Tag: the zero theorem

Gilliam Friday #12 – The Wrap-Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Brothers Grimm

The Zero Theorem

Jabberwocky

Time Bandits

Tideland

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Brazil

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Twelve Monkeys

The Fisher King

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

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

Gilliam Friday #10 – The Zero Theorem

This film doesn’t work. On paper, it sounds great but in reality, it never lifts off the page. The film is set in another dystopian future, though this time it is one speckled with vibrant color. It’s definitely pleasing to the eye. I particularly liked the opening few minutes where Waltz’s character leaves his dark and dreary home and steps outside into a bright and vibrant, yet dilapidated world. Gilliam’s playfulness with lighting sells this. Now, the story follows a worker, obsessed with his own impending death, being tasked by management to prove a theory that everything in life ultimately adds up to nothing. This is known as the Zero Theorem, hence the title. If this sounds intriguing, that’s because it is intriguing but the subsequent film is a joyless affair. Everyone is either openly depressed or masking their depression. It was all too bleak for my taste.

The cast is a good one but most aren’t left with much to do. Christoph Waltz is good but his character is so dour, it’s hard to root for him because even he doesn’t know what he really wants out of life. David Thewlis, as his supervisor, injects at least some life into this film every time he is on screen. Ben Whishaw and Peter Stormare are two actors I love to see but they’re are in the film for only a few short minutes. The same can be said for Tilda Swindon. Matt Damon plays management in the film and again, I love him in nearly everything else he’s ever done but he just doesn’t mesh with Gilliam as a creative partner. His scenes are stale. This puts a lot of pressure on Waltz to carry everything off himself but the script doesn’t allow that to happen. The only people who truly come alive on screen are Lucas Hedges who plays the son of management and Melanie Thierry, who plays a sex worker named Bainsley, and Waltz’s character’s(Qohan) muse. She is electric and the only one who looks to be having any fun. I looked up her imdb page and was shocked to see that she hasn’t really broken out in Hollywood. If nothing else, this film should have launched a big career for her.

One thing I must note is that this is yet another story where the main female character is objectified and sexualized by all of the male characters. This has become a running theme throughout Gilliam’s career and something I will be certain to dive into when I write my wrap-up in two weeks.

There are cool and interesting moments in the film for sure. Qohan has a computer monitor in his home that allows him to view an expanding black hole. There’s a moment where he projects himself and Bainsley into space, nearing this black hole that is nothing if not revelatory. They discuss the idea of the soul and how life must mean something. Qohan is dealing with unknown trauma and it’s making him increasingly nihilistic. Him choosing the black hole as his favorite place to visit leads Bainsley to ask this question: Is THAT what’s inside of you? How do you live with all that…emptiness? It’s a profound question and one that Qohan doesn’t have a good answer for because he’s unwilling to accept what may or may not reside inside of him.

At first, I thought this film was an allegory about mankind becoming a slave to technology and while that is part of it, the film is actually diving much deeper. The film is really about the soul of mankind and the world that lives within us. We can become shut-ins who are desperate to remain in the dark with our secrets. It’s familiar territory for Gilliam and he’s explored it better in the past — most recently in his previous film, Doctor Parnassus.

There are neat tricks Gilliam pulls off in an attempt to excite and seduce us. As Qohan begins to unravel, the camera becomes more active — leading us off balance and jolting us awake. It’s a shame that we desperately need this push because everything else has landed so flat. Qohan proves the theory to management’s satisfaction but not his own — he is not convinced that he sufficiently proved that everything adds up to nothing. This is partly because he is in love with Bainsley and partly because he’s never let go of his old trauma. By the end, Qohan has attempted to purge himself of his pain but instead gives in. He ends in a digital afterlife where he can hopefully be content and happy with Bainsley. There is evidence during the credits that Qohan may not have been successful but it’s all vague.

The Zero Theorem is a quiet, ponderous film about the entirety of life. It has ideas but they never lift off and instead feel like a film version of reading a textbook. And this may be the point of the film, like the title suggests — but there’s no joy anywhere near it.

Again, I cannot overstate how devastating the failed project of Don Quixote was to Gilliam as an artist. Ever since his legendary struggles began with that cursed project, he flailed about. He managed to recapture some of his early magic here and there but more often than not, Quixote was an albatross, hanging from his neck and dragging him into the muck. Nearly every film in the wake of that disaster felt like his own commentary on what went wrong. The effort here is admirable but not necessarily enjoyable.

I cannot wait for next week when we’ll finally talk about the Don Quixote project. Until then, love each other.