Mr_sausage wrote:Ofelia, on the other hand, had seemingly no motivation. She was, presumably, not starving (if she was it was pure laziness not to show it); and she had those little fairies around her continually warning her not to eat. There was no reason, and nothing in her own character, to indicate why she would so insolently and deliberately eat those grapes. The eating, yes, contributed to the allegory on two levels: 1. that taking food for ones personal pleasure and luxury will awake the half-blind beast inside fascism, and, 2. links her with the rebels who lose men to torture, ect. by the beast of fascism when they take the food store. Yet the moment does not come out of character; it exists purely because the politics and the allegory require it, which is a major aesthetic weakness.
As I noted in response to Nothing, it is made very clear how much a child Ofelia still is, and in fact this aspect of her character is key to the film. She cannot comprehend the world around her, at times indifferent even to her mother's suffering, as is evidenced already in the first scene where she disregards her mother's coughing spell. Ofelia at key moments in the film acts foolishly and rashly, such as when she eagerly opens the book (a third time?) only to find the pages soaking with blood, luridly displaying the pain of her suffering mother in the next room, and suggesting that it is the result of her own selfish negligence. Another example, which I have already used, is her confrontation of the toad, in which she must strip from her dress, only to return to the house covered in mud. This action has consequences upon her mother's standing with the captain, a matter of life and death it seems, which she as a child simply cannot see, and her mother rebukes her. The scene with the thin man is also indicative of this immaturity and foolishness on her part. So I cannot agree that this scene is in any way out of character.
One may be tempted to take a look at Ofelia's face and peg her as 'the innocent girl amidst the sound and fury of the world', but innocence is a double-edged sword, and in my opinion this is partially what the film is talking about. We assume a great deal in saying we know Ofelia and that she has a definable character, when she herself is discovering who she is in the film. When have none of us been tempted to eat forbidden fruit so to speak? By film's end, however, the last task takes place not in the fantastic region of this world, but in the region of the real where she must confront a real demon, and make a decision to determine her maturity. Del Toro has visited this fable narrative before in "Hellboy". Both are about character's who would rather go on living in a region of demons and fairies with reckless abandon, but who must make a more mature choice by the end.
Mr_sausage wrote:I find Pan's Labyrinth deeply problematic when I try to understand what relationship it is trying to depict between fantasy and reality. It has been said that these fantasies are a child escaping the brutality of the world, but if you closely watch the film you'll notice that Ofelia never experiences any of the brutality we are shown. The tortures, the beatings, the shootings--she sees none of this. Which means the brutality is meant for us rather than as a motivation for fantasy, and that makes its graphicness morally unsettling.
The only conclusion I can come to is that the graphic violence is supposed to convince us of the reality of the world of the war. But the fact is, the world of the war and Ofelia's world of fauns and fairies are equally fantastical, equally contrived. The 'real' world is constructed out of familiar archetypes: clear villains and heroes and easy morality.
(This is in response both to your comments above and your later comments about the seemingly insignificant function that fantasy plays in relation to reality.)
I'm not sure one has to watch very closely to notice that Ofelia is not witness to much of the real human suffering that occurs on screen, but she sees enough of her mother's pain in the film and her step-father's strictness to want to withdraw from it, and since we know that she and her mother have faced hard times it is safe to say she has known and perhaps witnessed some suffering. Nevertheless, as I wrote in my last post, I would disagree with those who simply peg her fantasies as serving an escapist utility, and would agree with you when you say the film does not support this reading. But neither does the film claim this reading. It also does not claim that the world it depicts is real, and the violence in the film should therefore not be interpreted in this way.
Indeed, I find it hard to see where you come up with the idea that the violence is meant to somehow shock us into seeing the reality of the world. The fact is the film never draws that much of a distinction between its real and imaginary regions, and by film's end these planes are indeed beginning to lose any boundary. The captain has become a monster, and Ofelia uses the chalk not to enter into another plane, but to escape her own room and enter the captain's own lair. The fact of the matter is we can never be so sure whether the fantastic in this world is simply born of Ofelia or preexists her conscious mind. Many would take the Captain's inability to see the faun as proof that the realm of the fantastic is simply in Ofelia's mind, but the presence of a narrator, whose last line is something akin to "...and she left signs for those who knew where to look", suggests a universe that constitutes both these realms of real and of fantasy - as do the fairies who more often than not come to Ofelia of their own volition, even seeking her out at film's beginning. So though we cannot say that this world is simply fantasy we can neither say it is simply reality, the lines are blurred. The two constitute alternate realms of one universe and mirror-images of one another (see Hoberman who notes the faun's tyranny in comparison to the captain's).
Consequently, Del Toro places equal emphasis upon the fantastic and the real, highlighting neither, but treating the two as equal parts of this one world. We will note that Del Toro does not take any pains to distinguish the fantasy from the reality through formal means. The fluid lateral camera movements and the Goya-esque lighting remain consistent throughout. Additionally, Del Toro makes wonderful use of the hidden wipe to create the feel that the two worlds are part and parcel of one another, or multiple images upon the pages of a storybook, such as when Ofelia narrates the tale of the thorned rose to her mother or when the fascists plunge into the forest as Ofelia is plunging into her fantasy world and into the toad's tree. The film does not claim to be about the distinction between the imaginary and the real, or to give us an historical account of this war, but more correctly confronts the ways in which the real and the imaginary oftentimes become indistinct and how each individual creates his or her own fantasy with which to interpret a harsh reality. The captain who constructs a world of perfectly synchronized watches. Mercedes who constructs a world of hidden caches and secrets. Ofelia who constructs a world of fairies and demons. And of course Del Toro himself who is constructing this whole vision of a world where fantasy and reality are indistinguishable.
In this light, I only quarrel with your interpretation of the film's depictions of violence where you say that it is somehow intended to remind us of the reality of the world of war. Rather violence and pain become a constant of both worlds as parts of a single world. Frankly, I found the sight of the fairies being devoured equally disturbing in comparison to the sight of the man's mangled hand. They are both depicted to maximum visceral effect. And when the captain's face is slashed, it is only one part in a gradual transformation that takes place throughout the film akin to Jack Nicholson's in "The Shining", whereby the captain becomes more and more monstrous, until he is simply a lumbering, drugged beast chasing the girl through the labyrinth. He himself is neither real nor imaginary.
Mr_sausage wrote:An example of its easy morality is Ofelia's mother, potentially the most complex character in the film. She hints at her struggles in life, that it was not easy for her, and indicates that she has married for very complex reasons involving survival and the suppression of desire and eros. This, however, is never explored, and the film condemns her for her marriage. Pan's Labyrinth implies that, by marrying a fascist, she cannot be a good mother for Ofelia, and so the film supplies Ofelia with a surrogate, a more caring figure who is of course wholly on the rebels side. This is the kind of easy judgement the film uses in its "real" segments. The only sympathy for Ofelia's mother comes from Ofelia herself, but the movie never indicates that we are to share it (our sympathies are clearly with the surrogate mother).
I'm not sure where you see the film condemning the mother. She is certainly weak, unhealthy, and unable to provide proper guidance for Ofelia, but this is shown as just as much a symptom of Ofelia's own unreadiness to accept such guidance if not more so, as it is a result of poor motherhood. The mother is never tyrannical towards Ofelia, and there is not one scene in the film that suggests that the mother is forcing anything on her daughter. She is only trying to make the best decisions for her under the circumstances. The problem lies more in that the two cannot relate given that the mother is aware of the realities of their precarious position and Ofelia is not. In the one scene where the two argue and the mother tells Ofelia that her fantasies are simply not real, Del Toro gives us the most tender moment in the film, because it seems that Ofelia realizes at least for a moment that her mother may be right, and pleads that they might leave. The mother is not condemned. She is rather the most heartbreaking and sad figure in the film.
Secondly, Mercedes is never a surrogate mother. She is more akin to a big sister, whom Ofelia often asks questions in confidence as a little sister would seek advice from the elder. The scene where the two are in the attic clearly delineates this sisterly relationship, where Ofelia asks her if she's working with the underground, and says she won't tell anyone, while Mercedes also promises not to tell on Ofelia's own secret fantasies. The two are like sisters covering each other's backs. Both are scared and uncertain, and both are making the best of a near-hopeless situation.
Mr_sausage wrote:So it's rather hard to take meaning from the movie (outside of its obvious political lessons). The whole thing feels awkward and didactic; it never feels sublime.
Much of the backlash of criticism against this film has come I think mostly in response to the first critical acclaim, which liked to tout the film as a political allegory and historical commentary. But "Pan's" is in my view neither of these things. Of course, like any picture, "Pan's" reacts to the images that define our time - what film since 9/11 could have been made before then? - and certain situations in the film reflect those with which we grapple to comprehend. The images of torture are of course the most obvious correlates, but then too are the images of guerrilla warfare. It can be said that the film invokes such imagery self-consciously and with a view to inspiring debate and I might agree, but I see no part of this film, however, that really adds up to the allegorical weight people have placed upon it. We must remember that a film's moral point of view is not also a political one, and that a moral allegory is different from a political allegory.
Before we speculate even that far, however, recall that "Pan's" does not attempt to hide its viewpoint. Everything it is saying about the moral choices we make in our youth is on the surface, so I'm not sure the description 'allegory' works very well. To call it a parable or fable works better, since neither of these suggests the need to decipher the message. Comparing the film to Greek myths and Bible stories is I think equally fallacious, since both these literary genres grew out of specific moral traditions shared by specific communities. "Pan's" on the other hand is not just a piece of cultural media, but a work of art. Del Toro's theology constitutes a mish-mash of different myths and traditions, without aligning itself with a specific one. The moral viewpoint is that of an individual as artist, reacting to the times in which he is engulfed. Thus, "Pan's" may be a parable that invokes a variety of fairytale conventions and contemporary political images, but neither of these defines the film. The picture most certainly has a moral point of view, but its morals and politics only overlap in parts, and to identify what the film says about fascism as some sort of political polemic against current manifestations is gravely misguided.
In summary, the film constructs a two-planed reality, of which the so-called 'world of war' and 'world of fantasy' constitute two halves. At the same time, fantasy manifests itself in both worlds, and is defined less as an escape than a means of control. The Captain, Mercedes, Ofelia - all attempt to keep a grip on their own fates and attain some measure of control on this world, be it a construct that is total and fascistic, individual and self-preservative, or simply explanatory and comprehensive. The choice that must be made is whether to abandon these individual fantasies and accept the utter incomprehensibility and randomness of the world or whether one allows this fantasy to dominate one's existence and meaning. In the end, this choice manifests itself in the more binary choice of whether Ofelia will sacrifice her brother to fulfill her own fantasy or not. She attains maturity by giving up this fantasy. In essence, she's saying she has had enough, and she is willing to give up her share of fantasy for another soul.
Fittingly, when she returns to the underground kingdom, she becomes the princess of the fantastic, and in the words of the narrator she leaves signs for those who know where to look. Her sacrifice has sustained the very idea of the fantastic, which through the ages may take many a manifestation in the eyes of many a child, without being subjugated by any one of these and bastardized into its most mangled, unimaginative form which is tyranny.