| Click either MirrorMask logo for a splendid interview with its creators... |
Break On Through!
MirrorMask carries fantasy across the great divide.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Cinéma serves many wonderful and useful purposes, and in my opinion its most valuable one is to stir our imaginations
(and Our Imagination) into life (and into Life). Of late, thanks to the talents of many dedicated individuals, the Fantastic
Film has seen a vast return to respectability, as well as an exciting renaissance leading to an unknown (but likely
fantastic) future. Talents such as Méliès and Korda and Pal and Harryhausen have given rise to talents such as
Roddenberry, Gilliam and Jones, Henson, Lucas, Mora, Miyazaki, Burton, Talalay and Jackson. We love these filmic
fantasists and their frolicsome flights, and now, happily, we can add two more names to this Esteemed List: Gaiman &
McKean. McKean & Gaiman. McKean being director Dave, the graphic artist with the unforgettable funky-dark style.
Gaiman being screenwriter Neil, the comic-scribe turned otherworldly novelist. Their first feature-length collaboration is
MirrorMask, a gloriously loony yarn and astounding work of art which may well catalyze a whole new genre of feature
filmmaking for the twenty-first century. I would like to dub it “Le Cinéma du Rêve.” In fact, I think I shall. Right now.
Because I can. MirrorMask is primo Cinéma du Rêve. Dig it.
Narratively (thanks to Gaiman), what we’ve got here is a somewhat familiar fairy tale, à la mode d’Alice ou d’Oz,
wherein a young girl (good choice; lucrative) who is coming of age (ditto) finds her way into a very strange, dreamy
world wherein she must undertake one o’ them quests perilous to save her family and her conscious self. Brilliant!
Simple and elegant, yet displaying a spirited universality, this tale will hit home with millions -- those who know that
sometimes the answers to our conscious problems lie not in plain sight in the light of day, and those of any age or gender
who are about to discover that for the first time.
Aesthetically (thanks to McKean), what we’ve got here is an adolescent phantasmagoria par excellence, bursting with
more rich symbols and metaphors (very smart; countless film-school term papers await!) than the average dream (or
nightmare) -- for these majestic and malevolent renderings are absolutely anything but average. Again: Brilliant! Delivered
almost entirely via digital magic, these haunting tableaux may require a few visits to connect fully with viewers
oversaturated with acrobatic beer-cans and “Crazy Frog,” but savvy audiences will emerge with more than the word
“weird” on their lips; rather, singing the praises of an artist fighting the good fight to make literally Anything possible.
In case you haven’t guessed, I love this movie. And the potential it represents.
The story begins in glamorous and grotty Brighton, where our protagonist Helena (Stephanie Leonidas, quite excellent
throughout -- and look out, Hermione!) contends with her troubling lot in life: Unlike the average suburban kid (or Kevin
from Time Bandits, an otherwise fine parallel), she wishes to run away from the “wild life” -- in this case the Circus,
which happens to be her family’s life and livelihood. Helena’s got a vivid imagination, immediately revealed to us via the
drama she conducts between her talking socks (Foreshadowing Alert), but she is nonetheless one unhappy youth.
Something is wrong. Perhaps her ugly altercation with her mother, Joanne (Gina McKee, one of my favourite working
actresses), lends us a clue: Helena, though wickedly creative, is presently incapable of appreciating the wonders in which
she is immersed. Thus, she is due for a Fall…and, with a lot of toil and a bit of luck, a Return.
(Oh, this is good.)
McKean wastes no time in setting the mood, employing mixed media-style, circus-themed opening credits and a
wonderfully peculiar score by Iain Bellamy which summons the appraisal, “New Age Meets Olde Worlde.” Surveying the
strange and multi-masked Campbell Family Circus, the spirit of Fellini tangos with the oddities of Lynch, and swiftly
comes the Fall: Joanne is stricken, collapses, and is hastened away to hospital. Suddenly the girl who moments earlier
cursed her mother and their professional milieu is left in shock with her kindly, stoic-but-heartsick father (Rob Brydon),
her nan, Nan (Dora Bryan) whose concept of useful guardianship involves excited exclamations when something
“educational” happens to pop on television, and a rankled, worried troupe short on hope. “Dreams only get you that far,
darling,” offers one hardened artist. “After that, you need cash.” (An intriguing comment, given that this whole beautiful
production cost only a fraction of what some major stars take home per inferior blockbuster.)
Since it would hardly do to give us an unappealing lead, McKean and Gaiman (who collaborated on the story) deliver
Helena as impetuous without being too petulant, rebellious yet resourceful, worldly yet truly innocent. A gifted, moody,
prolific pen-and-ink obsessive with a talent suspiciously similar to McKean’s own, she’s the mop-topped Goth without
the bite, the Likeable Artist. She enjoys honesty and cards face-up. However, little does she suspect how vital her
abstract instincts will prove once she stumbles down a dark, shadowy alley toward a mesmerizing Gypsy fiddler…and
finds herself exploring realities far beyond our familiar one…or are they?
Perhaps other writers will tell you more details of the plot and various scenarios, but in general I would prefer not to.
Though rest assured I could, and enthusiastically: I’ve been thinking about the movie a lot since viewing it earlier this
year (with my mother, who enjoyed that Helena closely resembles my niece), meanwhile appreciating its illustrated
screenplay, plus two sets of the PVC action figures are already adorning my bookshelf (if anyone has the third set handy,
send word -- if ya gotta geek out, do it with style). Yeah, MirrorMask’s utter anything-goes-ness is one of its sweetest
and most striking qualities, and to divulge further seems unjust. However, some specifics and generalities beg appraisal.
Dream-logic rules in MirrorMask -- literally and figuratively. I find this both refreshing and a tremendous relief. The oh-
so-Hollywood tendency to explain away everything magical in a fantastic narrative (you listening, Mr. Lucas?) does not
rear its dreambusting head here. Routine lands of “Light” and “Darkness” clash and all that familiar stuff, but these
creators -- who gave us the revolutionary Sandman comic books and their inseparable cover art among several other fine
works -- understand the basic but oft-forgotten audience condition: That we wish to be enthralled. Especially as the Real
World up here gets harsher and uglier for many and perhaps most, it’s practically a duty for the Dreamers to Dream.
McKean and Gaiman get this.
That said, in the interest of Objective Reviewing, MirrorMask is not without a few shortcomings. Those familiar with
Gaiman’s increasingly impressive writing may note that this script errs a bit too often on the side of facile and twee
dialogue. Sometimes it’s merely good when it could be great (and the man frequently proves he’s capable of great). One
of the key components of being adorable is not to announce that you’re adorable, and occasionally here Gaiman seems
to misplace this understanding. Some of the risky riddles, for instance, trade a bit too heavily on the writer’s trademarked
penchant for Cutesiness In The Midst Of Grave Danger, and McKean’s direction of his otherwise very enjoyable actors
adds only coy furtiveness -- not tension -- to these moments. On that note, MirrorMask is also a little bit choppy in
execution, owing perhaps to most of its duration being lensed in a blue-screen studio (the notes state blue) with its actors
pantomiming to characters, props and magnificent landscapes generated later, for many months, by a team of computer
animators with some of the brightest futures in the business (that latter part being anything but a shortcoming -- hats off
to the CG posse). The flow from scene to scene is sometimes inorganic and jarring, but we can also chalk this up to
Dream Logic with minimal difficulties, and now this paragraph of minor quibbles is over.
What’s to love? Plenty. Let’s start with the humans, non-humans and variations in between. In keeping with the project's
title (and, perhaps, Loreena McKennitt's sublime album, The Mask and Mirror), duality reigns supreme for the main
characters, which proves fascinating -- as does our heroine's thoughtfully-depicted transition toward maturity. As the
hero Valentine, Jason Barry wears a weird mask (many do!) throughout the production, but channels superb charisma
and charm via his character-rich voice and body-language. This is also true of McKee, who appears later in a surprising
(and yet, happily, not) manner, and I’m also given to suspect that witty wunderkind Stephen Fry is tucked in there
amidst the effects in a sequence bibliophiles are certain to savour. The humans inhabiting Brighton (including two
smooching teens on a bus -- telling!) also generously flesh out the production, and mythic Brighton itself, its skeletal
burnt pier looming in the distance beneath crying gulls, reminds one that the alleged line between This World and Other
Worlds is very slight indeed.
I daresay this movie took me home, in a way.
Grace-notes also abound. I adore the musical choices, the accordion and plaintive fiddle being particular standouts,
always reminding me that this is the most affectionate circus-themed movie I’ve seen since Wings of Desire. There’s
also a totally unexpected (and unexpectedly moving) musical segment (with a delightfully creepy vibe) making
exceptional use of a famous Bacharach-David tune -- one which seasoned pop enthusiasts will know to have been a fave
of Herb Alpert’s -- the long-term occupant of Chaplin Studios in Hollywood, now home to The Jim Henson Company,
who produced this movie (and to think the world sometimes seems disconnected). While we’re on that note, yes, fans of
80's fantasy classics The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth (my hand is up) have much reason to rejoice in MirrorMask --
however do note that it is its own entity, a New Thing. (I strongly prefer puppets to pixels, but this won me over rather
quickly.) Okay, and: I don’t want to blow any supernatural creatures for you (Et voilà, the verbal faux pas of the year),
however, I offer one hint, with zeal: Monkeybirds!
Could go on and on, and in this rare case, won’t. McKean and Gaiman are near-masterminds (many, many fans will drop
prostrate toward their dual altar, but personally I’d like to give them a bit more space to learn and grow), and they have
delivered a marvellous work of Cinéma du Rêve. In a year happily bursting with Fantastic Film, I believe MirrorMask is
the frontrunner, the groundbreaker -- It's a Wow movie for Wow people. Slainte.
MirrorMask
Entertainment Value: 12/13
Style: 12/13
Philosophical Insight: 12/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 1 September, 2005
MirrorMask carries fantasy across the great divide.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Cinéma serves many wonderful and useful purposes, and in my opinion its most valuable one is to stir our imaginations
(and Our Imagination) into life (and into Life). Of late, thanks to the talents of many dedicated individuals, the Fantastic
Film has seen a vast return to respectability, as well as an exciting renaissance leading to an unknown (but likely
fantastic) future. Talents such as Méliès and Korda and Pal and Harryhausen have given rise to talents such as
Roddenberry, Gilliam and Jones, Henson, Lucas, Mora, Miyazaki, Burton, Talalay and Jackson. We love these filmic
fantasists and their frolicsome flights, and now, happily, we can add two more names to this Esteemed List: Gaiman &
McKean. McKean & Gaiman. McKean being director Dave, the graphic artist with the unforgettable funky-dark style.
Gaiman being screenwriter Neil, the comic-scribe turned otherworldly novelist. Their first feature-length collaboration is
MirrorMask, a gloriously loony yarn and astounding work of art which may well catalyze a whole new genre of feature
filmmaking for the twenty-first century. I would like to dub it “Le Cinéma du Rêve.” In fact, I think I shall. Right now.
Because I can. MirrorMask is primo Cinéma du Rêve. Dig it.
Narratively (thanks to Gaiman), what we’ve got here is a somewhat familiar fairy tale, à la mode d’Alice ou d’Oz,
wherein a young girl (good choice; lucrative) who is coming of age (ditto) finds her way into a very strange, dreamy
world wherein she must undertake one o’ them quests perilous to save her family and her conscious self. Brilliant!
Simple and elegant, yet displaying a spirited universality, this tale will hit home with millions -- those who know that
sometimes the answers to our conscious problems lie not in plain sight in the light of day, and those of any age or gender
who are about to discover that for the first time.
Aesthetically (thanks to McKean), what we’ve got here is an adolescent phantasmagoria par excellence, bursting with
more rich symbols and metaphors (very smart; countless film-school term papers await!) than the average dream (or
nightmare) -- for these majestic and malevolent renderings are absolutely anything but average. Again: Brilliant! Delivered
almost entirely via digital magic, these haunting tableaux may require a few visits to connect fully with viewers
oversaturated with acrobatic beer-cans and “Crazy Frog,” but savvy audiences will emerge with more than the word
“weird” on their lips; rather, singing the praises of an artist fighting the good fight to make literally Anything possible.
In case you haven’t guessed, I love this movie. And the potential it represents.
The story begins in glamorous and grotty Brighton, where our protagonist Helena (Stephanie Leonidas, quite excellent
throughout -- and look out, Hermione!) contends with her troubling lot in life: Unlike the average suburban kid (or Kevin
from Time Bandits, an otherwise fine parallel), she wishes to run away from the “wild life” -- in this case the Circus,
which happens to be her family’s life and livelihood. Helena’s got a vivid imagination, immediately revealed to us via the
drama she conducts between her talking socks (Foreshadowing Alert), but she is nonetheless one unhappy youth.
Something is wrong. Perhaps her ugly altercation with her mother, Joanne (Gina McKee, one of my favourite working
actresses), lends us a clue: Helena, though wickedly creative, is presently incapable of appreciating the wonders in which
she is immersed. Thus, she is due for a Fall…and, with a lot of toil and a bit of luck, a Return.
(Oh, this is good.)
McKean wastes no time in setting the mood, employing mixed media-style, circus-themed opening credits and a
wonderfully peculiar score by Iain Bellamy which summons the appraisal, “New Age Meets Olde Worlde.” Surveying the
strange and multi-masked Campbell Family Circus, the spirit of Fellini tangos with the oddities of Lynch, and swiftly
comes the Fall: Joanne is stricken, collapses, and is hastened away to hospital. Suddenly the girl who moments earlier
cursed her mother and their professional milieu is left in shock with her kindly, stoic-but-heartsick father (Rob Brydon),
her nan, Nan (Dora Bryan) whose concept of useful guardianship involves excited exclamations when something
“educational” happens to pop on television, and a rankled, worried troupe short on hope. “Dreams only get you that far,
darling,” offers one hardened artist. “After that, you need cash.” (An intriguing comment, given that this whole beautiful
production cost only a fraction of what some major stars take home per inferior blockbuster.)
Since it would hardly do to give us an unappealing lead, McKean and Gaiman (who collaborated on the story) deliver
Helena as impetuous without being too petulant, rebellious yet resourceful, worldly yet truly innocent. A gifted, moody,
prolific pen-and-ink obsessive with a talent suspiciously similar to McKean’s own, she’s the mop-topped Goth without
the bite, the Likeable Artist. She enjoys honesty and cards face-up. However, little does she suspect how vital her
abstract instincts will prove once she stumbles down a dark, shadowy alley toward a mesmerizing Gypsy fiddler…and
finds herself exploring realities far beyond our familiar one…or are they?
Perhaps other writers will tell you more details of the plot and various scenarios, but in general I would prefer not to.
Though rest assured I could, and enthusiastically: I’ve been thinking about the movie a lot since viewing it earlier this
year (with my mother, who enjoyed that Helena closely resembles my niece), meanwhile appreciating its illustrated
screenplay, plus two sets of the PVC action figures are already adorning my bookshelf (if anyone has the third set handy,
send word -- if ya gotta geek out, do it with style). Yeah, MirrorMask’s utter anything-goes-ness is one of its sweetest
and most striking qualities, and to divulge further seems unjust. However, some specifics and generalities beg appraisal.
Dream-logic rules in MirrorMask -- literally and figuratively. I find this both refreshing and a tremendous relief. The oh-
so-Hollywood tendency to explain away everything magical in a fantastic narrative (you listening, Mr. Lucas?) does not
rear its dreambusting head here. Routine lands of “Light” and “Darkness” clash and all that familiar stuff, but these
creators -- who gave us the revolutionary Sandman comic books and their inseparable cover art among several other fine
works -- understand the basic but oft-forgotten audience condition: That we wish to be enthralled. Especially as the Real
World up here gets harsher and uglier for many and perhaps most, it’s practically a duty for the Dreamers to Dream.
McKean and Gaiman get this.
That said, in the interest of Objective Reviewing, MirrorMask is not without a few shortcomings. Those familiar with
Gaiman’s increasingly impressive writing may note that this script errs a bit too often on the side of facile and twee
dialogue. Sometimes it’s merely good when it could be great (and the man frequently proves he’s capable of great). One
of the key components of being adorable is not to announce that you’re adorable, and occasionally here Gaiman seems
to misplace this understanding. Some of the risky riddles, for instance, trade a bit too heavily on the writer’s trademarked
penchant for Cutesiness In The Midst Of Grave Danger, and McKean’s direction of his otherwise very enjoyable actors
adds only coy furtiveness -- not tension -- to these moments. On that note, MirrorMask is also a little bit choppy in
execution, owing perhaps to most of its duration being lensed in a blue-screen studio (the notes state blue) with its actors
pantomiming to characters, props and magnificent landscapes generated later, for many months, by a team of computer
animators with some of the brightest futures in the business (that latter part being anything but a shortcoming -- hats off
to the CG posse). The flow from scene to scene is sometimes inorganic and jarring, but we can also chalk this up to
Dream Logic with minimal difficulties, and now this paragraph of minor quibbles is over.
What’s to love? Plenty. Let’s start with the humans, non-humans and variations in between. In keeping with the project's
title (and, perhaps, Loreena McKennitt's sublime album, The Mask and Mirror), duality reigns supreme for the main
characters, which proves fascinating -- as does our heroine's thoughtfully-depicted transition toward maturity. As the
hero Valentine, Jason Barry wears a weird mask (many do!) throughout the production, but channels superb charisma
and charm via his character-rich voice and body-language. This is also true of McKee, who appears later in a surprising
(and yet, happily, not) manner, and I’m also given to suspect that witty wunderkind Stephen Fry is tucked in there
amidst the effects in a sequence bibliophiles are certain to savour. The humans inhabiting Brighton (including two
smooching teens on a bus -- telling!) also generously flesh out the production, and mythic Brighton itself, its skeletal
burnt pier looming in the distance beneath crying gulls, reminds one that the alleged line between This World and Other
Worlds is very slight indeed.
I daresay this movie took me home, in a way.
Grace-notes also abound. I adore the musical choices, the accordion and plaintive fiddle being particular standouts,
always reminding me that this is the most affectionate circus-themed movie I’ve seen since Wings of Desire. There’s
also a totally unexpected (and unexpectedly moving) musical segment (with a delightfully creepy vibe) making
exceptional use of a famous Bacharach-David tune -- one which seasoned pop enthusiasts will know to have been a fave
of Herb Alpert’s -- the long-term occupant of Chaplin Studios in Hollywood, now home to The Jim Henson Company,
who produced this movie (and to think the world sometimes seems disconnected). While we’re on that note, yes, fans of
80's fantasy classics The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth (my hand is up) have much reason to rejoice in MirrorMask --
however do note that it is its own entity, a New Thing. (I strongly prefer puppets to pixels, but this won me over rather
quickly.) Okay, and: I don’t want to blow any supernatural creatures for you (Et voilà, the verbal faux pas of the year),
however, I offer one hint, with zeal: Monkeybirds!
Could go on and on, and in this rare case, won’t. McKean and Gaiman are near-masterminds (many, many fans will drop
prostrate toward their dual altar, but personally I’d like to give them a bit more space to learn and grow), and they have
delivered a marvellous work of Cinéma du Rêve. In a year happily bursting with Fantastic Film, I believe MirrorMask is
the frontrunner, the groundbreaker -- It's a Wow movie for Wow people. Slainte.
MirrorMask
Entertainment Value: 12/13
Style: 12/13
Philosophical Insight: 12/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 1 September, 2005
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| Click either MirrorMask logo for a splendid interview with its creators... |