the dry wit that exudes through every scene of his films. He is unafraid to tackle dark subject matter and often finds the most beautiful way to bring levity to each project.

It’s no secret that Gilliam caught his big break with the legendary comedy troupe, Monty Python. As the only American member, he quickly left his mark as an animator before elevating to co-director of their masterpiece film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Terry Jones handled the actors while Gilliam was in charge of the cameras. There’s nothing special about his work on this film but it bears mentioning because he learned early to get the shot a scene requires. I could talk more about his work on the third Python film, The Meaning of Life, but he didn’t actually direct that film. Gilliam directed a short film which plays beforehand. It’s brilliant and full of the Terry Gilliam futuristic antique look we love.

For the record, He had two of his own films under his belt at this point.

Gilliam is bold and unapologetic. He’s also a bit of a polarizing figure right now because of his recent comments in support of Harvey Weinstein and his remarks about being tired of white men being blamed for everything. I don’t agree or support his point of view in any way, shape, or form. I’m here, and it is admittedly difficult sometimes, to separate the artist from the man. I want to do this partly to reckon with myself and my own feelings and partly because his art is beautiful and pure.

The thing that excites me the most is that with Gilliam, I always have strong, gut reactions to his work. Sometimes elation and sometimes deflation. That’s what great art does. I’ve also recently watched a film of his that I loathed upon its initial release only to find myself riveted by the film today. This is gong to be fun.

And we begin this project with his solo directorial debut, the 1977 film, Jabberwocky.

This is an interesting film, and one I’d never seen until earlier this week. It’s not available to stream but I was lucky enough to procure a blu-ray from the Criterion Collection which is always the way to go if possible. Jabberwocky is based on the poem from Lewis Carroll. It should come as no surprise that Gilliam would be a huge fan of Carroll’s work, he’s found ways to pay homage to the man throughout his lengthy career. Here, Gilliam fully lets loose with his vision. Everything is heightened to the max and we see the beginning of Gilliam’s “look.” We’re treated to a heavy dose of deep focus shots in order to lend a hand to the viewer in understanding all of the characters’ unease. Jabberwocky is the story of a poor peasant named Dennis who travels to a bigger city, hoping to make something of himself. While in the city, he becomes accidentally embroiled in a quest to kill a giant beast that is feasting on people in the surrounding forest. The film’s tone is all over the place and Gilliam struggles to maintain hold. Most of the time the film plays like a live action Loony Toon but veers into more dramatic territory here and there. It feels like Gilliam is pushing against his former constraints and trying to free his inner lunatic. He’s a wonderful world builder — the production design is gorgeous. He treats us to so many visual tricks and gets the most out of his make-up and costume teams. Dennis is almost always facing a low angle shot, in order to express his inferiority. Everything else leaves us feeling off-kilter, like many of the characters.

Michael Palin plays our hero, Dennis, with a boyish charm that begs us to root for him, no matter how often he fails. Gilliam spends a lot of time whisking us around Dennis’ town and then the larger city — he lives for the guts of it all. Every single detail we could wish to pore over is on screen.

The film, overall, plays like an elongated Python sketch — this is both good and bad. It’s good that it focuses on one subject but considering Carroll’s poem is a bunch of nonsense, the movie is as well. There’s no real point to anything here but it sure is fun arriving at that conclusion.

And what a conclusion it is. The Jabberwock reveal is breath-taking. The creature is beautifully horrific to behold and the creature’s designer, Valerie Charlton, is a hell of an artist.

My ultimate takeaway is that Jabberwocky is a fun initiation into Gilliam’s world. There are stories of his fights for more money and control with the studio — something that will continue throughout his career. He unveils a huge bag of visual tricks and creates a fantasy film that subsequent entries into the genre such as Willow, owe a huge debt.

Next Friday, I’ll dive in to a film I’ve not seen in a long time, Time Bandits. I cannot wait to revisit that world. See you then — love each other.

Three Films. Very Different. Each Worthwhile.

Like many of you, I often disappear into some form of art, especially when I am feeling stressed or overwhelmed. Right now, there’s plenty to help cultivate those feelings. My brain is as scattershot as ever and what I’ve dived into is equally discordant. I’ve been bouncing between old films on Criterion, documentaries, kids stuff, weird stuff, lots of horror, and some truly unique television. That’s just the visual medium. I’ve been writing nearly everyday. Weird, train of thought poems, short stories, this content, and a novel. It’s hard to focus on just one thing right now and I’ve chosen to ride this wave and edit as needed. I enjoy being busy. I more than enjoy writing — it is necessary to my sanity. I’ve also been bouncing between loads of different reading material — King, Connelly, Palahniuk, Hill, Rutger, Murakami, and more. I am about to embark on a twelve week series dedicated to the work of Terry Gilliam. That will start next Friday with a small intro to the series and my thoughts on Jabberwocky. I will then work, film by film, through his visionary career because I’ve recently had a much different experience with some of his films than I had in the past — art can be like that.

Today, in order to get the three-times-per-week format going, I’m going to quickly discuss a few smaller thoughts on some things I’ve recently taken in.

Three films. Very different. Each worthwhile.

I’ll start with the 1955 heist classic, Rififi, directed by Jules Dassin. It should be noted that the reason this film was shot in France was because Dassin was blacklisted by Hollywood for being a member of the Communist party. It happened so fast to Dassin that he was unable to finish directing his previous feature. The move to France and the distance from American content censors gave this film the room it needed to breathe. It’s alive and vibrant in a way that allows us to sense an entire world at play within the film.

It would be a disservice to Criterion if I failed to mention how pristine this print of the film is. I’m in near disbelief that this is a sixty-five year old film — it’s visually flawless. Ocean’s eleven owes everything to Rififi — there’s no way around that. The actors are all superb and the heist at the center of the film is stupendous. We are treated to nearly thirty minutes of necessary silence as we go through the entire heist. It blows my mind how incredible a feat this was to pull off — and boy oh boy, did they ever pull this one off. After all the planning and staging, this film explodes into violence as realistic mistakes and some ingenuity by the antagonists lead us to a bloody finale. We are left breathless by the end, wanting to watch this masterpiece all over again.

And now for something completely different.

I am not a fan of Harmony Korine’s films — they have never worked for me. This is the biggest reason I was hesitant to watch his latest film, The Beach Bum. With that behind us, and in the spirit of honesty, I was a little high the other night and decided to put it on Hulu. I was hooked from the first frame. This weird little film hinges on Matthew McConaughey’s performance as Moondog, a brilliant albeit lazy writer living a wild life off of his wife’s riches. Isla Fisher plays his wife and Snoop Dog plays his best friend. They smoke copious amounts of weed, drink like crazy, have sex with anyone they want, and more importantly, they live. The spirit of this film is infectious and digs its hooks into us with a rigid grip. There are two great cameos in this film, first by Martin Lawrence and later by Zac Efron, which are worth watching the film for on their own merit. Everything is heightened and legitimately stupid but the message is clear: Actually live your life and fuck the rest. Highly recommended.

Lastly, the future is here.

If you’re an Amazon Prime subscriber, there’s a tasty little treat for you this month: a film called, The Vast Of Night. This film is the feature debut of director Andrew Patterson and he is the real deal. Holy hell is this film great. It feels like the work of a young Steven Spielberg. Patterson’s camerawork is nothing short of extraordinary — it literally dropped my jaw on a few occasions. The film makes great use of dialog to allow us into the lives of the characters and understand their relationships, tics, and motivations. It’s natural and free flowing and above all, a masterclass in “show don’t tell.” The film is about two teenagers who discover a weird transmission over the phone lines in a small 1950s New Mexico town. Is it aliens? Is it a force of evil? Is it explainable? The film keeps the unease and tension building throughout its runtime and lands on a beautifully ambiguous ending. I loved every single thing about this film. Andrew Patterson is about to set the film world ablaze.

So this post is disjointed as hell and I apologize for that but this sort of thing will happen from time to time. I take in art at different levels sometimes. I will have more to say on certain subjects. This happens to be a Friday post but more often than not, when I post something like this (my version of a mailbag post) it will be on a Wednesday going forward. Fridays will be reserved for my long form projects. Gilliam first, then Lynch. After those two, I’m thinking Sofia Coppola and then Spike Lee and we’ll go from there. Again, Monday will be First Reformed. Enjoy the weekend (what’s a weekend?) and love each other.