Gilliam Friday #9 – The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus

We can’t dig in to the next film on the list without, again, beating the Quixote drum. I now see just how much Gilliam was reeling from the destroyed project that consumed him for nearly a decade. He had previously tried to shake himself loose from his rut by taking on two projects so close together that they were released in the same year. The first, Brothers Grimm, was unfocused and messy. The second, Tideland, was the darkest material Gilliam had tackled. It felt more like an exorcism than a full fledged film. Now, four years later, I found him still trying to work through the pain of his failed magnum opus.

What should also be noted is how the production of The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus ran into trouble at every turn. First there was the death of actor Heath Ledger during principal photography, then upon completion, a producer died, and then during post production, Gilliam himself was hit by a car. This film still getting made and released is a small miracle in and of itself.

Onto the reason we’re together today, the 2009 film, The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus.

It tells the story of an aging conman/magician/mystical person named Doctor Parnassus who is really more of a gambler. He is constantly engaging in bets with the devil, losing those bets and doubling down to try and dig himself out of a hole. At first, he won and was granted immortality. He quickly realized that immortality was not all he thought it to be and made a new deal to be granted youth so he could be with the woman he loved. The payment was that if he ever had a child, at the age of sixteen, that child would become property of the devil. The film begins only a few short days before Parnassus’ daughter’s sixteenth birthday.

Parnassus, his daughter, and two assistants have been relegated to performing in their own traveling sideshow where they attempt to trick people into passing through their magic mirror. Once inside the mirror, the person is now inside of Parnassus’ imagination. Of course, what they see and experience is also partly dictated by their own imagination. It’s here that they will then be given a choice between two locations — one represents Parnassus’ theory on life while the other represents the devil. Parnassus struggles to find people who don’t succumb to the devil’s promises and thus is digging himself even deeper.

One night, they happen upon a hanging man beneath a London bridge and rescue the man. He’s played by Heath Ledger and has no memory of his previous life. The film really takes off from here as Ledger joins the troupe as a thank you for saving him. He is wonderful in this film — a natural con artist full of exuberance, wit and charm. With Tony’s help, Parnassus begins to gain the upper hand with the devil and just may be able to pull off one last wager and save the soul of his daughter.

Up to this point in the film, there are a few things to note. First, the imagination on display is second to none. Gilliam is fully in his wheelhouse. The monks’ snow covered temple, for example, is extraordinary. Again, Gilliam is giving us a vision only he could give, warts and all. Like many of his previous films, it takes a little while for the tone to settle and gel but we get there — Gilliam, like many auteurs, forces you to buy in to his vision and leave your own shit at the door. The material again is on the darker side. Many of the scenes and dialog and actions toward the daughter, Valentina, are problematic. She’s only sixteen and this does lead to some uncomfortable moments. Gilliam knew this and framed it around the devil’s wishes to soften, or at least explain, the questionable antics. There’s also a moment of blackface in the film which has no business being there. There is simply no excuse for it. It was done to serve a joke but the punchline is not worth a second of the journey taken to get there. So, the film is definitely an imperfect film.

Now, as I’m watching, I’m still digging the film because it’s really about the world each of us holds inside our mind. It’s around the halfway point where LEdger’s character, Tony, first enters the mirror. The result propels the second half of the film ever higher than its setup. It’s also where we first get a glimpse of the genius idea Gilliam had to get the film finished despite his lead actor’s death. He gathered a few of Ledger’s friends to play the late actor’s role. Tony goes into the mirror on three separate occasions and the mirror world inside Parnassus’ mind changes Tony’s face. The first time this happens, Ledger transforms into Johnny Depp. This is the shortest of changes and also the least effective. I love Depp. He’s one of my all time favorites and was brilliant in Fear and Loathing. Here, he plays Tony with a smirk and a wink. It’s more brooding and a little off from Ledger’s take. The second time Tony enters, he transforms into Jude Law. This is the best alternate version of Tony. Where Depp did his own thing, Law matches Ledger’s tone and nervous energy. It’s a damn near perfect match. It’s also our longest look inside the mirror world. I remember thinking that Gilliam should’ve been the one to make a live film version of Alice in Wonderland. He’s always been in love with Lewis Carroll and has paid homage to the writer on countless occasions. You could make the case that this film is his version of Alice in Wonderland. It’s equal parts whimsy, moral fable, and nasty legend. The final time Tony enters the mirror, he transforms into Colin Farrell. This is where we finally see Tony for the bastard he truly is and Farrell is good, not great. The problem here is that Colin Farrell has too kind a face. It’s just hard to buy in that he sucks as a human being. He manages to pull it off but barely.

The entire film is wonderfully absurd but it also begs the question of whether Gilliam has problems with women. Here, Valentina is constantly objectified as a sixteen year old and serves mostly as a plot device. Her plight propels the narrative forward but she doesn’t really hold any other weight. This is what holds me back just a bit from the film. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very good film but some tweaks to the script could’ve landed Gilliam firmly back on his feet. The more I searched my feelings on this film, I came to realize that Valentina and Parnassus specifically are stand-ins for The Man Who Killed Don Quixote and Gilliam himself. This story is really about an old man questioning his choices and loyalties on the eve of losing what he cherishes most.

The film is visually extraordinary and brimming with ideas — perhaps too many ideas. It’s dark, daunting, and proves Gilliam’s tenacity as a filmmaker. It won’t win any converts but it shows an artist willing to try and dig himself out of a hole that has consumed him for over a decade.

Next week, The Zero Theroem. Until then, love each other.

Ramy Season 2 – An American Tale

Hulu has something special on their hands with Ramy. We’re two seasons in and I don’t think anyone who has seen the show is feeling patient about a third season — we want it now. The show has created such a unique blend of comedy and drama that it’s quickly established itself as a breath of fresh air. There is nothing else quite like it, save for Atlanta. It’s in these two shows that we can better understand America, it’s failings and the great promise that it still holds.

The first two episodes of season 2 give us a sobering look at what happens when we forget about our soldiers once they’ve returned home from war. Ramy finds himself at a spiritual crossroads and he’s desperately seeking not only guidance but also affirmation that he’s a good person. He helps this soldier who at first is ignorant of the Islamic faith while also condemning the religion and its followers because of the horrors he experienced fighting overseas. Ramy brings him to the man he seeks guidance from, played by Marshala Ali. The soldier, begins to see the humanity and good spirits of these people, his new friends and ultimately decides that he wants to convert to Islam. It’s here where things get dicey. Their place of worship is under constant protest from others who are still ignorant of the teachings of Islam. The soldier cannot abide this and attacks one of the protestors. The nuance involved in creating these scenes is nothing short of extraordinary. In a few moments, Ramy has shown us all sides of the argument — presented to us for examination and hopefully introspection.

The show eschews plot in favor of digging as deep as possible into all of the characters we meet. Ramy may be the title character but we are treated to whole episodes devoted to supporting characters. The show focuses on his sister Deena, his mother Maysa, his father Farouk and even his uncle Naseem. This is an effective tool in building the world from the inside out. It expands the show’s horizons and ours as well. Deena struggles with growing up while not only being Muslim but also a young woman in a doubly hostile world. Maysa struggles with her place in life and this pull from a part of herself that so badly wants to be helpful — even when she’s being increasingly offensive. Farouk is lost for much of the season as a man who has always supported his family and now being jobless. He’s being affronted by his own brand of chauvinism and ends up being rescued by a rescue dog. Farouk’s story in particular was a real treat this season. Then we have the brash and incredibly offensive Uncle Naseem. This season reveals that Naseem is a closeted gay man which illuminates his daily outward persona as a beard of the highest order.

We root for these people to find their way and the show walks a delicate balance between maintaining what is true to oneself while changing just a little bit in order to better fit in with today’s society.

Notice how Ramy himself hasn’t even come up yet? His story of course runs throughout the season but he is so lost and nearly beyond hope. He’s suffering from undiagnosed depression while constantly trying to fill the void with either sex or pats on the back. He doesn’t just want to get better and be better but he also needs to be told that he is better. It’s tough to watch. He gets so many things right but never quite addresses his lack of stakes in anything he attempts. Ramy’s problem is that he lets himself off the hook at every turn. He’s in love with his cousin and eventually cheats on his fiancée the night before his wedding. This is all horrendously selfish but upon the end of his wedding night, having gone through with his marriage and even taking his new wife’s virginity, he decides to come clean. It’s the single most fucked up slide into wrongheadedness that Ramy has ever engaged in. Mahershala Ali, Ramy’s now father in law, shows up the next morning and brutally takes Ramy to task. He’s so overcome with grief and anger that he almost physically hits Ramy. It is a testament to his inner strength that he withholds and leaves Ramy to his own dark thoughts.

I will always applaud a story that is unafraid to take its main character to task for their failings. There’s never any room for hero worship — that train of thought breeds bad stories. Here, Ramy reels from his family’s cutting remarks, to his wife leaving, to his brutal take down at the hands of his father in law, to the even more brutal take down at the hands of his cousin. Ramy ends up alone in the abandoned, shit covered car left by the homeless soldier he tried to help earlier in the season. He’s adrift with nowhere to turn. It’s sad but deserved. I, for one, cannot wait for season 3 to see if Ramy can pull himself out of this whole he has put himself in.

Ramy provides us as American a story as can be. One full of humor and drama in equal measure, just like our own daily lives.

Next week, let’s tackle Edward Norton’s film adaptation of Motherless Brooklyn. Until then, love each other.

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.

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.

Afterlife – A New Poem

I want to dream the dream of Gods
And for life to tell what it wants.
*
I want to drink from legend’s cup
And for the truth to become clear.
*
I want to wade in fields of sage
And for them to tell my story.
*
I want to run with the horses
And for the birds to cease judgment.
*
I want to be shot by Cupid
And for it to last forever.
*
I want my new dream to take hold
And for me to not ever wake.
*

Little Fires Everywhere — Kerry Washington FTW

Little Fires Everywhere had me riveted from episode one. This show (and book it was based on) has its finger firmly on the pulse of America right now. Unfortunately, a story about racial tension and white privilege will likely be timely for years to come but it cannot be overstated how much more intense this story is right now. It opened my eyes to things I know that I have done in my life, shed light on it, and now I can hopefully do better. What I’m talking about is how in the 1990s we white folk went through a period of trying to show how woke we were by openly engaging in casual racism and culture theft.

What am I on about?

How we collectively pretended that we didn’t see color. Sure, we meant well but that doesn’t make what we did the right thing to do. What we did instead is rob the Black community of their identity. We tried to whitewash everything about the Black community to make it seem more like our own. I’m ashamed to have done that and it’s born from ignorance. This is why I don’t immediately drag people who are ignorant. The thing with ignorance is that as long as it isn’t willful, it can be corrected. As long as a person is willing to listen and learn, they can evolve into a better human being. We are all ignorant to certain things, it’s how we deal with it when we become or are made aware of it that makes all the difference.

Little Fires Everywhere is all about white privilege and how white people, in their majority, have always tried to use their power in order to make things more white — even when they “mean well.” We can get into the nitty gritty of the plot details but that is really just window dressing to the real, actual themes of the show (and book). Instead, we should just focus on the marvelous eight episodes as a whole. I’ll point out that the cast is great, top to bottom. The kids all shine and give us a real depiction of adolescence and the emotional minefield children must navigate.

What I will focus on is our two leads: Kerry Washington and Reese Witherspoon. As Mia, Kerry Washington gives one of the greatest performances I have ever seen, film or television or even stage. Watch her face and body language in each scene — her pauses, her everything. It is a masterclass. She shows us the inner turmoil of her character, her eyes give us glimpses right into her soul. I’ve always been a student of an actor’s eyes and Kerry Washington gives such a nuanced performance of such shattering quality, it borders on supernatural. She is everything in this show. Of course, a great hero needs a great villain and Witherspoon brings the heat as Elena, Mia’s almost friend turned mortal enemy. Witherspoon adds layers upon layers to her character as she crashes before us, out of control due mostly to her dissatisfaction with how she’s settled into this life of privilege. She oozes the diabolical charm of someone who’s used to getting not only what they want but getting everyone around them to do what she decrees. She’s a top-notch foil.

There’s more to say but it would be nothing more than banging on about the same recurring themes. The filmmakers have created a work that is a more effective dissection of community race relations than a film like The Help could ever hope to achieve. This should be required viewing for everyone, especially high schoolers. It’s time the curriculum was updated. This work would serve everyone well and hopefully breed out the ignorance this show highlights.

I was and still am astonished by the eight episodes we received. Kerry Washington deserves every single acting award she could possibly be eligible for and then some more for good measure. Also, Elena’s kids are all assholes.

SPOILER ALERT

You’re mad at your mom so you burn your fucking house down? Grow up, you over privileged little shitheads.

That’s it for this week. Next week I’ll dive into the documentary, The Painter and the Thief. 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.