Gilliam Friday #8 – The Brothers Grimm & Tideland

It cannot be overstated how much the struggles of trying to get The Man Who Killed Don Quixote made weighed Terry Gilliam down. It was an anchor attached to his neck, dragging him under the surface. I cannot help but sense that his immediate post-Loathing efforts were of the flailing variety. The man could not have been in a good head space. He still managed to get two films released in 2005 though, so I guess that’s something to write about.

As for the films themselves?

Let’s start with The Brothers Grimm. I’ll keep it short because the less said about this film, the better. When I first saw this in 2005, I remember liking the film. It wasn’t my favorite Gilliam but after seven long years, it was nice to have something new from the filmmaker. Grimm boasts some nice trademark touches. The production design is stylish and grimy in all the right ways. Heath Ledger is awesome in this. He’s so earnest and funny — love his performance. Matt Damon, however, feels wrong. It’s rare to say that about Damon because he is seemingly an actor capable of doing anything but here he just feels out of place and miscast as one of the brothers. The rest of the film follows suit. What on paper should be a slam dunk for Gilliam, ends up looking, sounding, and feeling like something coming out of a blender with the top off. Reimagining the Grimms as grifters is an idea I have no problem with. Their stories are perfect for this type of riffing. The problem is the film lacks focus. There’s a disconnect with tone. It veers wildly from horror to comedy to drama and can never justify these drastic shifts. Granted, this is typically the hardest thing for a film like this to nail down but it still leaves us feeling disappointed. Looking back, it makes sense for the film to be as unfocused as it is, Gilliam was reeling creatively. Unfortunate.

And next?

Next up is Tideland, a film Gilliam also released in 2005. I cannot stress enough how much I loathed this film upon its initial release. It felt mean and dangerous in all the wrong ways. It felt dirty and irresponsible. Now, fifteen years later, I’ve watched it again. And it’s a lesson in how time and life and everything that comes with those two things can shift our perspective. I’ve never changed my mind more on a film. I was riveted by this film from the start. It is unrelenting and harrowing and dangerous as all hell. Gilliam veers into some of the darkest territory of his career. He’s bold and unafraid to tell this story.

And the story is?

It centers on a young girl whose parents are useless drug addicts (played by Jennifer Tilly and Jeff Bridges). Her mother dies and her father takes her to his old, dilapidated family home where he soon overdoses and dies. The girl, left alone, enters into a fantasy world of her own creation as a way of coping with her harsh reality. There is a family close by where a woman and her mentally ill brother live. Janet McTeer plays this woman, a stand in for the evil witch in stories like this, with an astonishing reckless abandon. She is the best thing in the film. Her brother who she cares for, is the subject of many of the most troubling scenes of the film. His relationship with the young girl is inappropriate to say the least. We feel scared for the little girl in every frame of this film. It’s exhausting for us to watch this for two hours but that’s the point, isn’t it? Gilliam ends up crafting a mesmerizing albeit difficult journey about abuse and neglect. Yes, the film feels dangerous and at times irresponsible but perhaps that’s just us projecting our own feelings on the film. We have different and more hopeful and naive world views when we are younger. By the time we enter middle age, we’ve seen the horrors this world holds and it hardens us. We are enlightened to the harsh truths of society. Tideland feels like Gilliam exorcising a demon and reclaiming at least a piece of his artistic career.

Next week, another case of an unfortunate and disastrous film production. That’s right, it’s The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus. 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 #6 – Twelve Monkeys

I was sixteen when Twelve Monkeys came out in theaters. It blew my teenage mind. This was around the same time I was deep diving into David Lynch’s career. This was also the same time, for me, that I was diving into Quentin Tarantino’s young career. What I’m getting at is that Twelve Monkeys is a film I hold responsible for me wanting more from films. It’s a film that is both cool and smart. It’s distinctive. From this age on, I began devouring films from unconventional filmmakers. It’s part of why I love Gilliam so much. Great filmmakers and their films can change lives. They open doors and windows, hell, they kick the walls down. I still get more excited for films that will push envelopes and challenge world views rather than serve up cg fights. There’s nothing wrong with cg-fueled films, I just prefer the weirder ones.

Twelve Monkeys is the story of a prisoner in the future who is sent back in time in order to locate how a virus was created, dispersed and resulted in humanity being nearly wiped out.

Again, timely.

Bruce Willis is the hero of the film but it’s not the prototypical Willis role. At this point, Willis already had three Die Hard movies under his belt. Here, he is no classic hero. He’s confused and seen as crazy. He’s committed to a mental ward. We can see how electrified Willis is by this material. It’s wonderfully against type because we expect Willis to save the day but watching him bumble his way through time and space excites us on a deeper level.

Willis’ character, Cole, is the lynch pin of this film. He has a foot in both the future and the past. He is also right on the border of sane and insane. Gilliam smartly places two actors on either side of Willis, both up to their respective tasks. On one hand, we have Madeleine Stowe, who is sane and is trying her best to understand and help Cole. She is our tether and keeps the proceedings from devolving into madness. On the other hand, we have Brad Pitt, who is stone cold crazy. If it were up to him, everything would be chaos. Willis is caught in between, trying to understand while trying to solve the film’s central mystery. Who created the virus? Why? And how?

I had forgotten just how “Gilliam” this film’s future scenes were. The rest of the story washes over us so completely that we can easily forget some of the more delicate touches. The interrogation scenes are full of the futuristic antique motif Gilliam has become known for. They are also where Gilliam most effectively uses his deep focus shots to elicit paranoia and confusion. It’s like he’s winking at us and saying: I know how crazy this all is, do you?

The film is inspired by an older short film called, La Jetee, and the script was written by people other than Gilliam. This was his second straight film working from someone else’s script and perhaps that sets him free as a filmmaker. The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys are his two best films. The aspect of this film that I appreciate the most is the control Gilliam had over his actors. A crazy story like this could easily go off the rails if the actors give in to impulse and all of them chew the scenery. Gilliam doesn’t allow that — save for Brad Pitt. He allows Pitt to feast on every scene he is in and it acts as a spark — electrifying the proceedings.

Twelve Monkeys also lands on a hell of a moral: Our meddling will be our undoing.

When the mystery is solved, the real perpetrators will surprise some. It is honest and shines a light on the things we do wrong as a society. But can we really blame ourselves? Our pursuit of perfection can be argued as noble but the side effects can be devastating.

Twenty five years later and Twelve Monkeys is still a wonder. Marvelous film.

Next week, Fear and Loathing. Until then, love each other.

Tales From The Loop Explores The Human Condition With Some Robotic Twists

I always get excited when I see new, original, smart science fiction. Amazon’s Tales From The Loop definitely fits this bill. Over eight episodes, it tells the story of a town surrounding a device known as The Loop. This device allows amazing and seemingly impossible things to become possible.

Each episode follows a new character and is set in various time periods of this town. Characters overlap and the star of one episode may turn up as a secondary character in another. The storytelling is slow and methodical but ultimately deeply rewarding. The entire production of the show is top-notch. In particular, the filmmakers make great use of sparse and somber music and imagery. Following that, the cinematography is breathtaking, sweeping us off our feet as we follow the wind of these stories.

Each episode catches its characters in life altering situations. Nothing will ever be the same for any of them. Instead of specifics, the show uses its devices to explore bigger themes. My notes are littered with questions as I focused on discovering these themes and why we see them when we do. Loneliness. Displacement. Identity. Time. The fleeting nature of young love. Loss. Fear. Helplessness. Hope. Grief. Sacrifice. Tales From The Loop encompasses so much of the human condition.

The cast is universally great but I want to point at another stellar turn by Jonathan Pryce. He’s the man in charge of the loop and his big episode comes at the halfway point of the season. He is, as usual, Marvelous. This episode in particular hit me very hard. It made me cry, sob actually, as it reminded me of when my great grandmother died — a person I was very close and connected to.

The season falls off a bit as the second half winds down but hits us with a wonderful one-two punch with its final two episodes. We get an awesome story set almost solely on an island which fills in some much needed backstory for one of the characters. And then the finale is sad and bold in equal measure, all about the sacrifices we make for love and learning.

Over all, this is a fantastic series and I hope Amazon sees fit to allow these filmmakers to tell us more Tales From The Loop. I’ll leave you with a quote:

That’s what makes things special — they don’t last.

Next week, Little Fires Everywhere. 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.

Three Authors And Four Stories

Wednesdays are usually reserved for poetry but I will never force it and I don’t have anything ready on the poetry front. Like I’ve said in a previous post, sometimes Wednesdays will be my version of a mailbag installment. Perhaps I should refer to it as my version of Jeopardy’s potpourri category. There are some things I have less thoughts on and I will use my time here to discuss a few of them.

First up, Michael Connelly’s new book, Fair Warning.

Roughly three years ago, I met Michael Connelly at a book signing for The Late Show. I seized the opportunity to ask him if he had any plans to bring back Jack McEvoy, a character I have always adored. Jack first appeared in Connelly’s masterpiece, The Poet. He’s only featured in one subsequent novel and it’s been a long time since even that novel was released. I missed Jack and wanted a new story — hopefully also with FBI agent Rachel Walling. Connelly was gracious in taking my inquiry, saying never say never and giving me the inside scoop on a potential tv show featuring Jack. We’re still waiting on that.

Cut to this summer and guess what? Jack’s back, baby.

Fair Warning is Connelly’s best work in quite some time. Jack isn’t just back, he wears the years since we last saw him like a series of scars. He’s older and a little more cynical but just as dogged as ever. And surprise surprise, Rachel Walling is also back. As much as I love Jack, Rachel is his balance. She is the secret sauce to Jack — she brings out the best in him and these stories.

I love how Connelly gives us a deep dive into the plight of print media and how much the world has changed since last we saw Jack. It’s obvious how passionate Connelly was about this one. This baby is a hot rod with knives on its rims. Once Jack gets his nose into a story he’s as impulsive as ever and this leads him toward constant danger. I couldn’t put it down. Everything feels real — the minutia of reporting and investigative journalism is something I find riveting.

I am not even going to approach a summary or even tease much of the plot because I’ll go on a rant and spill he beans and I don’t want to spoil any of this for anyone. The villain of Fair Warning is phenomenal — an all-time great Connelly villain. I will say this, Connelly’s writing is as simple and economical as ever. He always stays out of the reader’s way, like all writers should.

Next, I read through Chuck Palahniuk’s two sequels to Fight Club. For the record, Fight Club is a book I cherish (the film too). It is a complete deconstruction of toxic masculinity and helped me as a young man to understand the wrong steps that are so easy for us to take. I give Chuck some credit for me being a better adult than I otherwise would be. He attacked toxic masculinity before it was fashionable to do so. The two sequels are actually graphic novels which give the stories a more cinematic feel. I like this choice. Fight Club 2 is superior to 3 but they’re both worthwhile leads. Fight Club 2 further strengthens the ideals set forth by the original and the idea of two people within us is one I subscribe to. There is always a chance we’ll go off the rails. Fight Club 3? It is batshit crazy and super meta. I can’t say anything other than this right now. I may need to read Three a few more times. Jesus, it is crazy.

Last but certainly never least is the new short story by Haruki Murakami. He is one of my all time favorite authors — I devour his work. This new story was recently Published in The New Yorker. It is titled, The Shinagawa Monkey and is a fascinating story about a lonely man and even lonelier monkey. Like most of his work, Murakami uses magical realism to get his point across. The co-lead of this story is a talking, thieving monkey who steals trinkets and women’s names. What Murakami is really getting at here is that we give away pieces of ourselves when we fall in love, lust, have sex, or all of the above. His stories can be like trying to understand a sand castle by examining the grains of sand. They require thought and peace of mind. Hell, his work GIVES me peace of mind. No matter how big or small his stories are, they are always about the world around us, what we get out of it and more importantly, what we give up in return.

That’s a wrap, folks. See you Friday. 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.

Honey Boy And The Importance Of Therapy

Trauma is a knife that cuts two ways. It can embolden someone and harden them against the ills of the world. It can also ruin a person from the inside out, rendering them incapable of ever moving on to a better life. There are many avenues to travel which lay between the two extremes I laid out above. Most people get lost in between and trauma is something that pulls both sets of strings. Shia Labeouf is a man who went through the wringer. He began as a child actor who was suddenly about to be Hollywood’s next big thing. He was there.

And then he wasn’t.

Labeouf had a self destructive streak which led him down a dark and winding path. He had multiple encounters with co-stars, police, and anyone who got in his way. He was headed for destruction.

He got help.

While in rehab, and more importantly, therapy, Labeouf began to come to terms with his past. Honey Boy is based on his own life growing up in show biz with parents largely un-equipped to shelter him. When you watch this film, it will come as no surprise that the script, which he wrote, began as a form of therapy. This allowed him to step outside of himself and tell the story of a boy in trouble. It also allowed him to step into his own father’s shoes and better understand where the problems came from. None of this is easy. It’s a testament to the inner strength that Labeouf found that he’s back on his feet. And stepping in to play his own father in the film feels dangerous but you can also see the catharsis — it’s a release.

The script is wonderful and naked. It’s a brutally honest deconstruction of the people who hurt him as a child but it is never without love. His performance in the film is true in a way we rarely see, which makes it riveting.

The film’s direction by Alma Har’el lends an air of dark fantasy. We watch this young boy grow up in nothing but a series of awful circumstances. There is one scene in particular where the young boy is forced to dictate a fight between his parents through the telephone. It’s a harrowing scene that will leave you begging for mercy.

The happy ending doesn’t come with fame. Lucas Hedges plays the young adult version as he spirals completely out of control. He’s all pent up rage, searching for an outlet. Hedges is quickly rising to the top of the ranks of his generation of actors. I should also point out the actor playing the younger version, Noah Jupe, is also magnificent.

No child should have to do the emotional heavy lifting with their parents and watching this film made me thankful for my own family.

In the end, Labeouf and Har’el have given us a dark fable for the ages. It will leave you raw and searching for the phone to call the ones you love. I can’t recommend this film enough.

Next week, Alex Garland’s brilliant show, Devs. Until then, love each other.