Labyrinth (1986) is a collaboration of David Bowie and the Jim Henson puppet team. The story opens with a fantasy prone teenage girl, Sarah (Jennifer Connelly), asked to babysit her infant brother, who finds the task insufferable and accidentally invokes the Goblin King (Bowie) to remove the baby. Upon discovering her mistake, she embarks upon a quest to return the infant, encounters enemies, friends, obstacles, dreams, and treachery as she races against a deadline that will turn her brother from human to goblin – and cause him to forget he was ever human.
I had trouble at the beginning as this teenager is a spoiled little girl, her fantasy world featuring her at its apex, her real world meticulously ordered – but for her brother, who cries and cries and frustrates her instantly. Her inadvertent invocation of the services of the Goblin King is satisfyingly traumatic, but her instant requirement of the return of her brother, without a moment’s introspection – perhaps it would be to your advantage to lose your brother, did it ever occur to you? – renders her a troubling and unrealistic quicksilver character.
Queerly, this nearly unbelievable change plays into the story, for her quest for her brother leads her into the Labyrinth, the path to, and the barrier guarding, the goblin king’s castle, sometimes made of rock, sometimes so overgrown that its mystery is forgotten for the forest and its creatures that live in it. Here is the playground of the Jim Henson team, tirelessly inventing flocks of creatures, creatures that talk, have powers and vulnerabilities. The puppets, ranging from knee-high to 8 feet or even more, provide the friends and enemies, the backdrop, to the magical labyrinth through which she travels.
But in the metaphorical dusk there always lurks the Goblin King, bringing not only a sense of dread, but also of timelessness to the folk of the labyrinth. The creatures have, mostly, the wrinkles of age on their faces, the dust of the ages sagging on their shoulders, and a certain indefinable and attenuated ennui as they enact their parts, once again, for His Majesty and his Goblin retinue. Of children, there are none, the classic tableau of fairy-tale creatures, who exist and exist and exist, and …
… into this charges change: Sarah. She is the one who dares to play outside her role, who surprises the Goblin King with her persistence, and then her luck. She gnaws on the poisoned fruit, and prospers. She stirs the clotted pot that the Goblin King has set with her very presence, bringing forth obstacles, enemies (but so ineffective), unexpected friends, and in so doing exposing, to herself and to the audience, those tendons which really bring worth to our world of social creatures: relationships. As she depends on friends to help her in her quest, they depend on her as she introduces redemption and helps them to their goals, whether it’s personal glory, or simply forgiving them their sins. In the end, what of things, of dolls and book, or the keeping of people? What of those who we love? These are the questions brought to life in her drawn-out battle with the Goblin King, he who awaits her with honeyed tongue and golden locks.
Is it a great film? No. The musical compositions are ineffective; my Arts Editor was heard to mutter, “Oh, this is awful.” The musical performances were OK but not memorable. Bowie brings a certain otherworldliness to his role, but it needed to be a little more off-world. But the special effects were, with an exception or two, quite good, the puppets were exceptional, and the story was, if perhaps a bit slanted towards the younger set, still enjoyable and unpredictable in all its turns, if not in its dénouement. (I was also amused to see the proto-Star Wars Death Star crew appearing during the battle scene.)
It won’t appeal to everyone, but we had a good time watching.
Besides, who can resist a movie that causes my Arts Editor to exclaim, “Oh, it’s a bog full of anuses!”
