Labyrinth (1986)
Jim Henson’s directorial opus, Labyrinth, when dissected, has the logic of a dream, contained to an adolescent girl’s bedroom—a safe, anxiety nightmare fable, existing solely in her imagination, about friendship, being extremely careful what you wish for, a fear of abandonment, father issues, letting go of life’s expectations, and not allowing trepidations to gain power over you. As the film concludes, it becomes evident everything we witness was plucked from Sarah’s powerful, frustrated female imagination. She conjures up the entire narrative in a desperate attempt to process and understand her predicament—just as each night we process our lives in sleep states. Sarah “should” have a date, but doesn’t, and with Jareth’s entitled vocalisation of her own concerns reverberating through an uncertain teenage mind—”I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything you want. Just fear me, love me, do as I say—and I will be your slave,” who could blame her? Believing that’s what relationships demand, Bowie as Jareth—the snug-jodhpur’d Goblin King, becomes her mental construction, even appearing in Sarah’s scrapbook.
As with many of the Muppet movies, there’s a superb screenplay, which doesn’t pander to younger audiences, and retains a Python panache and delivery, courtesy of Terry Jones. I love the diversity of accents on show—everything from cockney, to Scottish, some even sound Italian, Spanish, and Japanese, others Jamaican. I’ll be damned if someone, or something, doesn’t utter the phrase, “Your mother is a fucking aardvark,” and I’ll die on that profane hill. Amid the fun and games, there are several authentically cinematic moments, including the gravity-defying, Dutch-angled, Escheresque “Within You” sequence, the scary descent into the cavern of the helping hands, the Bog of Eternal Stench’s art and sound design, the truly frightening goblin abduction of baby Toby, the psychedelic, head-tossing Fireys, and Bowie himself—all bulge, owl eyebrows, trademark teeth, and dualtone eyes, performing “Underground,” “Magic Dance,” and my fave—the underrated, “As the World Falls Down.”
Our eighties Alice—the 16-year-old Sarah, takes her life for granted, she chucks bratty tantrums, but her innate kindness wins through. The mention of the “oubliette”—a dungeon to place people, in order to forget about them, becomes an eternally powerful and emotional concept the older we get. As does the line, “Should you need us,” which never fails to move me. Sarah’s loyal companions from her journey are all present in her room—and likely always were. It’s Snow White, The Wizard of Oz, Lewis Carroll, Hans Christian Andersen—an endearing melding of everything fairytale fantasy. Don’t eat Hoggle’s peach; make an annual appointment with the Four Guards, the Door Knockers, the Wiseman, Sir Didymus—a fox-terrier and his loyal canine steed, Ambrosius, Ludo—a benign beast, Hoggle—a fairy-snuffing dwarf in a leather waistcoat, who enjoys plastic jewellery and pissing in ponds, Bowie’s prominent crotch, and indulge in some goblin-kicking, and baby-throwing this All Hallows’ Eve.
Scarious Artists 