It's difficult to put Pan's Labyrinth into words. It seems that, regardless of the combination of superlatives I use, I just don't do it justice. Maybe emotions would do a better job; perhaps the way I felt after leaving the cinema, and in the moments after that, would be a more expressive medium.
I cried. I guess it's not hip, cool, or manly to admit that, but it's the truth. I wept. Lots. As the credits rolled, as I drove home, as I went to bed, and even as I dressed for work the following morning. Guillermo del Toro's film had such a brutal and unexpected emotional impact on me that I still get a little choked up when I think about it, days later.
El Laberinto del Fauno, to give the film its native title, has been described by some as a "dark fairy tale". To a degree that's the case, but it doesn't convey its entire meaning or majesty. There are essentially two elements: the fairy tale distractions of a lonely young girl - Ofelia - and the horrific and ultimately inescapable violence of post-war Facist Spain. The fairy tale elements have an almost Clive Barker-meets-Tim Burton style to them - with a very Alice in Wonderland feel - and are quite unlike anything I've seen before, while the Spanish storyline has moments that caused more audience members to squirm uncomfortably than any film in recent memory.
I don't want to spoil anything, so I'm going to keep this brief. I rarely include spoilers in any of my reviews, but with Pan I feel that I could talk, at length, about every element of its production. The aesthetic, del Toro's direction, the musical score, even the sound production, are all as close to perfection as you could hope. Every creak of leather, buzz of wings, subtle camera movement, or haunting melody draws the viewer further into Pan's world, just as Ofelia is drawn into her newly discovered fairy tale world.
Article comments