The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (2009, Gilliam)

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is vintage Gilliam and shares much in common with his previous work, yet at the end of the day it's a minor effort from the director. What makes the film such a curiosity is the passing of lead actor Heath Ledger before principal shooting was completed. As with most of Gilliam's movies, there's a fantastical component to Parnassus, both in the very nature of the story itself, and the fact that there's a fantasy world, in this case the consciousness of Doctor Parnassus, that can be entered through a magical mirror in his traveling sideshow. Serendipitously, Ledger died after completing all of his scenes taking place outside the world of the mirror. But as he enters the mirror several times throughout the course of the story, each time accompanying a different civilian mark, Gilliam was able to create a workaround using several different actors (Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, and Jude Law) to portray the version of Ledger's character as seen by each of the civilians that enters the mirror with Ledger's Tony. In fact, the film works even better as a result, layering on themes of identity that wouldn't have existed otherwise, and providing more depth to both the character and the film itself.

While Ledger does give an inspired performance, without these necessary casting adjustments the final version of Parnassus would have been even more of a minor effort than this final version. At the end of the day, the narrative is on the thin side and lacks any real meat; most of what gives the film its substance is subtext. The film is obviously also intended as a memorial to Ledger, and in that case the film succeeds admirably. Anyone who followed the story behind the production in the wake of Ledger's death knows how Gilliam had to reinvent the film, recast scenes, and conjure Parnassian magic himself to retain financing and complete production. And the evidence of the love behind the tribute is all over the finished film, including the film's credits and dedication. If nothing else, the completed film is a heartfelt love letter to Ledger's talent and charisma, and a glimpse of the promise of a further career that could have been.

As is the case with most of Gilliam's films, the world of Parnassus is fantastical, rooted in fable, and has a carnival-inspired logic, sensibility, and sense of design. There's also a murky timelessness about it; even though the film is obviously set in modern times, it could easily be taking place hundreds of years ago when this kind of traveling sideshow may have been more commonplace. In fact, part of the fun is seeing how Parnassus manages to just barely keep operating on the fringes of society, and the parallels drawn between certain contemporary elements and their ancestral parallels had the film been set hundreds of years in the past. The more things change, the more they stay the same; which is a theme that both Gilliam and Parnassus seem to understand all too well, yet at the cost of existing in a contemporary world currently blinded to certain universal truths. It's quite obvious that Gilliam the filmmaker is represented here by Parnassus, and that like Parnassus, Gilliam feels himself to be in the death-throes of his career, a master of an outdated style of creativity and craftsmanship that is no longer appreciated and in many cases, even invisible, to a world increasingly obsessed with the technological revolution and its own dehumanization. But for one last show, Gilliam has given us some brilliant visuals that stand up with the best of his work, and the reminder that even though current society may be looking in a different direction, everything is cyclical and everything is ultimately eternal.

While the audience may be looking most intensely as Ledger and his performance, he really ends up being a supporting player. The other performances are universally strong, from Christopher Plummer to newcomer Lily Cole, who credits Ledger with teaching her what acting is truly about. There's no doubt that her performance would have been far less nuanced without his influence. And as charismatic as Ledger is, Andrew Garfield manages to somehow steal almost every scene away from Ledger in a role that is, on the page, not showy in the least. Stripped of the added dimensions from Ledger's passing, Garfield is the real emerging star of Parnassus.

But finally, while Parnassus is a must-see for Ledger fans and essentially functions to legendize the actor, as a piece of cinema it's one of Gilliam's lesser efforts. On display are all of Gilliam's strengths and what has made him such a creative and masterful director over the years, and certainly the themes are food for thought and particularly relevant to Gilliam at this stage of his career. Yet stripped of Ledger's passing and the resultant production hurdles and solutions, as well as the parallels to Gilliam's similar struggles on past efforts such as The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, the narrative of Parnassus itself is rather thin and on the weak side. Parnassus is much like Ledger's presence in the film: concentrated, well-crafted, but not as substantial as one might desire or hope.

7/10