The Ottery
“If an otter can’t have fun doing something, it just simply won’t do it.”

Pan’s Labyrinth: This Faun Is No Mr. Tumnus

January 22nd, 2007

Why is it that no one is talking about how three Mexican filmmakers have taken the world by storm this winter? Alejandro Iñárritu’s Babel did win the Golden Globe for Best Drama, and it’s quite possible that it will be one of the Oscar nominees for Best Picture—which is curious, because though I haven’t seen Babel yet, reviews seem to indicate that it’s weakest of the trio of Mexican films. Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth did win Best Picture from the Society of Film Critics, but nobody really pays attention to them (except for obsessive people like me). And Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men, which may be the best of the three, is getting very little awards love at all, perhaps because of its (and Pan’s) late release date (see the aforementioned Mark Harris article for an explanation of how release dates can affect a film’s Oscar chances).

But people are seeing Pan’s Labyrinth and Children of Men, in greater numbers than they saw Babel. Pan’s Labyrinth was 7^th at the box office this past weekend, despite playing in only 609 theatres across the nation (most others in the top ten were playing in at least 2,000 theatres). Not bad for a subtitled film.

Iñárritu, Cuarón, and del Toro are all friends, and Cuarón even served as a producer for Pan’s Labyrinth. I found that connection especially interesting, since Cuarón’s version of A Little Princess (which I highly recommend) combines fairy-tale scenes and “real” scenes, as does Pan’s Labyrinth. In both films, fantasy isn’t merely an escape; it’s survival, and it matters.

I’m particularly impressed at del Toro’s dedication to making sure he hasn’t portrayed fantasy as an escape—which he does by making the young protagonist Ofelia’s ventures into the fantasy world scary and grimy. She gets real mud on her clothes when she goes on a fantastic-real quest. In fact, the biggest difference between the fantasy and realistic worlds of the movie is that, in the fantasy realm, Ofelia can act, whereas she is largely powerless in the world of 1940’s Spain.

Del Toro also anchors the fantasy plot in reality by drawing deliberate connections between Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) and Mercedes (Maribel Verdu of Y Tu Mamá Tambien, which may be the only Cuarón movie I don’t like), Ofelia’s stepfather’s housekeeper. It’s clear that Mercedes sees something of herself in Ofelia, and del Toro reinforces that bond by giving both characters archetypal objects that mirror each other.

Ofelia and Mercedes are also alike in their bravery and their refusal to follow orders without question (a central theme of the movie). The film’s “real” story is set just after the end of the Spanish Civil War, while the Franco-istas are still trying to stamp out vestiges of resistance in the mountains. Ofelia’s new stepfather, Captain Vidal, is in charge of an outpost in northern Spain, and he is relentless in his efforts to succeed against the rebels. But, the movie suggests, he isn’t as brave as he thinks, because he never has the courage to ask questions. He always shoots first.

Of course, Vidal is a microcosm of the larger problem with fascism, as del Toro himself states. “For me,” he writes, “fascism is a representation of the ultimate horror and it is, in this sense, an ideal concept through which to tell a fairy tale aimed at adults. Because fascism is first and foremost a form of perversion of innocence, and thus of childhood.”

Vidal’s cruelty is almost unbelievable, but I think that’s intentional, because the Faun, in Ofelia’s fantasy world, is something of a parallel, but he is morally ambiguous (as fauns of mythology usually are). As a result, the Faun’s world seems a bit more real, while the “real world” is presided over by an evil king, a one-sided villain of fairy tale.

I do think the movie’s violence sometimes borders on the gratuitous, however. Yes, we need to see that Vidal is cruel, but we can understand that without seeing everything that the movie shows us. And there’s a medical amputation scene that’s absolutely unnecessary to the plot.

The gratuitous violence is part of why I’m going to say, after some debate, that I like Children of Men better than Pan’s Labyrinth. Overall, Children of Men is about survival, while Pan’s Labyrinth is about the good death. Children of Men ultimately offers more hope for life on this earth, while Pan’s Labyrinth, in an unusual move for a contemporary movie, hints at hope in the supernatural and in the afterlife. Both are necessary. Both are more courageous in dealing with spiritual themes than any American movies I’ve seen recently. Both are great films that should get Academy recognition. But I have a feeling I’m going to be grumpy on that score tomorrow morning, when the Oscar nominees are announced.

Note: Pan’s Labyrinth will probably be an Oscar Best Foreign Film nominee (for Mexico), because, unlike Babel or Children of Men, it’s not in English. Oh, and in case you’re wondering why a Mexican director chose the Spanish Civil War as his subject matter, del Toro has an answer. Many Spanish Republican expatriates settled in Mexico as a result of the war, and, del Toro writes, “These expatriates heavily shaped Mexican culture and cinema. Some of them became key mentors of mine growing up. They had tales of leaving Spain behind as children. These tales affected me a lot.”

Entry Filed under: Movies