Review
Review Date: 16-March-03
Spoiler Rating: High
Juju Judgment: Juicy
Lost in La Mancha (2003)
Even though DVDs have made "behind the scenes" and "the making of" features readily available, I continue to maintain my ignorance about the particulars of how movies are made. (Especially when it comes to specific movies that I really like.) A film, to me, should feel like the product of magic, a passport to a world of imagination regardless of whether it's an epic set on another planet, a lampoon of small town America, or a gritty urban drama. A movie should not and cannot truly represent "real life," and I reject the opportunity to add realism to my experience of it. Do I care to whom Van Gogh groveled for money or how he trimmed his brush before painting "Sunflowers"? Do I want to know who brought Dostoevsky his coffee or whether he used a thesaurus while writing The Idiot? No; I just want to enjoy the fruits of their labors.
Consequently, I found Lost in La Mancha to be an enlightening and rather guilty pleasure, as it captures the attempted production of a major motion picture that has not yet reached completion, and therefore has not become an object of inviolable fantasy for me. Shot and arranged by Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe, the documentary records the events surrounding the making of a movie called "The Man Who Killed Don Quixote," which was (and reportedly still is) the pet project of director Terry Gilliam. As might be expected, it's a fascinating look at how much planning and effort goes into bringing a film to the big screen. But in addition, Lost in La Mancha is a tragically funny story of ill fortune thwarting good intentions, and a portrait of a visionary doggedly pursuing his dream.
Production on The Man Who Killed Don Quixote got underway in 2000, when Gilliam received financial backing from European investors and began assembling a cast and crew in Spain (the project was deemed too risky by Hollywood). The challenge from the beginning was bringing the director's elaborate ideas to life while staying within the modest budget of just over $30 million. With adherence to a tight schedule (diligently guarded by assistant director Phil Patterson), a lot of cooperation, and a little luck, it might have come off. As it was, it failed utterly. At first there were raised eyebrows among the set and costume designers about the feasibility of Gilliam's precise plans for how things should look. Then there were agents to deal with and actors who showed up late (including Johnny Depp as a modern-day Sancho Panza and Vanessa Paradis as his love interest). When shooting finally began, it was plagued on the first day by military F-16s performing training maneuvers overhead and, on the second day, by a major hailstorm and flood which destroyed equipment and props. Immediately following that little adventure, it became apparent that the film's star, Jean Rochefort (who had studied English for seven months in preparation for the role and would have made a fabulous Quixote), was incapable of riding a horse due to some physical problem which turned out to be a slipped disc. His departure to seek medical help left Gilliam and the rest of the cast and crew — as well as the producers, investors, and insurance investigators who all converged on the scene at the first sign of trouble — to wait out their fate, during which time everyone got cranky, mutinous, and eager to point the finger. By the end of the year, the project was closed down and rights to the script devolved to the insurance company, who continues to hold them to this day.
Terry Gilliam's work has always included themes of madness and fantastic journey (Time Bandits, The Fisher King, 12 Monkeys), so his passionate connection to Don Quixote, which he himself describes, is not surprising. Although the comparison between Gilliam's stubborn pursuit of his dream and the delusion of the old knight who charges windmills is obvious, the documentarians' use of this as a starting point gives their film an appealing personal core; Lost in La Mancha is as much about Gilliam and his obsession as it is about what a rotten, unfortunate experience his Quixote project turned out to be. Giggling and grimacing through every step of the process, Gilliam emerges as the quintessential flighty, volatile artist (only likable), a guy who has stayed youthful through the power of his own enthusiasm, but who would wither away if his ability to indulge his imagination were taken from him. It is interesting to be reminded (with all due respect to Johnny Depp) that while actors get all the press and adoration for showing up and looking glamorous and larger-than-life during only part of a movie's production, other equally riveting personalities may be hidden behind the camera. That's one bit of movie-based reality that I don't mind contemplating.
Copyright © 2003 The Jujube (M. I. Kim). All rights reserved.
