Pan's Labyrinth
Reviewed by Theo Michelfeld
Posted: January 21, 2007

I would have to be a real nit-picker to give Pan’s Labyrinth a negative review. But I feel one coming on.

Let me begin by giving the film its due. It is extremely creative, which in my experience tends to be a trump card. The acting is superb, and the characters are engaging. The directing is proficient at best, competent at worst—anyway much better than average. And now, a day removed from seeing it, I remain haunted by three or four scenes that no doubt tapped into some uniquely-human, gene-coded mythology, by which my subconscious navigates the emotional cosmos, while my ego maintains its pathetic illusion of autonomy. I tip my cap to the director, Guillermo Del Toro, for he has successfully manipulated my psyche. But this is a consistently, fundamentally un-enjoyable movie.

The film takes place in the mountains of Spain, in 1944, in the aftermath of civil war. A pre-adolescent girl, Ofelia, has been brought to a military outpost to live with her new stepfather, Captain Vidal, a sadistic tyrant with no sympathetic qualities whatsoever. In her real world, Ofelia is powerless and frequently terrified. But in her imagination, a sunless and mostly horrific fairy-tale, she is a resourceful underworld princess, who seeks to regain her lost immortality through a series of daring trials. If that sounds interesting, I agree, it is. The movie is fascinating. But when all is said and done, you have a film about the power of the imagination as a means of escape. All hail this theme, for its childlike wholesomeness. And if you really NEED this theme reinforced, by all means see this movie, in spite of what you have to endure before the film ends, and the lights come up, and you are back in the fluorescent, yawning consolation of your local mall, content to escape, for the time being, from your imagination.

Those are my positive disclaimers. Meanwhile I’ve accused the film of being unpleasant, and I am obliged to explain myself. From the get-go, the director sets himself up with too many esthetic challenges to overcome. The story may be deep, but its scope is narrow. There are only four or five locations, and the events take place over maybe a couple of weeks. The sets are dark, sometimes subterranean. And in the outdoor scenes, trees overwhelm the sky, and frequently it is raining. These fundamental esthetic qualities are not errors by the director. It fact it seems appropriate to confine the viewer, who is asked to sympathize with a powerless and essentially imprisoned young girl. Even the subtitles (it’s a Spanish language film) seem to reinforce the emotional content (they guide the eyes downward, toward the earth) while at the same time restricting the viewer’s breathing room. (Regarding subtitles, I am talking about a filmgoing experience, and not, of course, an artistic choice by the director.) As for the film’s fairy-tale monsters, these are brilliantly conceived but at times unpleasantly rendered. In particular, I am thinking of the film’s recurring faun character, who added to my sense of claustrophobia by teetering around with about 200 pounds of prosthetic makeup wrapped around his head.

Then there’s the torture, mutilation, and prolonged scenes of psychological intimidation. The film’s real world monster, Captain Vidal, exerts tremendous force on this movie. He is brilliantly rendered, and remarkable in that he is one of the few thoroughly un-redeemable characters I can remember encountering in a serious movie. A bold decision, but again, the director has created for himself another disadvantage by asking the viewer to spend so much time in such objectionable company.

And finally, there is the challenge of maintaining two simultaneous plots. On paper, these stories fit nicely together, and at times Del Toro does weave deftly between them, focusing our attention on significant real world objects and their dreamworld doppelgangers: two keys, two knives, etc. At other times the director cuts randomly and maybe a bit desperately between the two realities, reminding us, in a clumsy way, of the story’s difficult parallel nature. Furthermore, there are significant plot points where supernatural elements are visible to adults, and others where they are not. With such an abstract film, some might argue that these inconsistencies don’t matter. But for me, when you break the rules, you break the spell. And this film has placed all its chips on keeping the viewer spellbound.

In theory, all of these obstacles would be surmountable, and all the shortcomings forgivable. A creative failure is often more fun and more satisfying than a paint-by-numbers success. But “fun” and “satisfying” are not words I can assign to this picture. “Admirable” is the kindest word I can use to describe it. Pan’s Labyrinth is not a bad movie—far from it. But it is not good enough to overcome the experience of watching it.  

Copyright © 2007 Theo Michelfeld