Just your average boy-meets-girl, girl-sends-boy-on-impossible-quest, boy-meets-fallen-star-who’s-a-girl, boy-falls-in-love-with-star, what’s-a-boy-to-do kind of fairy tale.

Specifically, a star named Yvaine (Claire Danes) falls into Stormhold, a magical realm completely contained within England. Our hero Tristan (Charlie Cox) promises to retrieve the fallen star for Victoria (Sienna Miller) in order to win her hand in marriage. But others also seek the star for more sinister purposes. The fratricidal sons of a recently deceased king want the enchanted gemstone that knocked poor Yvaine out of the sky, because the heir who retrieves it becomes the next king. Additionally, a fantastically sinister witch (Lamia, played by Michelle Pfeiffer) desires the star with the hope of cutting out Yvaine’s heart and eating it, and thereby gaining immortality and renewed youth.

The diverse plot threads interweave – and coalesce at the finale – organically, poetically, and cleverly. The screenplay, direction, and cinematography demonstrate a gestalt effect wherein the result is greater than the sum of the parts. Altogether, “there is a narrative flow that makes you want to be swept along” (1). Kudos to Matthew Vaughn (director and screenwriter), Jane Goldman (screenwriter), Ben Davis (cinematography), and Gavin Bocquet (production design)! The magnificent and sweeping imagery of the movie, and the dramatic musical score by Nan Eshkeri, serve to accentuate the mythicality of the tale, and lend an epic feel to the fairy tale.

The actors contribute to the gestalt effect and help the story shine. Michelle Pfeiffer is radiant in her role as evil witch Lamia. She provides depth and humanity to an otherwise cartoonish, classic fairy tale villain, and her own enjoyment of playing the character comes through. She owns every scene in which she appears. And my goodness, she has aged gracefully and gorgeously!

Claire Danes has certainly grown up (into Gwyneth Paltrow) since her days on the TV series “My So-Called Life.” Her attempt at an English accent threw me at first, but she brings a soft-edged sarcasm to Yvaine that I enjoy. The unusual character makes for a challenging role; and although there are some miscues, on the whole Danes navigates the role ably.

In fact, she and the adorable Charlie Cox enjoy an easy on-screen chemistry that makes their love story believable and adds texture to the film. Cox plays Tristan as a sweet-natured, endearing, fumbling lad who grows into a good-natured, heroic, and dashing protagonist.

Thematically, the metaphor-rich, mythic movie has a lot going for it. Most obviously, “Stardust” is a love story that also asks what true love means. Common fairy tale form demands that the hero go on an epic quest in order to win the heart of his true love. But “Stardust” posits that true love demands nothing in return: no quests, no prizes, no proof.

Furthermore, “Stardust” emphasizes the importance of looking past the surface. Nothing is quite what it seems; and in the realm of Stormhold, that truism is taken to extremes! No character turns out to be what they seem. The story allows various characters to reach inside and find their true selves; it also forces exposure of the characters trying most desperately to be what they’re not. “Each character undergoes a transformation that reveals his or her hidden, truer self, and potential for both good and for evil” (2).

That being said, the movie misses some wonderful opportunities to probe more deeply by tending toward the lowest-common-denominator presentation of many of its characters (more on this shortly), and failing to stray too far from fairy tale convention. “Stardust” is a quirky tale in many ways, innovative in a few, but revolutionary in none. Perhaps we will someday have a fairy tale that is unmistakably contemporary in tone and texture, if not content, but “Stardust” is not that tale.

Still, “Stardust” is a fantastic, lovely story. “While many big stars grace the cast, the film’s real star is the sense of wonder and boundless possibility that [this] magical world creates: [that] even a country boy can become a dashing hero and find true love with a fallen star” (3). The movie is sweet and charming, with feel-good positive messages, and awe-inspiring presentation. “Stardust” will appeal most to those who enjoy love stories and/or fantasy tales. Otherwise, its charms probably won’t have much sway over the viewer.

The film may well have a difficult time finding an audience. In fact, the movie should have done better box office thus far. But “Stardust” has received relatively little publicity, and the studio seems uncertain how to market it. And even though it’s based on a work by well-known and respected author Neil Gaiman, neither he nor the book have the name recognition of many other book-based fantasy films. It’s unjust that “Eragon” (2006) did better box office in its first few weeks than this beautiful story.

“Stardust” is probably more comparable to “The Princess Bride” (1987), or perhaps “Willow” (1988). Many reviews have noted the comparisons. Both “The Princess Bride” and “Willow” are unconventional fairy tales which didn’t find a core audience until release on video and DVD, after which they achieved cult followings. Indeed, the similarity is particularly striking between “Stardust” and “The Princess Bride,” which share a narrative style, light-hearted approach, and true-love story.

But an important difference separates the two: “The Princess Bride” benefits from a relentless sense of humor that helps broaden its attraction; it’s as much comedy as fantasy. Along those lines, “The Princess Bride” eschews the conventions of fantasy and fairy tales in favor of skewering them with satire. While “Stardust” doesn’t take itself seriously (it’s just a fun movie, and knows it), the fantasy emphasis, relatively conventional fairy tale form, and lack of a comedy-all-the-way vibe narrows the demographic appeal.

I have tried to do my part, though. I saw it first on a Friday, and then went again the following Sunday. I’ve talked this movie up to anyone who will listen. And I’ll be first in line to buy the DVD. Let me state it plainly: unless you hate fantasy or love stories, watch this movie!

That is not to say the film is perfect. Minor inconsistencies pop up repeatedly, likely stemming from the adaptation and condensation of the book. Then there are two things about this movie I simply don’t like. Well, more precisely, one thing I don’t like and another about which I have mixed emotions.

I don’t like the sexism of the film. It’s very conventional regarding sex roles. All the women in the film fall into one of two distinct categories: damsel in distress requiring rescue, or evil hag. These folks would probably have a heart attack if they ever met Xena the Warrior Princess.

True, Yvaine has a dramatic moment at the film’s climax, “and it would seem for a moment that women’s agency has been recovered and the gender story of the movie has been somewhat redeemed. But then Tristan asks her why she didn’t use her special powers earlier in the story. Her answer, ‘I can’t shine without you’” (4). The only women who exercise personal agency, power, and/or independence, are evil.

The sexism creeps into other areas as well. For example, Captain Shakespeare (Robert De Niro) teaches Tristan how to swordfight and be a pirate, while teaching Yvaine how to dance and play the piano. Not to mention that when he dresses the two, he directs Yvaine to the silky gowns, because those are of course the most sensible clothes for cross-country adventuring.

Apparently the sexism doesn’t bother too many women, though. As mentioned, I’ve seen the movie twice. I had two female companions my age at the first viewing, and they walked out of the theater chatting wistfully about meeting prince charming someday. My mother saw the movie with me the second time, and I explicitly asked her if the sexism bothered her, and she said, no, it’s just like any old-style fairy tale.

For myself, I agree with Debbie from the blog Body Impolitic: “Lots of fairy tales are like that: 21st century ones don’t have to be, and shouldn’t be” (5).

I understand the book (which I have not read) is much more nuanced regarding characters and relationships. It would seem the movie sacrifices shades of gray for black-and-white, and takes a reductionist approach to all its characters by fitting them into familiar, conventional roles.

Which brings me to the other item, about which I have mixed emotions: the gay content. It’s never explicitly spelled out that one character is gay, so I’ll put it in the “gay vague” category, but it’s pretty obvious what the filmmakers intended. The portrayal is more disappointing than insulting, and decidedly mixed: kudos for inclusivity and friendly treatment; scorn for negative stereotypes.

(WARNING – Moderate Spoiler as I discuss the gay content and positivity in greater detail)

Robert De Niro plays Captain Shakespeare, a pirate with a fearsome reputation who aids Tristan and Yvaine. In fact, his role is absolutely crucial in the movie and impacts multiple subplots. But he has a secret softer side.

Again, it’s never established clearly that he’s gay. He may merely be a mincing transvestite. But in Hollywood, that’s usually code for gay. The stunt casting of De Niro for this role, and his completely over the top performance, does prompt some laughter, but sometimes it was the kind of chuckling that’s half because it’s funny, and half because I-can’t-believe-he-just-did-that. As Orson Scott Card says, the laughs he earns are “hearty but cheap, like a character in a lowbrow sketch-comedy show. I’m not saying it’s not funny; I’m just saying it doesn’t fit in this
movie” (6).

The aspect of the character that bothers me the most is his ultimate lack of agency, which defies the logic of the story. Captain Shakespeare teaches Tristan how to fence. At the beginning of the movie, Tristan tests his fencing skills, and turns out to suck hardcore at it. After Shakespeare’s done with him, he’s a master with a blade. And yet, when Shakespeare himself is later threatened by Prince Septimus (Mark Strong), he’s completely at the mercy of his aggressor. What?!

Oh, right, I forgot. Because gay men are weak, of course, and couldn’t possibly overpower a straight man. In fact, Tristan’s training ends with his requisite victory over Captain Shakespeare, followed later by Prince Septimus completely overpowering Shakespeare, who then must be rescued like the aforementioned damsel in distress.

I do see some off-setting factors that make the gay positivity mixed rather than purely negative.

1. The inclusivity. Frankly, “Stardust” has broken new ground by including even a “gay vague” character. It’s a wide-release, fantasy-genre, fairy tale-style, family-friendly movie with gay content in it. It speaks poorly of the gay-friendliness of the fantasy genre at large that such inclusion should be remarkable. But there it is, and for this particular film, I have to say kudos. I really do appreciate the gay element, even if it is minor and clichéd. I feel frustrated being so grateful for crumbs, but considering other fantasy movies give the gay community nothing, I have to take what I can get. And the inclusion has a gay-friendly vibe to it. Largely because…
2. …the character is a good guy, and the script and story treat him sensitively (relatively speaking). His crew ultimately accepts and embraces him, even though they always knew he was “woopsie.” And Captain Shakespeare aids the protagonists tremendously, imparting wisdom, important skills, and saving their lives. It could be argued the character serves as reminder that even effeminate guys can be commanding and possess warriorly skills; Tristan starts the movie as a very poor fencer, and it’s Captain Shakespeare who teaches him the impressive and successful swordplay he later employs.
3. The film even implies a happy ending for Captain Shakespeare, as he flirts with a handsome lad during the movie’s denouement. Or, as AfterElton.com phrases it: “Hot fop action” (7)!
4. The subplot is thematically rich. If they’re going to be clichéd about it, they might as well mine the stereotypes for as much meaning as they can. And happily, they do. The role provides a nice point-counterpoint to the whole gender role issue, to reputation versus being true to oneself, and to the outside mask versus the internal truth.

Of additional gay interest:  Rupert Everett has a minor role,  and Ian McKellen narrates.

—————————-

(1) Ebert, Roger. “Stardust.” Chicago Sun-Times.
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070809/R EVIEWS/70710009/1023, 10 August 2007 (5 September 2007). Please note, I am quoting a positive line from Ebert, but I don’t want to misrepresent his review: he gave the movie a decidedly lukewarm reception.

(2) Tubbs, Gregg. “Movie Review: Stardust.” UMC.org.
http://www.umc.org/site/c.lwL4KnN1LtH/b.3090985/k.72C0/Movie_Review_Stardust.htm (5 September 2007) More than a review, Tubbs’ piece aims to stimulate discourse on the deeper meaning of the movie.

(3) Ibid.

(4) Debbie. “Neil Gaiman’s Stardust: Evil Crones, Decorative Maidens, and One Shackled Mother.” Body Impolitic. 12 August 2007. http://laurietobyedison.com/discuss/?p=417 (5 September 2007)

(5) Ibid.

(6) Card, Orson Scott. “Stardust: the book and the movie.” Uncle Orson Reviews Everything. 12 August 2007. http://www.hatrack.com/osc/reviews/everything/2007-08-12.shtml (5 September 2007).

(7) Juergens, Brian. “Stardust? More Like Fairydust!” AfterElton.com Best. Gay. Week. Ever. 16 August 2007. http://www.afterelton.com/bgwe/08-17-07?page=0%2C3 (5 September 2007).

Quick disclosure: I have never read the book, so I can only comment on the movie.

Which comes across like “Harry Potter” meets Anne McCaffrey’s “Dragonriders of Pern” meets “Star Wars,” all the while trying to be “Lord of the Rings.” Being derivative can work if the film takes the best from its predecessors and recycles them in an engaging and/or fresh way. “Eragon” does not.

The basic story: Long, long ago in a land far away, an evil Dragon Rider betrayed the other Dragon Riders, killing them all. The evil Galbatorix (John Malkovich) then became king. The story begins with a teenage Eragon (Ed Speelers), who finds a dragon egg. Together, Eragon and his dragon Saphira (voiced by Rachel Weisz) are the last hope to defeat evil forever!

Sound familiar? The similarities with “Star Wars” range from correlating characters to story points and even to specific scenes!

• First, we have the orphaned farm boy who’s actually the last of a magical, mystical kind of warrior … well, last except for the Bad Guy. Thus: Eragon = Luke, Jedi Knight = Dragon Rider
• Then the orphaned farm boy meets up with a Jedi Master, er, I mean, former Dragon Rider, who’s hiding out but then agrees to accompany the boy and tutor him. Brom (Jeremy Irons) = Obi Wan Kenobi
• Meanwhile, we have an evil emperor / king, but the real villain is his magical lieutenant. Galbatorix = the Emperor, Durza (Robert Carlyle) = Darth Vader
• Although it should be noted, the evil king in “Eragon” does take on some of Darth Vader’s résumé; specifically, he’s the traitor who killed all his fellow magical, mystical warriors. So really, the story takes Darth Vader and the Emperor, mixes them together, then splices them apart, and suddenly we have Galbatorix and Durza. Darth Vader is way, way cooler than any of them.
• And where would we be without an imperiled princess (”Save me, Eragon, you’re my only hope!”)? Arya (a very bland Sienna Guillory) = Leia
• The orphaned farm boy then joins up with rebels in order to oppose the Emperor, I mean, Galbatorix. Rebel Alliance = the Vardan
• Finally, as I mentioned, the two films even share specific camera shots. For example, a scene of Eragon looking wistfully over a field while the sun sets strongly recalls a similar shot in “Star Wars” of Luke overlooking the sand dunes while the suns set

This movie suffers from the same problem as the movie version of “Harry Potter: The Goblet of Fire” (2005): it tries to cram a 544-page book into a 2-hour movie. The result mashes important scenes together without giving the relationships and events any time to be developed, fleshed out, and given meaning. Thus, the development that occurs in the movie is stilted, unnatural, and unbelievable. Supposedly, Eragon matures over the course of the film, but how can the viewer really know that? Giving the book the benefit of a doubt (since I haven’t read it), I’m going to assume that screenwriter Peter Buchman just did a terrible job of adapting the story to the screen.

I have a great idea for a drinking game for this movie. Frankly, heavy drinking during the movie would probably help. So here it is: every time someone tells Eragon that he’s the most important person in the world, that he’s more important than so-and-so, or that he needs to save himself first, take a drink. This movie is all about adolescent wish fulfillment, about the desire and/or belief that you’re the center of the universe. It’s tempting for me to attribute this to author Christopher Paolini rather than the movie, considering he famously wrote this book as a 15-year-old, but again, since I haven’t read the book nor met Paolini, I can’t say.

I do wish the movie hadn’t taken itself so seriously. A tongue-in-cheek approach would have worked much better, giving us a film that would be fun to watch instead of painful.

Jeremy Irons provided the only good acting, although he wasn’t given a lot to work with. (** Moderate spoiler warning regarding Brom’s history and what happens to him in the film: skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want to know **) For me, the most powerful and poignant scene shows Brom flying on Saphira, but that scene only conveyed emotion to me because I supplied the details myself. In other words, I’ve read Anne McCaffrey’s “Dragonriders of Pern” series. In her books, dragonriders and dragons form a unique, powerful bond. When a dragon dies, it devastates the dragonrider. I projected this knowledge to Brom, and voila! I had an emotional moment. If I hadn’t read McCaffrey’s work, the scene would have just been another underdeveloped sequence of camera shots, as evidenced by the blank stares I got when discussing this scene with friends.

Regarding the other actors: Malkovich didn’t even try. He had something like six lines total, all of them corny. You could just tell he was tabulating his paycheck in his head for his one day of work.

Speeler’s acting was passable. In fact, I might even say he did a good job considering he has zero previous professional experience. He can be charming on screen, but mostly his one-note portrayal of an adolescent know-it-all irritated me. Of course, that’s the way the movie was written and directed.

Carlyle’s role was way too caricatured. Because of the similarities to Star Wars, I found myself craving a Darth Vader figure, but Durza smacks of Trying Too Hard. It’s unfortunate too, because Carlyle has demonstrated he can do much better.

Of course, many different people come together to make a movie. Actors are important, but they can only do so much with a bad script. If they’re really good, they might be able to compensate for poor direction (Irons was the only one who accomplished this). None of them can do anything about crappy editing.

On the positive side, the film has great special effects. Which it should, given that director Stefen Fangmeier comes from a visual effects background.

Naturally, the final scene sets up the sequel, turning “Eragon” into a 104-minute trailer for the second movie.

“Pan’s Labyrinth” is an excellent, skillfully crafted piece of filmmaking with only a few minor flaws. Not only emotionally moving and intellectually evocative, the film also simply entertains. Few films succeed on all three levels, but this one proves to be a diamond in the rough.

Admittedly, I had anticipated a grimmer version of “What Dreams May Come” (1998), a movie wherein the fantasy realm was the major thrust of the film and the real-world elements just a subplot. Here the reverse is true, and even the fantasy realms were toned down from what I expected. The imagery and style were beautiful and striking but not as breathtaking or sweeping as I had imagined or hoped.

Summary

Set in Francisco Franco’s Spain shortly after the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s, protagonist Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) is accompanying her pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) to their new home, a rural military outpost run by her new step-father, the brutal Capitán Vidal (Sergi López). The Capitán has twin obsessions: having a son (he is more concerned with his unborn child’s well-being than the mother’s) and destroying the rebels hiding in the woods. He does not at first realize the resistance to his violent tyranny residing within his own household. Ofelia, meanwhile, finds herself escaping into the fantasy realm of Pan’s Labyrinth. Pan (Doug Jones) tells Ofelia she is the long-lost princess of a supernatural realm, but before she can return, she must prove her worthiness by completing three tasks.

Quality

In many respects, “Pan’s Labyrinth” is a masterpiece of filmmaking. The direction, cinematography, and acting shine. “Pan’s Labyrinth” is one of the most carefully constructed films I’ve seen in a long time, and the attention to detail manages to bring unity to some very disparate storylines.

Baquero, López, and Maribel Verdú playing housekeeper Mercedes are simply mesmerizing. The character of the López borders on cartoonish, and an injury he suffers toward the end of the film doesn’t help, recalling the Joker from “Batman” (1989). But López brings an intensity and ferocity to the role that imbues the character with all the dimensions of a man trapped by his own ideology and warped by his self-righteousness.

Baquero, at times a bit bland, nevertheless brings the requisite sense of innocence, wonder, and guilelessness to her character. But it is Verdú who truly shines in the movie. She becomes the film’s moral and emotional center with her moving, layered performance as a rebel torn between many duties and loyalties.

As mentioned, the rich, detailed visuals in the fantasy realm give the movie a textured, supernatural feel. In addition, for the use of a foreign language in the film contributes to the otherworldly atmosphere.

Minor Criticisms

Having said all that, I expected more from the visuals. This is just personal peccadilloes, of course, but I think the fantasy scenes would have benefited from being more visually discernible from the rest of the movie. The whole film is uniformly dark and gray. With the exception of the final scene, so were the fantasy scenes.

In fact, the fantasy thread felt underutilized. By far the bulk of the movie focuses on the “real” world of the Capitán hunting for rebels and awaiting the birth of his son. The fantasy scenes, although powerful and striking enough to feel substantial out of proportion to their actual screen time, still comprised little more than a subplot. One of the scenes introduced an extremely creepy and metaphorically rich character called the Pale Man (Doug Jones again). But his role was limited, whereas this figure could have made a powerful counterpoint to the Capitán.

The “real” world story also sometimes dragged with director Guillermo del Toro’s careful, methodical approach to the story.

In addition, I found a few logical inconsistencies in the movie. I wouldn’t expect a fairy tale-style story to follow the logic of the “real” world, but I do expect it to follow its own internal logic. It sometimes failed at this. For example, one scene used an hourglass to introduce some dramatic tension, but the ultimate resolution of the scene rendered the hourglass meaningless. Unfortunately, this turns the prop into a contrived plot device rather than a meaningful element of the scene.

The film’s weaknesses are few and minor, but sufficient to keep me from scoring it a full 5.0.

Analysis

** WARNING – MAJOR SPOILERS FOLLOW. The rest of this writing contains more analysis than review, so please stop here until you’ve seen the film, and then return. Trust me – don’t spoil your first viewing of this movie. This section SPOILS THE ENDING of the movie. **

Most fairy tales, at their core, are quite dark and gruesome. They are also, by nature, exaggerated. Like walking through a funhouse of mirrors, we are reflected back at ourselves in distorted or fantastical forms. Further, translating a fairy tale for an adult will almost always render it at least a little disturbing. Consider Harry Potter, whose adoptive family is clearly abusive. I always have a hard time reading those sections of the Harry Potter books. But it is the grimness that give otherwise silly stories much of their depth, and the exaggerated elements that allow us to hold them at arm’s length and say that they’re not real.

Unusually, in “Pan’s Labyrinth” the darkness is founded more in the real world than the fantasy. By far, the worst monster of the film is the Capitán, whose cruelty shocks and horrifies beyond any of the supernatural elements of the story. Illustrations in the Pale Man’s domain depict him skewering small children, and although he bites the heads of cute little fairies (well, okay, the fairies all looked mildly sinister to me), he seems rather bloodless for a supernatural villain. It does suggest that the Pale Man is Ofelia’s fantasy translation of the Captain.

There’s a saying that the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was to make us believe he doesn’t exist. I don’t agree: I think the greatest trick is to make us believe we’re not him.

We are the worst monsters we’ve ever met. For all the fairy tales, ghost stories, and myths we tell ourselves, the evil of the world isn’t “out there.” We may project it out there, trying to disown it or understand it more clearly, but ultimately we’re the ones who give birth to it, who make it real in the world through our choices and actions. And by placing it “out there,” we divest ourselves of responsibility for it, which only allows us to perpetuate it, both collectively and individually.

Dogmatic ideology provides fertile ground for evil to take root. Fascist regimes will render some group into the Cause of All Suffering. All we have to do is eliminate them (Jews, rebels, whosoever disagrees with the particular ideology), and the rest of us will exist in paradise. The Catholic Church does not escape Del Toro’s recrimination. In fact, Franco’s autocratic rule over Spain is sometimes called National Catholicism in that the Catholic Church’s moral system was rigidly and violently enforced during Franco’s regime, leading to an era of censorship and repression. In fact, the Catholic Church explicitly supported Franco’s rule. In the movie, the village priest dines with the Captain, a subtle symbol of the Church’s affirmation of the Capitán’s fascism and tyranny. Del Toro even says, “The Pale Man represents the Church for me… [He] represents fascism and the Church eating the children when they have a perversely abundant banquet in front of them. There is almost a hunger to eat innocence” (1).

Del Toro offers another strike against blind ideology and religion. In one scene, Pan admonishes Ofelia, “You have to stay in this world forever because you didn’t obey.” But at the end, Ofelia succeeds specifically because she disobeyed. She did not allow someone else to think for her, nor did she seek to elevate herself at the cost of violence to another. Another scene in the “real” world undergirds this theme. The Capitán, discovering the duplicity of the Doctor (Álex Angulo), says, “You could have obeyed me!” The Doctor replies, “But Captain, obey for obeying’s sake? That’s something only people like you do.” Choice defines what we are as human, and as Del Toro says, “Blind obedience castrates, negates, hides, and destroys what makes us human” (2). He also states, “I thought it would be great to counterpoint an institutional lack of choice, which is fascism, with the chance to choose, which the girl takes in this movie” (3).

At the same time, another scene muddies this particular theme a bit: Ofelia’s disobedience in the scene with the Pale Man, by eating the grapes, did lead to a real, negative consequence. But perhaps it is fascist of me to demand perfection from her. Flaws and mistakes makes us real, yielding vulnerability and raw, unvarnished humanity. (Truth be told, though, I thought Ofelia stopping to eat the grapes was contrived and heavy-handed, simultaneously predictable and hard to believe.)

The vulnerability and weakness of the flesh becomes another thematic thread. In fact, pain and suffering are recurring motifs throughout the movie: Ofelia’s mother’s terminal pregnancy, scenes of slaughter and battle, torture, the Capitán’s own terrible wound, the amputation of a gangrenous leg, etc. Recall how Pan threatens Ofelia with old age and death if she fails in her tasks. The infirmity of the body is the curse of the real world, and the ability to suffer the aspect of the human condition Ofelia would most like to shed.

Some traditions in Catholicism suggest that physical suffering brings us closer to God: hence practices like horse-hair shirts and self-flagellation. In this film, suffering is more of an impetus to escape the world.

Which brings us to an unusual thematic twist in the movie: going into the light. Usually this means ascending into Heaven, but the fairy tale at the very beginning of the film reverses this. The Other Side here is subterranean, dark and enclosed. “Pan’s Labyrinth” portrays the real world as the world of light. And yet, then the real world is shown as violent and gruesome. So where is the light we seek? The film never portrays a higher realm. By implication, the film postulates that we are the source of our own light. Since the film clearly supposes that we are the source of evil in the world, it makes sense that the converse would be true as well.

Ofelia demonstrates this more obviously than anyone. In fact, Ofelia writes her own story metaphorically, and almost literally, by using the blank book Pan gives her. And this presents one of the more interesting questions raised by the movie: is the fantasy realm of Pan’s Labyrinth real, or is it just in Ofelia’s head?

I don’t see it as an either/or. We live in a world of duality, and we often treat it like a zero-sum game where if it’s not black, it must be white. But I am fascinated by the idea that there can be multiple worlds superimposed on each other. This is one of the most interesting elements of, say, a world like “Silent Hill” (2006). The city of Silent Hill has several “versions” or “dimensions” which exist simultaneously: the ordinary, “real” Silent Hill, the ghostly and supernatural “gray” Silent Hill, and the nightmarish and evil “dark” Silent Hill.

Is it possible that Ofelia and her step-father live in two overlapping but fundamentally different worlds? He doesn’t see the Faun at the end of the film because, while Ofelia exists in both worlds, he exists in only one? Or is his preconceived understanding of the world so narrow but so deeply ideological that he simply can’t see the Faun? Confirmation bias is a psychological principle stating that people selectively search for, and interpret, information in the environment in order to confirm their pre-existing ideas. Concordantly, disconfirmation bias states that people are especially critical of information that contradicts their preconceptions and at the same are uncritically accepting of information that supports their preconceived ideas. Literally not seeing an entire magical creature would certainly be an exaggeration of these experimentally tested concepts, but as I’ve already stated, fairy tales are the province of exaggeration.

Perhaps it is Ofelia’s “innocence” as a child that allows her to see Pan. The adult mind, so fixed in its ideas, can neither perceive nor process that kind of information. Recall that Ofelia’s mother told her that magic is not real, especially for grown-ups. Similarly, Mercedes tells Ofelia that she used to believe in fairies, when she was a girl, but no longer. As Wayne Dyer would argue, we’ll see it when we believe it. Lacking belief, we blind ourselves to the magic that surrounds us. Or, unbelieving, we are unable to manufacture magic in our lives. Says Del Toro, “’Pan’s Labyrinth’ is a movie about a girl who gives birth to herself into the world she believes in” (4).

Consider the famous quote commonly attributed to Racter (an artificial intelligence computer program, short for Raconteur): “The human doesn’t see things as they are, but as he is.”

The movie’s finale doesn’t really provide the catharsis the viewer may be looking for. It didn’t in my case, at any rate. We want it to be clearly established whether the fairy tale is real or not. (Also, I really wanted the Pale Man to bite off the Capitán’s head.)

Instead, the two sides of the story resolve themselves separately. Ofelia descends into her fantasy realm forever, or at least finally. And the Capitán earns his reward: not only death but anonymity from his own son. And yet, after causing so much suffering and death, his own demise seems anticlimactic.

Ofelia’s final scene has distinctly religious overtones, with a pieta-style mother-and-baby sitting in a throne next to a gentleman who resembles a traditional Judeo-Christian God-figure. In a way, this presentation jars the viewer, diverting from the film’s otherwise agnostic vibe. But perhaps it simply brings “Pan’s Labyrinth” full circle by emphasizing that the Other World is mysterious and ultimately unknowable to those of us who have not yet shed the mortal coil.

In the words of Guillermo Del Toro: “The movie is like a Rorschach test where, if you view it and you don’t believe, you’ll view the movie as, ‘Oh, it was all in her head.’ If you view it as a believer, you’ll see clearly where I stand, which is it is real.” (5)

(1) Michael Guillén, “Pan’s Labyrinth: Interview with Guillermo Del Toro,” Twitchfilm.net, 16 December 2006, http://www.twitchfilm.net/archives/008507.html (21 January 2007).
(2) Ibid.
(3) Mark Kermode, “Review: Pan’s Labyrinth,” The Observer, 5 November 2006, http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,1939500,00.html (23 January 2007).
(4) Ibid.
(5) Michael Guillén, “Pan’s Labyrinth: Interview with Guillermo Del Toro,” Twitchfilm.net, 16 December 2006, http://www.twitchfilm.net/archives/008507.html (21 January 2007).

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” is my favorite of the Harry Potter movies (so far – as of this writing, we’re up to the fifth out of seven). Several elements come together in “Prisoner of Azkaban” that had not yet matured in the previous two films: the principal actors’ performances, the atmosphere, and a sophisticated story. But the real reason I enjoy this movie so much: it’s just plain fun, like an amusement park dark ride which takes the viewer through one colorful, exciting, magical, multilayered, multisensory scene after another. This is the first and so far only Harry Potter movie that stands on its own as a fantasy adventure film, without reference to the books or the other movies.

Sirius Black (a delightfully sinister Gary Oldman) has escaped from the terrible wizard-prison, Azkaban. And he’s reportedly looking for Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), whom he blames for his imprisonment. So Harry tries to play it safe at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he finds that more difficult than usual, given the presence of the sinister Dementors, looking like Death incarnate.
The Dementors make a brilliant entrance near the beginning of this film in one of the most suspenseful, chilling entrances a villainous character has enjoyed in film. Certainly the Dementors shine as premiere evil creatures in Rowlings’ story. Frankly, they’re scarier than Harry’s nemesis Voldemort, who mercifully plays little role in this film. The Dementors, for all that they exist as special effects, also give Radcliffe a wonderful foil to act against.

Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint have all matured into their roles, bringing an authenticity to the screen that was absent in the previous two films. I was particularly pleased to see Hermione (Watson) enjoys a pleasantly meaty role in this movie. On the whole, Harry’s sidekicks Hermione and Ron (Grint) are underutilized in the films: They enjoy fully fleshed-out subplots in the books, which are then trimmed out of the movie versions.

Scriptwriter Steve Kloves does a fantastic job with this adaptation, staying faithful to the book and maintaining not only the major plot events but also the atmosphere and mood of the text. (Oddly, he was considerably less successful in adapting the next book, “Goblet of Fire,” onto the big screen; still, I have sympathy for him – of all the books, “Goblet of Fire” has probably been the hardest to condense into a movie). Meanwhile, new director Alfonso Cuarón takes the strong script and runs with it.

The film offers a darker mood to the film franchise, but also brighter visuals – and the two complement each other quite nicely. Actually, it’s a lesson I wish the later films would have learned. It’s true that the visuals contribute to atmosphere and mood; but the filmmakers are telling fairly rich stories here; they don’t need Harry to wear gray through most of the movie (as in “Order of the Phoenix”) to accentuate the dark themes. In fact, the gray just brings the future movies down, taking them past grim to the edge of depressing. But not so in “The Prisoner of Azkaban,” and that may well be what makes the film work so well for me: it’s got the moodiness, the dark edge that suggests more sophisticated themes, and it’s got visuals to delight and substitute for the magic and innocent whimsy that gets left behind with childhood. Add in gorgeous natural vistas of the woods and mountains surrounding Hogwarts, and we have a beautiful, sweeping adventure story.

If you’re a Harry Potter fan, you’ve likely already seen this film. If you haven’t read the books or seen the films, you might start with this well-made offering to see how it appeals to you. It’s the one film strong enough to stand on its own.

“Prisoner of Azkaban” is also the first Harry Potter movie to contain any sexual innuendo or metaphor. Each story Rowlings has penned grows successively darker, grimmer, and more violent; but the sexuality of her characters remains solidly early adolescent with nascent, uncertain fumbling. It’s understandable; she’s writing primarily for a young demographic. But it’s not realistic; 13-year-olds like Harry, Ron, and Hermione would just be finding their hormonal urges kicking into high gear and by the last book, they’d be shagging for their lives (they don’t, though – sorry if that spoils it for you!). Therefore, it was an amusing wink-wink scene when the film opens with Harry playing with his wand under the bedcovers.

Indeed, how can one dismiss the series’ most prevalent phallic symbol: the wand, the means by which a wizard makes his magic. And of course, Harry’s most famous and powerful accomplishment with his wand, revealed for the first time in this film, is the protective Patronus Charm. Specifically, Harry points his wand, and a huge white stream erupts from its tip, taking the form of a stag. Uh-huh. Well, at least we know Harry is growing up virile. At least by metaphor. At any rate, he’s certainly the right age for that to happen when he plays with his wand.

( WARNING – moderate spoiler follows if you haven’t already read the book or seen the film. I further explain the gay content, such as it is, but necessarily reveal some facts about the characters/plot that are used as plot twists by the story. I do not spoil the ending of the film).

Regarding gay content, “Prisoner of Azkaban” contains nothing explicit. One might argue the film contains, metaphorically, a hint of homophobia at the very end, when Harry finds Professor Lupin (a werewolf) packing his bags. Professor Lupin explains that it’s been revealed that he’s a werewolf and that he’s resigning rather have parents demand Dumbledore fire him or withdraw their students from school. He says that “people like me” would not be considered acceptable to teach children. So, yes, there’s a bit of metaphor there; and I admit Professor Lupin has a bit of a fey vibe in the film (he is resolutely not gay, however, as future books make clear).

But I am reluctant to take this metaphor too far: if we take a werewolf as a metaphor for a gay person, well, in the movie a werewolf (at least when he’s in werewolf form) is an evil creature that abandons human rationality for base animal instinct and immediately tries to prey on children, literally. Many parents do not want a gay person teaching their children because they believe, thanks to inaccurate prejudices, that gay people prey on children. Professor Lupin is a kindly, fatherly figure; in fact, he’s the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has yet enjoyed during Harry’s time there. But when he changes, yes, he becomes a literal predator. If that’s the gay content, I’d just as soon overlook it.

For a more in-depth analysis of gay themes (such as they are) in the so-called Potterverse, check out my essay “The Gay of Harry Potter: Subtext and Omission.”

The movie begins with an attack on Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), the eponymous hero of the series, and his Muggle (non-magical) cousin Dudley (Harry Melling) by a pair of spectral Dementors. Harry uses his magic to save them both, only to find the Ministry of Magic puts him on trial for using magic in front of a Muggle. But apparently the Ministry of Magic is too busy denying the return of the evil Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) to act sensibly.

In fact, as part of their effort to convince themselves and everyone else that everything is hunky dory, they appoint a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: Dolores Umbridge (played to pink, sadistic perfection by Imelda Staunton). Unfortunately, she doesn’t believe in practical education, and Harry ends up tutoring a group of students on the sly. That secret society mirrors another one: the Order of the Phoenix, a group dedicated to opposing Voldemort. Meanwhile, Umbridge – who would make McCarthy proud – gradually increases her power at the school in her efforts to root out opposing viewpoints.

Harry squarely takes center stage in this movie. His friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) mostly fill in as set props; their fully fleshed out subplots from the book have largely been edited out.

Radcliffe shines in his portrayal of a moody, angry, adolescent Harry. Yes, of course, the ostensible conflict remains Harry’s struggle against the evil Voldemort, whose movie makeup makes him seem not so much sinister as someone who’s had more than his fair share of chemotherapy.

But the movie really focuses on Harry’s struggle with himself, and rightfully so: it is within our own souls that the most important battles are fought, particularly as we mature. Harry feels very isolated and alone. Will he come to see how he contributes to his own isolation? He feels angry all the time and begins to wonder if he’s not more like Voldemort than he wishes. Will he recognize the ways in which they are different?

Radcliffe has really matured into the role, and his performance makes for a compelling, deeply-textured character arc.

Also, the special effects are fantastic. One of the best sequences while Harry is secretly teaching his fellow students (known as “Dumbledore’s Army”) to summon Patronus (protective) Charms. Indeed, that subplot was my favorite in the movie.

On the other hand, the story meandered. Scriptwriter Michael Goldenberg did a good job of adapting a sprawling book into a 2-1/2 hour movie (frankly better than Steve Kloves did with the previous film, “Goblet of Fire”). Nevertheless, one can’t shake the feeling that these latest films (books, too) have a distinctly different flavor from the earlier ones.

First, the earlier stories (“Sorcerer’s Stone,” “Chamber of Secrets,” and “Prisoner of Azkaban”) certainly contributed to the overall story arc of Harry versus Voldemort, but remained self-contained tales with clear beginning, middle, and end. But “Order of the Phoenix” comes across rather as a bridge between the last movie and the next.

Second, like “Goblet of Fire,” this movie is visually quite gray and grim, and the subdued set design and cinematography reflect a much, much more serious and somber tome. The sense of magic and wonder that permeated the first few stories has gone missing. “Order of the Phoenix” still enjoys a panoply of engaging characters and a suspenseful story; but I still mourn for what’s gone lost.

Interestingly, this film contains the sole gay reference in all of Harry Potterdom. At the very beginning of the film, Harry’s cousin Dudley, gay baits Harry with a taunt: “Who’s Cedric? Your boyfriend?” So I went ahead and scored for both Gay Content (very low obviously) and Gay Positivity (also low, considering the only content is a taunt which equates “gay” to “bad”). I write more extensively on the gay content in Harry Potter in my essay “The Gay of Harry Potter: Subtext and Omission.”

It’s a solid story with strong acting (really, a virtual who’s who of British actors) and great special effects, so I definitely recommend it. However, “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” remains unchallenged as my favorite among the films.

It all began with Roald Dahl’s pen, when he wrote “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” (1964), wherein several “lucky” children win a contest to enter the self-contained magical universe of Willy Wonka’s world famous Chocolate Factory. The book was adapted in 1971 into “Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” (1971) starring Gene Wilder. Now Tim Burton has remade the story in his own vision, and I’m finding it impossible not to compare the two film versions. But at the same time, I’m not sure how useful that is. They’re just so DIFFERENT.

Although directing skill varies widely, few directors have such a distinctive style that they easily stand out from other directors. Tim Burton is one of the few. His vision of Roald’s story is darker, almost vaguely menacing. Johnny Depp’s Willy Wonka as the boy-who-never-grew-up smacks of psychological disorder and is slightly unnerving to behold. And yet, there’s something appealing about the freedom to speak without self-censorship. And isn’t play-as-work the dream of any working adult?

It’s interesting to watch Depp’s Wonka interact with the children. They’re so ill-mannered and arrogant, they’re practically begging for a thrashing. If you were a kid in their company, you just know they’d make you feel worthless and inadequate. If you were an adult in their company, you’d want to throttle their parents for not teaching their kids how to behave. But social decorum constrains us. Not so with Willy Wonka, whose stature as adult and proprietor of the establishment insulates him from the consequences of his own childish, not-quite-sadistic streak.

The visuals are brilliant, with lush, bright colors and uniquely designed sets. Still, even visually the production seems dark. For example, after the children first enter the factory, they enter a huge chamber filled with rolling grassy hills dotted flowers and trees, and a river of chocolate. Everything is edible, even the grass. In the 1971 film version, the set feels like an open field at midday, all bright and cheery. In Burton’s version, although the colors are intense and multi-hued, the room is clearly completely contained and darkly lit, giving the impression of a field at night lit by spotlights.

I actually prefer this Charlie (Freddie Highmore) to the other (Peter Ostrum), who always irritated me. His innocence seemed forced and almost smarmy, like a goody two-shoes. But Highmore brings the same innocence and hopefulness to the role with an understated charm. Of course, Highmore has great big open eyes reminiscent of a puppy. Maybe that has something to do with it.

Both humor and pacing, meanwhile, are inconsistent. Many of the performances are just strange, and it’s hard to know how to react to them. In the scene where the children first meet Wonka, they are treated to an egocentric animatronic display celebrating Mr. Wonka. Fireworks in the display set the animatronic figures on fire, and the children watch as plastic flesh melts and glass eyeballs pop out. It’s hilarious and horrible and completely bizarre, and how are you supposed to react to that?

As for the film’s pacing, the opening sequence struck me as overlong. A couple of times I found myself thinking, “Get on with it already.” The meat of the movie is Wonka and his factory.

Surprisingly, the film contains the suggestions of two gay characters. They make a very brief appearance near the beginning, serving to update the viewer (and Charlie, who overhears them talking) about the status of the five golden tickets. These two men are walking their dogs, and the film suggests they are gay through their mannerisms, like two effeminate and flamboyant queens walking their precious little Boo-Boos. In a way, they fit seamlessly into the film, because everyone’s behavior seems exaggerated. It’s an interesting situation, because their mannerisms are so stereotypical that I am tempted to score down on the Gay Positivity. But if that hadn’t had those mannerisms, I might not have even pegged them as gay characters, and they would disappear into invisibility.

I did not score for Gay Positivity due to insufficient gay content.