The Painter and the Thief – Compassion breeds Forgiveness

What does forgiveness look like? Can you quantify the power of redemption? Does it matter if it’s ever achieved so long as it’s attempted?

These questions ran through my mind while watching the documentary, The Painter and the Thief. I cried throughout this film and haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it. It is a powerful statement on people being colored in shades and not just hard lines.

The story is about a woman named Barbora and a man named Bertil. Barbora is an artist and one night, after the close of a gallery show, two men break in and steal two of her paintings. The men are quickly captured and sentenced. The paintings are not recovered. One of the men is Bertil, and Barbora contacts him right away because she’s only concerned with recovering her paintings. What unfolds is one of the most beautiful portraits of the human spirit I have ever seen. Bertil is a drug addict and his addiction fuels his poor decisions in life. Once released from prison, he agrees to sit with Barbora in order for her to paint his portrait. They arrive at an agreement that he owes her this much. What neither of them could have known was the deep and soulful friendship that would blossom from the inciting tragic event.

When Bertil first sees his portrait, he breaks down in sobs — not mere tears, deep, uncontrollable sobs. He’s never seen himself from someone else’s perspective and this allows him to step outside himself for the first time ever. We are there sobbing right alongside Bertil. It’s here where the film truly shows us the power that art can possess. Watching someone, near hopeless, see themselves through someone else’s compassionate eyes is uplifting. We follow Bertil and Barbora through the subsequent years as their friendship continues. We are there with them through their daily struggles and small victories. Bertil tries so hard to kick his habit but his demons constantly get he better of him. At one point, he is nearly killed in a car wreck and Barbora is there with him throughout his long and seemingly impossible recovery.

For her part, Barbora has her own demons. They’re nowhere near the level of Bertil’s but still, we watch her struggle and it breaks our heart because she doesn’t deserve any of it. At first glance, it’s Bertil and his spirit that captivates us the most but by the end of the film, we are rooting for Barbora just as hard. I want as many people as possible to see this beautiful film because it will help them understand the struggle many of the more unfortunate of us contend with on a daily basis. This world could use as much compassion as possible.

This film strikes a decidedly personal tone for me because I’ve had a member of my family go through these struggles just like Bertil. Hell, in some scenes, this family member even resembles Bertil. He was such a nice person to be around but his demons always managed to get the best of him. I choose to recall the fond memories because this man was the father to my first ever niece (and then another one). No matter what, he’ll always be responsible for that gift — the greatest gift I have ever received. Unlike Bertil, this man eventually succumbed to his demons and left this world a little less vibrant for the rest of us.

We perceive time as a straight line but it’s only an illusion. Life spins us around, blindfolded, and then sends us off to conquer each day. It’s a miracle more of us don’t succumb. In the end, our lives are as precious as our time is finite and struggles or not, as long as we’re trying to make it all a bit more palatable, we’re going to be okay.

Next week, let’s talk about Ramey’s second season. 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.

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.

Tom Hardy – Two Films, Three Roles

My initial intention with this piece was to prove a point about Tom Hardy and how deep he goes for his roles. He is the best actor of this generation yet he sometimes carries a stigma of being difficult and not tuning in to his director’s frequency. That’s occasionally true but it is far from the widespread claim some have made.

Hardy, more often than not, gives the exact performance a film requires and if the rest of the production cannot keep up, that is not a Tom Hardy problem. It’s interesting to me how people in general understand that filmmaking is a collaborative endeavor yet they love to pinpoint blame on why a certain production fails to deliver. It is never one thing.

For my purposes, I watched the 2015 Brian Helgeland film, Legend, and the 2020 Josh Trank Film, Capone. Two films and Three Hardys. Here we go.

Legend tells the story of the Kray twins, London gangsters who ruled the criminal underworld in the 1960s. Hardy plays both lead roles in the film and he gives two distinctly different performances — one more successful than the other. He digs deep but oddly enough, Helgeland’s script doesn’t match his primary actor. The film is way too long for how thin everything feels. We never get to know any of these characters. It baffles me because I am a huge fan of Helgeland. This man has some real highs on his screenwriter resume. As a director, Helgeland seems most at home with the grit and grime of criminals, so it’s an even bigger surprise that he struggles to maintain control over this film. On paper, Legend is a slam dunk but in reality the sum is lesser than its parts.

With that said, Hardy does shoulder some blame here. His performances are great but as an actor he sometimes delves into subtlety to a fault. Hardy reminds me a bit of a younger Johnny Depp, who was known as the actor who got awards nominations for his costars over himself for a portion of his career. Now, this sounds weird to say because Hardy himself has already been honored but it is part of what makes him special. He’s an actor who reminds people of several other actors. Hardy possesses the full spectrum. He is equal parts Depp and Cage while also reminding people of Paul Newman and having the technical quality of Olivier. And I haven’t even started with the Brando comparisons yet. He’s the closest thing since — even more than someone like Mickey Rourke. The thing about Hardy is that he knows how to wring something interesting out of every scene and in this way, he’s just like Walken. What do these actors all have in common? They elevate every piece of material. It doesn’t mean they save it because when an actor prefers nuance, they can take a good movie to a great level but can only take a mediocre movie to an interesting level.

I know, I’m rambling.

So Hardy plays two different roles, right? Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Ronnie is charismatic and and suave. Hardy is having fun playing Ronnie and Helgeland focuses most of the film on the more classic mobster twin. Playing Reggie is where Hardy really digs deep, hanging his lip and mumbling his lines while playing the off-kilter brother. The problem here is, the rest of the film feels like bullet points. It’s a bit too ambitious and tries to cram too much into its runtime. Had Helgeland sold this as a prestige limited series and spent more time with all of the era, the results would’ve been much better. What I meant saying Hardy shoulders some blame is that his performances felt disconnected from the rest of the film. It’s almost like he saw this wasn’t working and took it upon himself to inject something more interesting. The tone, ultimately, is all wrong. This is in stark contrast to the troubled production of Fury Road. Hardy famously wasn’t the easiest to deal with on that set and thought his career was in trouble for signing on to that film. He didn’t go supernova though and trusted Miller enough to keep his performance as dry as that wasteland. He allowed Theron to sit center stage and the result was a masterpiece.

So, we see how things can go wrong throughout a production and how someone like Hardy can sometimes go rogue on their director.

Here’s the catch: He’s been accused of the same thing with Capone and that is just plain wrong.

From the first moments of Capone, I was looking for a seatbelt. I turned to my wife, laughed, and said: holy shit is Tom Hardy all-in on this performance or what?

He looks like warmed over death, shuffling and mumbling his way through his past and personal demons. The film is wild — a slow, meditative film about death and how memory controls our lives. The photography is wonderful. Excellent shot composition can tell a story without words — just ask Nicolas Winding Refn. Here, Trank lulls us into a nightmare about the final year of one of the most notorious gangsters in our country’s history. Much of this film plays like a series of snapshots from a time lost. Capone is trying to remember but his disease is playing tricks on him. The cinematography is beautifully dangerous, often blending nature with what we build on top of it — like hiding something rotten beneath something pretty. Nothing is cool here — it’s not that kind of movie. Trank successfully builds dread from the mundane. The film moves beyond the myth of the man and into the harsh reality of what dementia does to anyone afflicted with that disease. Of course, in Capone’s case, this was all brought on as a by-product of syphilis. What happened to Capone is gross and uncomfortable and Hardy is along for the entire ride. He’s full on supernova in this film but I will argue that it isn’t to the film’s detriment, it instead elevates the film.

I have spent time with family members suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s. It is a harrowing journey a person takes as their memories and life are stolen from them. They exist in a constant state of confusion, denial, and frustration that can often boil over into anger. Hardy nails this at every turn as we weave our way through one dark fantasy to the next. Trank and Hardy work in perfect concert as they place us inside a diseased mind, plunging us into madness. Hardy needs to go as big as he does — the film requires this level of commitment and bombast. Capone was a larger than life person and in his final year, more-so. He was no longer playing to the press or trying to scare off others coming for his throne. Instead, Capone spent his final year alternately chasing and running from an uncontrollable monster, himself. I’ve seen what the disease does to a person firsthand and I can tell you that Hardy and Trank took great care while using deep, methodical thought in this portrayal. It may seem like Hardy took it upon himself to elevate the material but that is simply not the case. Trank wanted this and the film needed this. It allows every other actor in the film to go bigger without the film suffering from grandiosity. Linda Cardellini specifically, is tremendous. Playing Capone’s exasperated wife, she stands on equal footing with Hardy and is never blown off the screen. Had Hardy gone softer, the film wold have been a chore. Subsequently, had Trank not wanted this heightened level of performance from his actors, Hardy would’ve blown everyone away and the film would still have been lifeless.

Instead, we’re left with a look into a disease that will dismantle anyone, even the largest of legends.

To summarize this rambling mess of a piece, painting with broad brushes serves nothing and no one. We often like to do this because it requires the least amount of thought and analysis on any subject. Tom Hardy gives his all, each and every time, and to suggest he’s an actor who fails to connect with his directors’ vision is reductive and just plain wrong.

Next week, Tales From The Loop. 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.

The Last Of Us Part II – Love, Hate, And The World In Between

Love and hate are separated by an invisible barrier. The world of, The Last Of Us, makes this clear. These feelings we all have are seemingly polar opposites but in reality, they are boxed in with nothing but tissue paper. Love and hate are both irrational feelings that we cannot completely control — no matter how hard we may try. We learn to live with both of them and make the best life we can. Some of us are taught to give in to love while others are taught to be led by hate. The quicker we realize the lack of control we have over life, the quicker we can exist peacefully somewhere in the middle. Life is not easy and the only thing we have to hold onto is that precarious ledge our emotions keep us tap dancing on.

I played TLOU2, weaving through a post-apocalyptic landscape, while also playing hide-and-seek with my feelings. To sum up, it was a harrowing and unforgettable experience. I finished, put down the controller, re-joined the world, and then immediately returned for a second run. I wasn’t done sorting through myself and what this story had to offer. I was always going to write about this game but I’ve realized that I need to do this now because I cannot function as a writer with this story still churning up my brain. There is no way for me to properly discuss this story without diving into ***MASSIVE SPOILERS***, so be warned: I am going to talk about it all. I urge you to return to this post at a later date if you have any plans to play this game. This post will still be here.

Again, MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD

Okay

You’ve been warned — let’s dive in.

FIRST, SOME CONTEXT

The story of the original was about a fourteen year old girl, born years after society fell to a destructive virus, journeying across the country in order to reach a hospital. She was immune to the virus and was the only person known to be immune. This girl, Ellie, grew up without much of a family. She was entrusted to a smuggler named Joel for this journey. Joel was a man who watched his young daughter get murdered at the onset of the outbreak. This event broke him and forged an armor around him. Over the course of their journey, Ellie and Joel became a family — the first ever family for Ellie and the first in decades for Joel. Upon reaching the hospital and finding out that Ellie would have to die in surgery in order to potentially create a cure for the virus, Joel snapped. He could not abide losing another daughter. Joel, through grief, slaughtered the entire hospital in a bid to save Ellie. He left with her and when she asked what happened, he lied and told her there was no cure — that everything was a failure. That story ended with Ellie sighing and saying, “okay.” You could see in her eyes that she knew Joel was lying about something but she let that hang for the time being.

That game was revolutionary in the way that it flipped our perception of the hero, Joel. The player ended up complicit in Joel’s despicable acts. His actions were borne from love and grief with a heavy dose of selfishness. To this day, I don’t agree with Joel’s actions but I know that I would have done the same.

ONWARD TO THE MAIN EVENT

I could also spend thousands of words discussing the game mechanics and how they’ve evolved in the years since the first game. I could write about the verticality of the environments, the free flowing combat, streamlined crafting, and the beautiful guitar mini-game (you should YouTube what some people are doing with this mini-game, it is extraordinary).These are all used effectively to further immerse us in this world. The camera is visceral and only shows us the bare minimum at any given moment, which keeps the tension at a maximum. The world is dangerous like I have never experienced before. Every single enemy interaction is brutal, nasty, and leaves the player feeling at sea. The 3D audio, ratchets everything up further, with creaks, clicks, groans, gurgles, roars, gasps, screams, gunfire and the like coming from all, yet singularly specific, directions.

WE BEGIN WITH A GUT PUNCH

The sequel begins in Jackson, the rebuilt town Ellie and Joel returned to at the very end of the first game. They’ve settled into a routine and life is mostly peaceful. Through dialog, we understand that Joel and Ellie aren’t on the best of terms. Ellie, now nineteen and very much her own person, is still grappling with the fallout from the events at the hospital nearly four years prior. She heads out on patrol with her girlfriend Dina when they get waylaid by a snowstorm. They soon find out that Joel and his brother Tommy aren’t responding to radio calls and so Ellie heads out to find them. This is when we change perspective and begin playing as a new character named Abby. We don’t know who she is or what she and her group are doing here but we quickly realize they’re here for Joel. We can infer that she must have a connection to the group from the hospital and we begin to fear the worst. At the same time, this make sense because when you flip a coin, there is always a tails to the heads. The people Joel killed out of his love for Ellie would also have their own people willing to do the same for them. Abby is quickly beset by a horde and is rescued by, of all people, Joel and Tommy. They escape the horde and end up at an abandoned mansion Abby and her group have been holed up in. This is where things get dark. Joel realizes these people know who he is and there is no good reason for that. Before either Joel or Tommy can react, they are attacked — Tommy knocked out and Joel taking a shotgun blast to his legs. Abby then proceeds to beat Joel with a golf club.

We regain control of Ellie again as she reaches the mansion, sneaks in, hears the commotion in the basement and rushes into action. We expect to save the day but are horrified when Ellie is immediately bested and held down as Joel’s torture continues. She calls out to Joel and begs him to get up. And then Abby kills him. It made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t upset that Joel died because in this harsh world, it’s not exactly surprising when someone doesn’t die of old age. The thing that got to me was Ellie’s pain — it was primal in the most horrible and wrenching manner. Abby leaves Ellie alive because her mission is finished and because, as we will learn later, the cycle of love and hate demand it. Now, I’m not going to rehash the entire plot of this game because that would take forever and also it’s not necessary. The plot is secondary to character and I’ve spoken at great length on my site about my preference for stories told this way. It’s not the what but the why.

THE HERO OF ONE STORY CAN OFTEN BE THE VILLAIN OF ANOTHER.

This is an obvious theme and one we get dosed with early on in the game. What none of us expected was how this story would deepen our understanding of this theme as the rest of the events unfold. We play the first half of the game as Ellie on her odyssey of revenge. She is going to punish those responsible for Joel’s death. We find out quick that Joel’s brother Tommy is already on the same quest for his own satisfaction. What we’re shown over the next dozen hours or so of game is Ellie losing the rational and human pieces of herself. She falls down the rabbit hole because of love and drowns in a pool of hate. She has no room for anything else. She is vicious, cruel, and undeterred by anything. She’s joined by her girlfriend Dina, and later, her friend Jesse. We watch as Ellie begins to unravel and even lose sight of the relationships she holds so dear — the same feelings and connections which bore so much love and happiness to begin with. Ellie kills her way all over Seattle as she fights the militarized group known as the WLF, (aka wolves), the group Abby is a part of. Ellie also has violent encounters with another group of “enemies” known as the Seraphites. They are a group of religious zealots who mainly fight the WLF over territory and philosophy of life. By the time Ellie and Abby confront one another again, we are numb to the killing and exhausted from it. We are in desperate need of catharsis.

BONDED FOR LIFE

Leading up to this point, the story is broken up by sections of Ellie remembering past events with Joel. They are mostly tender moments of the two of them strengthening their bond. Ellie never had a family and even though it isn’t biological, Joel is very much her father. They love each other like only the truest sense of family can love. Through these flashbacks, we begin to appreciate how Ellie could succumb to hate so fully. This in no way excuses her actions but given our perch and availability to be objective, we can be honest with ourselves in understanding that we could easily follow in Ellie’s footsteps. Like I said at the top, it is an invisible barrier. There’s further context that some later flashbacks reveal. Ellie always suspected Joel had lied about something. She revisits the hospital and finds out what happened. She questions Joel and later doesn’t let him off the hook, demanding the truth. Joel gives her what she asked and she hates him for it. Their relationship is seemingly severed. It’s just about the most upsetting thing I could think of, how irrational love can lead to equally irrational hate. Except Ellie finds the bond between her and Joel unable to be severed. We learn why guitars mean so much to her, Joel taught her how to play and it was something they both cherished. The guitar keeps her tethered to him and the love they have for each other. She needs this not just to fuel her rage but also as a lifeline protecting her from being completely consumed by the hate she feels. We don’t have to agree with her actions in order to empathize with them. She is in so much pain and it it hurts to see her like this. At first, we think her revenge is fueled by guilt because she wasn’t able to reconcile with Joel but we later learn that she went to Joel and told him she wanted to try and forgive him. They had reconciled. It then becomes obvious that guilt plays a different part in this story. Ellie wasted so much time hating a man she loved more than anything in this world. Ellie thought they had more time and was robbed of the only family she ever had. When Abby killed Joel, she killed a piece of Ellie’s heart.

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

After Ellie and Abby confront each other, we’re left with a cliffhanger. Abby has killed Jesse, Tommy is possibly dead on the floor, and her gun is trained on Ellie. Cut to black.

We then pick up with a flashback scene of Abby and her father. By the end of this flashback we learn that not only was Abby a part of the group at the hospital (the Fireflies) but that her father was the doctor responsible for creating a cure through Ellie. Joel killed him. This moment flips the entire story on its head. We suddenly have so much more insight into who Abby is as a person and what fueled her own rage. Abby spent the subsequent years with the WLF, receiving military training, and preparing for the day she could avenge her father’s murder. Like I said, the hero of one story…

What we learn over the next dozen hours, playing as Abby, is that she has her own family of friends. They care for each other. They are not that much different from the people of Jackson. Love leads to hate and the cycle continues. Abby becomes embroiled in a fight against the Seraphites and is nearly killed in horrific fashion by them until being saved by a couple of Seraphite outcasts. They bond, especially Abby and the young boy named Lev. This closely mirrors the relationship growth of Joel and Ellie from the first game. We begin the game hating Abby and end the game loving her because we understand her motives and pain. There is enough pain and suffering in this world that one’s sun could be blotted out by it. Abby gives in to her hate but as her story unfolds, love creeps back in and begins to take hold. We learn about her relationships with her friends, namely Owen, Mel, Manny, and Alice the dog. She lets Lev into her heart and begins to care about him as well. So when she finds out most of her friends are dead, the switch is primed. She watches Manny die right in front of her, killed by a revenge-fueled Tommy. She finds Alice, Mel, and Owen dead — then finds evidence it was Ellie. This sets Abby off once again on a quest for vengeance. She is now at odds with the WLF because she’s become so protective of Lev, a Seraphite. Abby is beset on all sides by people attempting to cause harm to her and those she loves. We also see that she cannot quite shake a bit of humanity because Lev has had such a remarkable influence on her mindset. She’s forever changed. These two women, Ellie and Abby, are so full of pain, it hurts us to see them bested by these feelings. Pain lends itself to hate by holding your hand and walking you to the threshold. Some find the strength to turn back while others give in to the false promise of catharsis.

We end up back at the cliffhanger moment and, playing as Abby, engage in a boss fight of sorts against Ellie. It puts us in a rocky boat as we’re fighting against the one person we’ve always fought for. Abby defeats Ellie but lets her live. This is different than the encounter early in the game because this is Abby again fueled by hate except she doesn’t allow it to fully consume her. Abby chooses to go live a peaceful life and warns Ellie to not come for her again. At a glance, this seems like a typical warning but when you dig deeper, it is more of a recognition of oneself in another. Abby now sees that her and Ellie are one and the same, sees the same hate but also the love. We come to realize that Abby’s warning is more philosophical. By the end of this section, the wolf has become the shepherd.

This all requires a mature understanding of life, what we hold dear, and the limits we are required to exceed. The only way out is through and when you’re walled in by love and hate, that particular hallway is a precarious jaunt. The game exemplifies this by repeated journeys down the same hallway as Abby and staircase as Ellie.

YOU GO. I GO. END OF STORY.

We can’t go further without discussing some of the side characters. This is part of what makes this story and world so rich and rewarding. Dina is Ellie’s girlfriend and after Joel, the most important person in her life. Dina supports Ellie but is also there to try and keep Ellie from being consumed by vengeance. In fact, Ellie’s darkest moments are when Dina is not around. There’s a saying: No man is an island. This is another theme TLOU2 deals with in depth. We are all made up of our friends and family. What I mean by that is that left to our own devices, each of us are not at our best. We are taught and continue to be taught, every day, by those we surround ourselves with. Dina teaches Ellie to see light in the darkness — she helps Ellie be the best possible version of herself. Where Ellie has Dina, Abby has Owen. This is particularly evident in Abby’s flashbacks where Abby and Owen run the gamut of blossoming love. In the present, they are no longer together, mostly because they remind each other of their hateful actions against Joel. They still have love for each other but it’s no longer enough to hold them together as a couple. Ellie relies on her loved ones to keep her away from the dark side while Abby shuts them out in order to protect them from her own darkness. It’s different but both women operate from a foundation of love. We then spend so much time with Lev. He is a stand-in for a younger Ellie. Abby becomes Joel and her change is brought about by a new understanding of what she, like Joel, would do for someone she primally needs to protect.

CATHARSIS

Ellie heeds Abby’s warning and is satisfied to live peacefully on a little farm she and Dina have set up. They’re raising a little boy together and also a flock of sheep. Ellie still suffers from PTSD over what happened to Joel. She doesn’t feel whole but is still willing to try and live this new life. A visit from a still alive but handicapped Tommy changes everything. Tommy has lost most of himself to hate. He is even angry with Ellie because she is unwilling to finish the job against Abby. We don’t want Ellie to listen to Tommy but she does and sets out one more time.

Ellie is desperately searching for the closure she can’t find — it is like an open wound. She tracks down Abby in California, only to discover she and Lev have been captured by a sadistic group of people who call themselves the Rattlers. They enslave anyone they find in order for themselves to live in comfort. They torture and crucify those who disobey. By the time Ellie reaches Abby, it’s been months. They travel along the beach together with Lev until they reach two boats. Abby and Lev are emaciated from their months of abuse while Ellie is in bad shape do to her being impaled earlier by a trap set by the Rattlers. They at first seem content to go their separate ways — Abby and Lev to Catalina Island and Ellie back home. Ellie sets her pack in the boat and sees a flash of Joel dead on that basement floor. She gives in to hate again and tells Abby they need to finish it. Abby says no because she’s seen what the cycle does and has made it out the other side. Ellie threatens Lev’s life and Abby capitulates in order to protect the only person she has left to love. They fight in the surf, brutally and ugly, until Ellie pins Abby’s head under water. It is then that another image of Joel flashes in her mind — Joel on his porch with his guitar. It’s the same moment when Ellie says she wants to try and forgive him. Ellie finally lets go and lets Abby and Lev go while she sobs in the water. The cycle is finally broken. We last see Ellie back at the farm, now abandoned, and she plays Joel’s guitar once last time before setting it down and beginning her trek back to Jackson — back to her family and back to love. She let the guitar go and with that she let Joel go. By being able to do this, she let the hate go and gave herself a better foundation to rebuild her life. It is an astonishing moment in a game/story brimming with astonishing moments. And it’s here where we gain further understanding of what the story has been telling us all along with some of its imagery. The opening screen is a boat in the water, we at first think this is representing the calm before the storm but ultimately reveals itself as a metaphor for the two leads being at sea. Once the game is finished, the opening screen changes to the boat beached on Catalina Island. Following this thread, we also realize that every loading screen we see is a lesson in searching for the light. Most of the screen is shrouded in darkness while a group of moths gather around the lone light source. We are all like the moths, desperately trying to flee the dark.

LOVE IS STRONGER THAN HATE

By the end of this story, we are left loving characters at odds with each other because their stories are largely like our own. Everyone has a story and everyone begins a new story every day. Most of us get the opportunity to change our lives for the better and try and leave this world better for it. I played the first game in a world where I had no children in my life. I still found it engrossing and one of the best stories ever told in a video game. There is a reason HBO has secured the rights in order to make it into a new series. Shortly after, my family began having children. I am now an Uncle to five girls and one boy and my entire world is different. Being around children is like being a time traveler — I get to watch them experience millions of things for the very first time. It reminds me of how I grew up and I am in constant reflection of my own experiences. I didn’t know I could possess the love in my heart that I now possess and both stories now hit harder. My understanding of this world has deepened and more importantly, I better understand the person I am and the person I want to be. I love Ellie and Abby because I see myself in them. I see them with people they love and who love them back — people they would go to the ends of the earth for and vice-versa. They are awkward around those they don’t know and can be easily consumed by their own feelings. These two brave and powerful women each found their light and I try every day to follow their lead. Great art cannot make the world a better place on its own, it can only take our hand and lead us to the threshold. It is up to us to choose the proper doorway. Just because love and hate share an invisible barrier doesn’t mean we’re destined to be lost.

Next week, it really is DEVS time. 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.