If you were lucky enough to catch Pan’s Labyrinth in theaters 10 years ago, then I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the fantastical cinematic experience it imparted on you and everyone you were surrounded by. Coming off his reign as the father of everyone’s favorite Baby Ruth chomping boy from hell, Guillermo Del Toro decided to take cinema back to its roots and craft a sort of spiritual successor to his 2001 gothic ghost chiller, The Devil’s Backbone. In doing so, Del Toro created not only a film rife with richly layered imagery and themes of fantasy set amidst the weening years of the Spanish War, but one that skews the coming of age story while penetrating the matriarchy of fantasy.
Tag: Guillermo del Toro
When we first see Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), our films heroine, she’s alone gazing at her blood stained hand, its crimson cast against falling snow. Her ashen gown is juxtaposed with her ghostly complexion, the scarlet laden wound across her cheek emphatic. There’s a look in her eye that warns of the events that will unfold, though there’s a yearning that rests on her hand, an instrument that remains unyielding in its faculty. It’s in her eyes, agape with wonder and speculation, that she bears witness to her ivory extremities for the first time. When we hear Edith speak, it’s a voice that comes from within, one that resonates throughout with command, though it expresses what we already believe. Her power comes from her instrument, bloodied and strong yet beautifully empowering.