DVDs let film lovers catch up with movies that were unfairly overshadowed in the theatres. Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus and Rob Marshall's Nine had to compete for Christmas box-office attention with Avatar and Sherlock Holmes, and limped away from the Oscars with no awards to show for their respective two and four nominations. As they brace for a release next Tuesday on home video, it's time to right the balance.
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus drew attention because Heath Ledger died halfway through making it. Ledger was a terrific actor, as The Dark Knight proved. His death was a shock. It seemed one more stroke of bad luck for a director so famously unfortunate there was even a documentary about the collapse of his film about Don Quixote. (Gilliam is trying to remount that one.)
Fortunately, the Imaginarium script, which Gilliam co-wrote with early collaborator Charles McKeown ( Brazil, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen), tells of a travelling sideshow that invites folks to step through a mirror to see their true selves. Ledger, who plays Tony, a mysterious fellow rescued by Parnassus (the superb Christopher Plummer) and his motley crew, had filmed almost all his scenes in the real world, a freezing-cold London. The fantasy sequences had yet to be shot in Vancouver. By tweaking the script to give new faces to those who pass through the mirror, Gilliam was able to use Jude Law, Johnny Depp and Colin Farrell as versions of Tony. The fix is seamless.
But to focus on Ledger is to lose sight of the whole. This is one of Gilliam's most inventive and enjoyable movies. It is, he says in the copious bonus features, the kind of film directors make at a moment in their careers when they can "relax," as Federico Fellini did with Amarcord and Ingmar Bergman with Fanny and Alexander. Imaginarium is rich in invention and grace notes: the Imaginarium itself, which unfolds like a Victorian cut-out theatre; Tom Waits as the bowler-hatted devil with whom Parnassus has made a pact; and Verne Troyer, enjoying a serious role away from his Mini-Me stunt acting, as Parnassus's assistant, Percy. Tony, saved from a hanging under Blackfriars Bridge, asks Percy where they are. Percy replies: "Geographically speaking, in the northern hemisphere. Socially, on the margins. And narratively, with some way to go."
In a 2007 audio interview, Ledger, who worked with Gilliam on The Brothers Grimm, said, "I'd cut carrots and serve the catering on a Gilliam film."
Rob Marshall draws similar hosannas from the cast and crew of Nine, including Daniel Day-Lewis and the actresses who populate the real and fantasy lives of Day-Lewis's character, Italian film director Guido Contini. Marshall "knows the result" he wants, says Judi Dench, "and somehow he woos it out of you with incredible kindness."
Nine, based on a stage musical inspired by Fellini's 8-1/2, is not Chicago, Marshall's 2002 film musical. The songs, by Maury Yeston, are less memorable, though Be Italian (sung by Fergie) has a good hook. Where Chicago had an engaging plot, Nine is impressionistic, entering Contini's mind as he tries to escape his producer, backers, lovers and hangers-on.
But Nine is nevertheless an exhilarating ride. The snap of the dancers, the enjoyably go-for-broke singing of actors (Kate Hudson, Penelope Cruz) who don't normally get to sing on film, the confident camera work, the disciplined energy and spectacle - it all deserved better than it got at the box office. Maybe on DVD the film will find its audience.