Status: Out of Competition For the second time in a little over 48 hours I find myself confronted by a film that is so much an expression of its director's artistic manifesto that its identity is difficult to remove from his own.
Terry Gilliam, like
Tarantino, asks his audience to buy into his ethos: to accept that the film he is presenting is not necessarily going to be a commercial or critical success, but that it remains true to what he has set out to achieve across his whole canon of work. In that respect the film does not disappoint-
Gilliam creates a familiar dream-scape mixed with garish pallet and sweeping surrealist bursh-strokes, and he doesnt go as far as letting such a trivial thing as the traditions of narrative get in the way. For this director at least, the story is merely a way for the audience to buy into
Gilliam's imagined world, to marvel at his artistic vision, and allow themselves to be taken over by the escapist fantasy of the film. The fact of the matter is, even the most ardent
Gilliam fan couldnt really tell you what
Brazil is about, or offer any kind of evaluation of
Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas other than its about excess, drugs and debauchery), and yet his artistic charm abounds. I am an unrestrained fan of
Terry Gilliam's work- his surrealist, ludicrous mind gave birth to many of the best and best remembered
Monty Python moments (he was the animator of the delightfully zany cartoon bridges in the programmes and films), and his later film career (especially
Fear & Loathing,
The Fisher King and even
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen) and I am willing to buy into any fantasy he offers me. So the prospect of seeing
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus before it had secured a major theatrical distribution deal looked to be somewhat of a personal pleasure, especially hearing very early word that
Gilliam had moved away from the blatant consumer-friendly (and thus insufficent and unsuccessful) model of
The Brothers Grimm and really let lose with his imaginary vision.
Gilliam's representation of the modern world here is as a pseudo-Apocalyptic nightmare, where excess and amoral depravity run wild, and the devil (
Tom Waits- who, incidentally, was made for this role) holds more sway over people's minds and souls than the redeeming quality of imagination (where dreams can be realised and happiness ensured). It's a stark portrayal indeed, but it allows for the rampant fantasy of the imaginary worlds beyond the mirror to be all the more provocative and alluring. It is in those sequences that you really get a sense of
Gilliam the artist at play- unshackled and able to cast aside the
Weinstein shaped shadow that so profoundly overshadowed
The Brothers Grimm. And it is in these immaculately and minutely intricate fantasy scenes that the real magic of the film is forged.
AICN'sreview (written by Quint) of the film touched a very particular note with me in its assertion that
"[Heath Ledger's] role is tainted by a sadness that he had no concept of as he constructed the character". A better expression than I could have dredged up, and one that really typifies the way
Ledger's performance come across- the inherent sadness even complicates the character of Tony, making it immeasurably difficult to see
Ledger as anything but a victim so that when Tony (played by
Colin Farrell at this point) reveals his true colours, you can be forgiven for believing it to be a wholly different character from when Ledger does. But it is a strong performance nonetheless,
Ledger's screen charisma carrying the fledgling romance with
Lily Cole's Valentina far enough before
Farrell's version sullies it and making him almost believable as the narrative's main focus. Ultimately that honour goes to Valentina, as the narrative favours her conflicts and her relationships above all in the end, but it is down to the strength of
Ledger's performance that such a difficult figure as Tony can be considered so central. It is important how you view
Ledger's role in this film in terms of how unsettled you are by some of the morbid imagery that surrounds him in it- whether it was brave or despicable to have his first appearance as him hanging from the neck, seemingly dead off a bridge, and whether
Johnny Depp's obvious in-film eulogy to
Ledger were the real heart of this film. Personally, I felt more than a little jarred to see Ledger at the end of a rope (and a few people walked out of the screening when it came on screen), and it served as an all too poignant that the actor died during filming: at one point I began to dread the moment in the film where it would become obvious that Ledger had died (the appearance of
Johnny Depp,
Jude Law or
Colin Farrell effectively sounding the death note) which tainted even the most fantastical
Gilliam-inspired scenes. This is the hand that fate has dealt
Gilliam's latest production- to be overshadowed by a truly tragic moment in Hollywood history- hence the suggestion that the euolgy from Depp, in which he compares the infinite youth in mortality of
Princess Diana,
Rudolph Valentino and
James Dean, is the single most important scene of all. It is an affecting moment, and as much as some may cynically view it as a little contrived, I think it was done with subtle grace and infinite dignity- likewise the touching dedication at the end of the film that reads
A Film From Heath Ledger and Friends which left me choked-up. If
The Dark Knight was his masterpiece and his legacy,
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is
Heath Ledger's eulogy proper. Aside from
Ledger and the enchanting
Tom Waits, in terms of the cast, the highlight is probably
Lily Cole, the beautiful, striking looking model, who holds her own beside every one of the stars she faces (though her grief during the revellation scene is a little harder to believe).
Andrew Garfield's performance may well have garnered more respect from me were it not for his annoying dips into the caricatured Cockney of
Mary Poppins, and
Christopher Plummer is predictably good as the good doctor himself (he has that essential
Gilliam look that
John Neville worked so well in
Baren Muchausen.
Verne Troyer (he of Mini Me fame) should also get at least a small nod, as he manages to bring an alluring humanity to his character, more than he has been able to in any of his former roles, which is a refreshing development for someone who is so easily type-cast. Unfortunately for
Gilliam, no art work can truly be judged only against the auteurs own work, and judged against the rest of the cinematic universe- especially in terms of that boring old necessity- technique-
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is found sadly lacking. As much as the vision behind the fantasy-scapes behind Parnassus' visions are pure Gilliam (he hasnt been off the leash this much since Munchausen), the execution is hindered by some appalling CGI. The scene in which
Tom Waits appears as a cobra hewn from a blackened river is amateurish in the context of our Pixar-dominated universe, and certain green-screen scenes are simply too difficult to buy into because of the shoddy way they are created. Anyone who has seen
Mutant Chronicles or to a lesser extent
The Chronicles of Riddick will know exactly what I'm talking about- if
Who Framed Roger Rabbit could so convincingly let cartoon characters interact with real people and objects, why- some twenty-one developmental years later- can't a film like this fulfill its fantasy potential with adequate CGI? Accents represent the second stumbling block- the film unfortunately chooses to proffer caricatured versions of accents- so
Heath Ledger and
Andrew Garfield's Cockney accents are demarcated by their tendency to drop "th" for "f" (a la
Dick Van bloody Dyke in
Mary Poppins) and the first man unfortunate enough to fall victim of The Imaginarium is a sleazy over-the-top Geordie whose accent seemingly aids his role as the personification of the modern world's social and moral depravity. It may be a simple gripe, but as a Brit, who is forced to endure the way the majority of films for American audiences portray British (and especially regional Brits) accents I have had enough- those filmic caricatures wear their ridiculous accents like the long-forgotten beret, striped shirt and onion necklace of early French stereotypes, and I suggest the implication is just as derogatory. Unfortunately the mythology of the film also becomes a little murky- the devil (or Mr Nick as the script names him) has a clearly defined role, he is there to take souls (in the traditional temptation form), but Doctor Parnassus' role is less obvious. While he could be a metaphor for God (indeed there are instances in which he appears in art work as a deity figure), the metaphor never really stands up under scrutiny- if the path through the imagination is a path towards redemption and purity, why then does the Imaginarium spit those who chose Parnassus' way over the Devil's back out into the harsh real world? Perhaps this musing is not in the spirit of the
Gilliam way- there is after all signal of his willingness to be silly again in the form of can-canning Policemen (a scene lifted straight out of the Python's shared consciousness no doubt). But at the end of all things,
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is as perfect an expression of
Terry Gilliam's artistic manifesto as any film could possibly be, and for that I am eternally grateful. It may be remembered more as
Heath Ledger's last film, but as important, is that it's truly one of
Gilliam's best.