blood of an innocent
by Douglas Messerli
Guillermo del Toro (screenwriter and director) El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan’s Labyrinth) / 2006
Mexican director Guillermo del
Toro’s El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan’s
Labyrinth) consists of two seemingly unconnected tales, the first of a
young girl, Ofelia (played with a sort of wise innocence by Ivana Baquero),
who, as her mother, Carmen, suggests, is perhaps a bit old for the fantastical
romances with which she is obsessed and which dominate her imagination whenever
she has a spare moment to employ it. In fact, except for occasionally helping
her pregnant mother, who suffers the pains of imminent childbirth, Ofelia is
very much left alone to her own thoughts. Her mother has only recently
remarried, and her new stepfather Vidal (Sergi López)—at the center of the
second, realist story—is a frighteningly cruel Captain stationed at a remote
forest outpost of Generalísimo Franco’s
repressive fascist army in 1944 Spain. Vidal, we soon discover, is a man as
brutal as the government he supports. When his men discover a peasant father
and son near their base, the Captain drives a pick through the eyes of the younger
man and shoots them both before finishing the inventory of their satchel
wherein lies the evidence that supports their claim that they are simply
hunters: a dead rabbit.
In the fairytale logic of del Toro’s film,
the old mill house, where Ofelia and her mother have come from the city to live
with Vidal, is located not only in a mountainous forest but near the remains of
an ancient labyrinth leading to what the film’s narrator describes as an
ancient kingdom where the king and queen await the return of the princess
Moanna, who abandoned it.
If the first two fantastical challenges
seem nearly impossible for the young child to accomplish—that she crawl into
the center of a giant rotting tree to reclaim a golden key from the innards of
a gargantuan frog, and that she cross a grand banquet hall filled with food she
is warned not to touch in order to retrieve a hidden dagger—the challenges of
the adults around her are far more dangerous. Vidal’s head servant Mercedes and
his house doctor are in league with the nearby rebels; when several men of the
guerrilla band are killed and one is captured, accordingly, the two within
Vidal’s house suffer the terrors of seeing their friends tortured and destroyed
and, potentially, their own identities revealed.
While Vidal cruelly tortures his
adversaries, he himself is psychologically tortured by the heroism of his own
father, who bequeathed him a watch dashed to the ground to mark his passing.*
Throughout this film, stocked with various modernist symbols—keys, clocks,
food, books, animals, etc.—the maternal figures—Mercedes and Carmen—predictably
represent love and the nurturing forces of life, while the paternal figures
demand absolute obedience in a mad rush into chaos. Vidal diffidently crushes
those around him, while obsessed with his own mortality. Despite the shattered
face of his father’s watch, Vidal has returned it to working order and
constantly checks to see if it is still running, as if the watch represented
the beat of his own heart. The birth of his son appears to be his only chance
to preserve his lineage. Carmen, Ofelia’s mother, is seen less by Vidal as a
loving companion, accordingly, than as the bearer of his heir, the continuance
of his blood. If there is a choice of the survival of the child, he explains to
the doctor, the mother’s life is secondary.
Meanwhile, Ofelia has evidently forfeited her possibility of eternal salvation by disobeying the faun, eating two grapes from the banquet table even as she escapes the ogre with eyes implanted in his hands—a figure representing Chronos or Saturn, who, associated throughout Greek mythology as the keeper of time, who devoured his own children. Just as Ofelia has been cast out of the world she has known with her real father and beloved mother, she is now told by the figures of her fantastical dreams that she will never be able to return to the magical kingdom she was to have inherited.
Had del Toro brought the film to a close at
this point, it still might have been a powerful legend about a young girl
having to come to terms with the unjust and cruel world around her. Yet as
Vidal uncovers the treachery of the doctor—whom he summarily shoots—and
Mercedes—whom he is about to torture—a seeming miracle redeems the “real”
world: Mercedes escapes, to be saved by her partisan friends.
So too is
Ofelia given another chance in her fantasy. She must take her baby brother to
the entrance of the underworld of Pan’s labyrinth. Doctoring her stepfather’s
drink with drugs, she escapes with the baby at the very moment that the
guerrillas attack the fascist outpost. But her father, like all monsters,
relentlessly chases after, and she is suddenly forced to confront both
worlds—the real and the fantastical —side by side. Pan demands the blood of an
innocent, commanding the baby be handed over. The girl refuses, and is forced
to give it up to its father, who calmly takes the child into his embrace before
shooting and killing his stepdaughter. As the blood drips from her dead body
down into the well of the ancient world, it is clear that an innocent has been
sacrificed after all.
The
fantastical kingdom Ofelia now enters, where her “loving parents” sit on the
impossibly high towers representing their potency, suddenly reveals that
Ofelia’s fantastical world and the realist construction of Vidal are simply
mirror images of each other, and as such they create an allegorical
relationship for the viewer of the film. Both worlds demand the same thing: the
blood of innocents, the meaningless death of individuals who deny those in
power.
As some
postmodern writers and theorists have long argued—I am particularly thinking
here of Spanish-language writers such as Cuban novelists Severo Sarduy and José
Lezama Lima, writers who del Toro may have encountered—the fantastical fictions
of the magical realists offer few alternatives in their structures from the
paternalistic social fantasies of realists earlier in the 20th
century, who claimed their work represented the “truth.” In both worlds there
is no escape for those who suffer its indignities; there is no way out.
Ofelia
refuses to give Pan her brother; taking the child from Vidal’s hands before her
friends shoot him, Mercedes vengefully announces to the captain that the child
will be free of his heritage, that she shall never speak Vidal’s name to his
son.
_____
Friends
Wendy Walker and Tom La Farge pointed out to me, after reading this essay, that
at Vidal’s banquet table one of the guests notes that the Captain’s father was
a hero in the war in Morocco. That war, the Rif war or the War of Melilla
(1919-1926), was a disaster and embarrassment for Spain, as the Berbers
massacred 15,000 Spanish soldiers. The Spanish won only when the French joined
them in battle. Francisco Franco distinguished himself in that war, however,
and his involvement in the struggles helped to bring him to power.
Los Angeles, January 15, 2007
Reprinted from Nth Position [England] (August 2007).
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