The Fisher King: Gilliam's Most Operatic Film

 

(Updated from 9 August 2023)

It had been at least 20 years since I watched this, but Criterion Channel tonight reminded me it's leaving so . . . The Fisher King it was. 

I remember attending its DC premiere, and, despite hearing mostly negative reviews and not much praise, just how much I loved it.  But the truth was, I couldn't remember why I'd loved it so.  While certain elements came back immediately, I was rather surprised at just how much I'd forgotten. As I watched and smiled, I began remembering just how much - and why I I loved this film so many critics had a field day tearing apart. 

Roger Ebert felt director Terry Gilliam was "too indulgent" with a) the numerous angles the story took; and b) Robin Willliams' performance. That was the real stickler for him, I think.  He emphasized how he believed Williams would do well to "steer clear of parts created for his particular style," and that he is an actor that needs a strong director who will "reign him in."  Pishaw!  

Two separate NY Times reviews (remember when that was a thing?) detailed its perceived failures.  Caryn James decried it as "overdone and mawkish . . . from the touchy-feely school of movie making . . . big and messy." Meanwhile, Janet Maslin at least wanted to like the film and had some positive things to say, but it all derailed for her as she felt Gilliam "sustain(ed) a funhouse atmosphere at the expense of dramatic development. What emerges, in the end, are a clever premise that has been allowed to go awry . . . an unholy mess . . further heightened by the throwing in of the Holy Grail . . . it's narrative confused and cluttered  . . . by its final scenes its shapelessness has become exhausting." Wow. Disagree. A lot.

Gilliam worked with a splendid cast: Jeff Bridges as the broken radio shock jock Jack; Robin Williams as God's Janitor, Parry; Mercedes Ruhl (in a glorious performace) as Jack's tough partner, Anne, and Amanda Plummer as the awkward loner, Lydia.  Each injects a glorious complexity into his or her character, as they're put through their own individual emotional wringers. For my part, the pairing of Bridges and Williams was an inspired one, their many scenes together an absolutely joyous thing to behold.  While I have always enjoyed Mr. Bridges, the emotional range he brings to Jack results in what remains one of his career's finest and most deeply felt performaces.

While there are a few things I think may have benefited from a stronger editorial hand (the Chinese restaurant scene could have been half as long and still made its point), there really isn't much I would change or shorten.

Gilliam's blend of comedy and pathos, reality and fantasy, hopelessness and redemption felt to me all of a piece in Richard LaGravenese's beautiful, often poetic screenplay. Some of the critics liked various of those elements, but most it seemed felt it was too much  - that certain things (e.g., the relevance or irrelevance of the Holy Grail) were unessential elements and bogged the story down. They're wrong.  They didn't.

One of the film's crowning touches is the over-the-top performance of Michael Jeter as Homeless Cabaret Singer. His several scenes, particuarly his drag performance of Everything's Coming Up Lydia, as he channels his inner Ethel Merman is not to be missed. I'd go so far as to call him adorable - but not in the cloying way you might think . . . or fear.  Jeter's performance adds yet another level of pathos and brings a strong reminder of some of the really tough parts of the 80's and early 90's:  homelessness, AIDS, and mental illness. It's a short performance but, oh my, is it a powerful one.

Cinematographer Roger Pratt and production designer Mel Bourne, give the New York locations, especially the East River bank, Central Park and Parry's abode, a feeling of timelessness . . . both modern and medieval. There are scenes of magic that just seem to happen, such as the passengers in a jam packed Grand Central Station breaking into a grand waltz. . . . or the gentle beauty of Parry's narration of the titular Fisher King as Jack watches, listening to the tale and its teller absolutely rapt in awe. Countless bits of detail, all amazing touches - such as these fill and fuel the beauty of this movie.

In discussing the film with a fellow opera and movie fanatic, she brought up what she believed was a reason so many film critics panned The Fisher King:  "One needs an operatic sensibility to appreciate this kind of movie."  That was IT!  Gilliam's film was sort of a filmic/visual opera, so it made perfect sense why they didn't adore it as we had.  It also made sense learning how after this, Gilliam went on to produce and direct opera, notably two grandious Berlioz spectacles:   Benvenuto Cellini and Damnation du Faust, which appeared at houses in London, Spain, Holland, Germany, Rome, and Palermo.

So, okay, The Fisher King is not a movie for everyone.  That's just fine by me. 

PROBLEMISTA: MORE FAIRY TALES PLEASE!

 I have just finished watching what I can only describe as one of the most charming, funniest, moving and utterly delightful movies I've seen this year.  Salvadoreños actor, writer, stand-up comic and now director, Julio Torres knocks his debut feature film straight out of the park. 

I had only read one review, by someone who attended the premiere at the San Diego Latino Film Festival began his review: "The crowd loved it . . . I hated it," before launching into every minute detail that made him feel this way.  These included Torres' face, Torres' walk, Torres' voice, the character Torres played . . . and extended to co-star Tilda Swinton "a little of her goes a long way" the very premise and look of the film.  He also takes a major swing at the narration by Isabella Rossellini ("annoying") claiming it doesn't make sense to use her as the film is critical of nepotism in the arts and Rossellini "is a nepo baby."  WTF?  I became even more anxious and excited to see what could provoke this off the hook level of hatred toward a movie. 

Having now seen it, I feel compelled to make the assumption this guy is a homophobic racist, a bigot, a gung-ho Nationalist "Go Capitalism" sorta guy . . . you know . . . like a Trump supporter (yeah, I went there).  

The narrative begins in El Salvador where the child Alejandro lives with his artist mother who creates a magical world for him to live in, with bright CInderella castles but also a dangerously dark cave with a spooky red-eyed monster. Alejandro has a dream and we flash forward to present day Manhattan where, on a limited visa, he tries to land a job at Hasbro to become a great inventor of toys. He's taken a job at a cryogenic facility that works only with dead artists, and after a mishap involving the accidental unplugging of a cord he is dismissed and with only 30 days left to find a sponsor to remain in the country, has a fateful intervention with Elizabeth, the widow of an artist (played in flashbacks by RZA) who employs him (sort of) to help her find her husband's paintings and curate a show for a major gallery.   

As Elizabeth, Tilda Swinton gives one of her strangest, most magnificently fierce performances: a harpy, a "hydra" and the red-eyed monster of Alejandro's fairy tales. We encounter the disastrous attempts of the pair to collect the paintings, deal with the real world both Elizabeth's and Alejandro's.  

Alejandro is an odd duck. Always fearful but with a blank almost smile on his face to hide his feelings his anxiety with the world becomes manifest in his speech and his very (very) peculiar way of walking. It's kind of an ancient Geisha-style walk that seems as if his legs were tied together at the knees. He kind of glides everywhere.  I know this irritated not just that one critic but others yet it entirely endeared me to this kid to the point where I thought, "I could adopt a kid like Alejandro."  I'm not kidding.  

Torres makes clear in statements (which I read afterwards) that Problemista contains a good dose of autobiographically based anecdotes of his experience as an immigrant in the U.S.  We witness very real problems with a housing crisis, racism, the ramifications and pseudo-violence of financial insecurity and (thank you Bank of America!) job instability in the form of thankless jobs and sex work from Craig's List all among the the myriad hoops of the immigrant experience many if not all encounter.  These difficulties are made manifest in brilliantly filmed vignettes of Alejandro crawling up into, across, and out of an M.C. Escher-inspired nightmare that . . . well it just works. Trust me.  

I won't go into further story details . . .but the fantasy and fairy tale elements, both dark and comical provide a surreal vista for this absolutely magical tale. 

All of the technical and artistic elements collide and combine in the most beautiful surrealist and sometimes mystical ways. Robert Ouyang Rusli's score is appropriately atmospheric, Fredrik Wenzel's cinematography is brilliant in every frame, the set design which features a   

I'm seeing now reviews have been decidedly mixed with polarization of "loved it" and "hated it" . . . so it's "one of those."  Personally, I can't wait to watch it again.

Leos Carax' Annette: Not Your Average Movie Musical

 

Leos Carax’ (Holy Motors) latest film Annette is not like anything else currently playing . . . well, anywhere.  It’s not a movie for people who like “standard” movies, i.e., “Hollywood.”  First off, it’s an eclectically scored rock opera/musical that is almost entirely sung.  That right there is enough to lose points for many.  Second, it’s title character – a baby girl – is played by a puppet, requiring  its audience to suspend disbelief to a level that most likely are unwilling to suspend it. Neither its score, nor its story fit into a tidy package:  is it comedy?  Tragedy?  Drama?  Yes.  Yes it is.

With all that out of the way I will just go ahead and say it:  I fucking LOVED Annette.  

The story is a sort of morality tale, and, on myriad levels, an examination of art in our culture, the artist’s need for attention, to be loved, and not a little bit of a judgment on “real” art versus “popular” art, in this case, talent versus hype.  It revolves around the unlikely love affair and marriage of popular comedian/performance artist, Henry McHenry and the popular French soprano, Ann Defrasnoux.  

Henry, who bills himself as “God’s Ape” is played with marvelous abandon and frequently terrifying ferocity in an outsized performance by Adam Driver in one of his best roles to date.  Ann, exquisitely played by Marion Cotillard, is his exact opposite;  shy, quiet . . . and talented.  Although clearly the real artist in the relationship, Ann willingly plays second fiddle to Henry’s lust for fame before a fickle public.  There is a bit of the A Star is Born syndrome at work here, in how we catch both at a sort of pinnacle of their popularity, with Ann’s star continuing to rise as Henry’s not only falls from the sky, but self immolates.  There’s trouble afoot as Henry takes to booze and bitterness.  A baby, the title character, Annette, provides some relief, but does not solve the marriages problems, certainly not Henry’s.  

The tale felt to me as having elements of Shakespeare, Greek tragedy, and Bertolt Brecht woven throughout it. That’s a good thing.  

The complex score by the genre-defying band Sparks (Ron and Russell Mael) is difficult to  pin down; a sort of prog-rock spin on Sondheim, with Kurt Weill and Andrew Lloyd Webber.  There are solos, duets, ensembles, choruses, starting with the prologue to the film “So, may we start?”  Being a movie, there was also a feel at times of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, but I digress.  As the film is almost entirely sung, Carax did not want lip-syncing to pre-recorded tracks, but rather for his actors to sing “live” as they would deliver speech.  This makes for a more natural (if one can call singing “natural”) feel, and lending a direct sense of believability as the singers/actors ride motorcycles, have sex, swim, argue, pee, etc. 

 But believability is also not at the heart of this film which is dark, tragic, magical and occupies a world all its own.  Borders between reality, dream and hallucination are crossed and we’re expected to go along for the ride.  Some, like moi, will do so and enjoy it, marvel and wonder at it, while others are more likely to throw up their hands asking, “what the hell am I watching?” 

The singing, as one would expect, is variable from its stars; neither Driver nor Cotillard are natural singers, but they trained and deliver their songs powerfully, she with an expected delicacy, he giving an idea of what wounded pride, regret and jealousy can sound like.  Cotillard’s opera scenes are the only lip-syncing in the film, the voice being that of soprano Catherine Trottmann.  

To go on further would require spoilers revealing the twists and turns of darkness that progress on an inexorable path leading into the center of a troubling vortex.  

All of that being said, Annette succeeds because, while it has something to say, is never less than engaging and most importantly, entertaining.