Man Who Killed Don Quixote Review: Terry Gilliam Tilts at Windmills and Wins

Its been plagued by endless delays, natural disasters, dying actors, greedy financiers and good old-fashioned Icarus-level hubris. Its been called one of the most cursed film productions ever. Most folks assumed that Terry Gilliams Don Quixote project would never, ever be made, much less see the light of day. (This demographic included the director himself.) And, having finally slouched its way to completion and a contested premiere at Cannes in 2018, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote knows that an against-the-odds backstory is as much a marketing tool as a millstone around its neck. And now after 25 years in the making and unmaking, declares an introductory disclaimer; rather than deny its storied stop-start-stop-again history, it leans in hard to acknowledge the unlikeliness of it all. That opening statement is a victory lap. Its existence at all is a bona fide miracle. Now comes the hard part: The damn thing has to stand on its own and simply work as a movie.

Terry Gilliam on the Madness of Don Quixote

Which makes us the messengers, i.e. the ones who have a nagging tendency to get shot. Not surprisingly, after a quarter century of revisions and musical-chair casting games and so much chasing of imaginary giants, the end result is messy, ragged, uneven, all over the place. There are exchanges that feel baked to a crisp followed by sequences that feel slightly undercooked. But its also the single best Gilliam film to hit theaters in 20 years, and while thats admittedly not a high bar to clear us fans have had to put up with works ranging from highly compromised to cringeworthy it should be considered a major cause for celebration. Rather than adapt Cervantes story, the Monty Python alumni and cinefantasist has used it as the starting point for a riff on artists haunted by the ghosts of earlier works and an old man stuck pursuing an impossible dream. We expected a pet project, just not such a personal one.

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The artist is Toby Grisoni (Adam Driver) no relation to cowriter Tony Grisoni, but probable superego relation to the movies other creator with the same initials a filmmaker trying to stage his own When-Don-Met-Sancho epic. Nothing is going right, from the stunt co-ordination to the communication between American and Spanish crew members. Toby himself is a bit of a Hollywood blowhard, bellowing insults into a cell phone and barking orders. Then, one evening at dinner, a mysterious Romani man comes bearing bootleg DVDS. Nestled in between the blockbusters happens to be the young directors student film, a Quixote tale in miniature starring nonprofessional locals that he shot nearby a decade ago. So he heads to the village where he once coerced Javier, (Jonathan Pryce), a shoemaker, into playing the crazy knight errant and convinced Angelica (Joana Ribeiro), a tavern waitress, that she could be a star. Upon arriving, Toby discovers that his actress has long since fled to Madrid. As for his lead? He still believes hes Quixote, destined to keep chivalry safe one tilted windmill at a time.

Let the misadventures begin! Gilliam sends his delusional knight and the confused cineaste, who Javier/Don keeps mistaking for his sidekick, into situations that require the defense of honor and the suspension of disbelief. Some are topical, such as a squatters encampment thats giving sanctuary to refugees; eventually, Spanish inquisitors show up, which no one was expecting. Some are surreal, like the set piece involving a horses corpse, a hidden paradise and a bathing beauty who happens to be Angelica. There are sword attacks on cop cars and costume parties run by Russian oligarchs, a flock of sheep that Quixote mistakes for Muslim holy men and a sleazy European producer (Stellan Skarsgrd) subbing in for every money man thats ever screwed Gilliam over. As for the grotesque creatures running toward Toby from across the horizon? They might be giants.

That shot of a trio of ogre-like men filmed from below feels like the one main holdover from Quixotes past, such as the aborted attempt chronicled in the 2002 documentary Lost in La Mancha. Occasionally, Gilliam lards The Man Who Killed Don Quixote with references to his own finished works, from a line suggesting an armored rival has probably just wet himself (cue Holy Grail flashbacks) to a humiliating prank that brings to mind The Fisher Kings Red Knight nightmares. The man loves his beautiful dreamers, as anyone whos seen Brazil a dozen or more times can attest. His usual visual flourishes all those warped wide-lens shots and cluttered set designs are here, though they are doled out sparingly for once; whats most shocking is how muted things seem for a Gilliam joint, even with the black-and-white student movie bits and the climaxs bric-a-bracfilled set piece. Females, in the form of the bosss wife Jacqui (Olga Kurylenko) and Angelica, represent the siren song of Hollywood and artistry sacrificed on the altar of commerce, respectively. It have been nice if theyd been actual characters, too.

Even Pryces dotty old Don sometimes comes off like a raw sketch of someone under the grip of Method acting run amuck rather than some sort of divine madness, which says less about the veteran stage actors chops than it does Quixotes role being more of a mere Catalonian catalyst. For Gilliam, its all about the filmmakers, both the ones in front of and behind the camera. Hes much more interested in Tobys journey to scratch some existential itch, which, lucky for him, is Adam Drivers specialty. The actor has been killing it lately were still thinking about his BlacKkKlansman turn almost a year later and this performance extends his winning streak. He can do sublime or ridiculous, or in the case of an impromptu Eddie Cantor impersonation to prove hes not an Sancho Panza impostor (long story), both at once. Driver is the anchor the film needs from turning into nothing but a flight of fancy, though given what the director is after, i.e. following Quixote 1.0s narrative of holy fools chasing after ideals and ghosts, such flights make sense here.

Gilliam has said that every time he was working on something else over the years, he knew that the tale of the knight errant was waiting for him around the corner. And now that this decades-in-the-unmaking project has been committed to film and finally laid to rest, he would miss having that unbeatable for to fight. What he does have, however, is a tangled yet touching story of needing giants to fight before one goes off to meet the Great Cervantes in the Sky. The movie nearly killed him. Yet the victory isnt just that he finished it, but that hes fashioned something so magnificent in its messiness. He should be proud as well as relieved. The impossible dream is dead. But long live The Man Who Killed Don Quixote.