Terry Gilliam***128-134 DONE* AD Willem Dafoe.qxd …

128 venicemag.com december 2009/january 2010

Terry Gilliam***128-134 DONE* AD_Willem Dafoe.qxd 12/13/09 10:20 PM

Abored, middle-aged man staresvacantly at his television, as alittle sun on the end of a stickextends from the screen andpokes him on the nose. His eyes

go blank and he melts into his chair, as hisbodily essence pours out the cuffs of his pantsand streams into a grating on the floor, drip-ping into a sculpture mold that, one by one,churns out millions of identical families —naked but for their socks, glasses, and MickeyMouse ears — who populate the world withmindless compliance. Director Terry Gilliam’sanimated intro sequence to Monty Python’sThe Meaning of Life represents all that he livesto joyously dismantle. Institutionalized confor-mity is the enemy and whimsical thought is hisweapon. As a college student he twisted theschool’s literary magazine into biting satire, asthe lone American member of Monty Pythonhe helped topple British society’s deference toauthority, and as a filmmaker he proved thatimagination can trump corporation. Andwhether it’s intruding executives, limitedfinancing, or the laws of physics, Gilliam is inhis element when he’s up against a foe.

But braving the thick of acrimony andobstruction wasn’t always his chosen lot, asGilliam’s formative years seemed bathed ingood fortune. His college magazine work ledhim smoothly into a creative position along-side one of his heroes, and in the course of hispublishing duties he struck up a friendshipwith a young comic named John Cleese, whoeventually invited the burgeoning artist and hisBritish writer pals to form arguably the mostinfluential comedy team the world has everknown. Gilliam proceeded to bask in freedom,as he created the hypnotically absurd ani-mated imagery for the BBC’s “Monty Python’sFlying Circus” (1969-1974) and co-directedthe group’s Holy Grail with Terry Jones — inwhich he put in his most notable screen timeas King Arthur’s servant, Patsy. (Gazing atCamelot, he shrugged, “It’s only a model!”) Itwas around the time he started directing hisown films, though, that friction took hold. Hismedieval comic fable, Jabberwocky (1977),was poorly received, no one was interested indistributing Time Bandits (1981), the dark andoppressive future of Brazil (1985) only hit U.S.screens after Gilliam and Universal Picturesthrew down in one of the most public industrybrawls of all time, and the shooting of TheAdventures of Baron Munchausen (1989) wasso swamped with bad press that its favorablereviews did little to widen its U.S. release. Onthe other hand, Jabberwocky is now a cultclassic, Time Bandits’ rollicking adventurewas a critical and financial success, the

flawed breakthrough of Brazil is bona fidelegend, and Munchausen’s enchanting visualswere nominated for four Academy Awards.Even The Man Who Killed Don Quixote,which, through a harrowing series of events,collapsed on the sixth day of production,yielded the lauded documentary of the expe-rience, Lost in La Mancha.

Though the Minneapolis-born director is athorn in the side of many who feel he couldalleviate a lot of his grief through reasonablecompromise, Gilliam is heralded by collabora-tors for his uncommon flexibilty in the face ofchanging circumstances and new ideas. Andthough eschewed by many professionals whofear the inevitable mire, many more are achingto work with him. Jeff Bridges and RobinWilliams both changed perceptions of theirabilities in the beautifully, painfully heartfeltmodern-day fairytale, The Fisher King (1991)— which also allowed Mercedes Ruehl toearn her Best Supporting Actress Oscar.Brad Pitt went uncharacteristically frenetic asJeffrey Goines, the insane son of a powerfulscientist and virus expert in 12 Monkeys.Johnny Depp sunk deeply into the staccato,drug-addled genius of Hunter S. Thompsonin Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), and10-year-old Jodelle Ferland took on a multi-character role with a range most actors neverachieve in the lambasted, ignored, and sadlymisinterpreted Tideland (2005). “To me, it wasa Rorschach test for people, and the waythey perceive the world,” Gilliam says of histale of a suddenly orphaned girl and her vividinner world. “It’s a really sad film, but to meit’s all a very optimistic and hopeful thing! It’sthe resilience of children. We don’t want tobelieve our children are strong. We want themto be victims.”

Heath Ledger embraced the idea of a fan-tastical romp with the visionary director whenhe signed on to The Brothers Grimm (2005),in which he and Matt Damon played a pair of19th-century con artists thrown into a gen-uine supernatural crisis. Thrilled with Ledger’sperformance, and as a friend and mentor,Gilliam invited the gifted rising star to join in hisnext dreamy outing, The Imaginarium ofDoctor Parnassus. And it was during thefilming of this epic exploration into the choicebetween light and dark that Ledger passedaway. Yet the love that Ledger had engen-dered among his peers inspired a remarkablespirit of cooperation that allowed his perfor-mance to reach the screen. Against all predic-tion, in pure Gilliam form, production resumedwithin weeks of Ledger’s passing, with Depp,Jude Law, and Colin Farrell paying homageto their friend and carrying his final piece to

completion. “It was amazing how manypeople wanted to help, and there werepeople I didn’t even call who offered their ser-vices,” recalls Gilliam at a recent press con-ference. “It was great because these guys —not just the three actors — but everybody onthis film, loved Heath so much that they weredetermined to somehow get through it. Otheractors had stop dates, crews had other [pro-jects], and they all said, ‘No, we’re going tofinish this thing for Heath.’ And that is a veryrare experience.”

Imaginarium is the story of an immortalwizard (Christopher Plummer is Doctor Par-nassus), whose passion for nurturinghumanity’s imagination is ever sabotaged byhis addiction to gambling with the Devil (theirrepressible Tom Waits). Amid their sneeringantagonism and dueling surreal imagery,Ledger shows up as the wild card, whoseallegiance is up to debate. The mysterious,charming rogue steals the heart of Par-nassus’ daughter, Valentina (actor/super-model Lily Cole), stirs up contempt in themagician’s longtime assistant, Anton (astellar Andrew Garfield), and serves as yet afurther annoyance to Parnassus’ oldestfriend, Percy (Verne Troyer in his first majordramatic role).

Devoted to scaling the heights and depthsof magical realism, Gilliam shows no sign ofletting up. Once more against the windmills,Don Quixote is back in pre-production. “It’son a track,” he laughs with reporters. “One ofthe tracks is built. The horse has three legs,so it’s moving forward. I have a Don Quixote;that’s the first thing.” Our talk with the mis-chievous, eternally childlike auteur is rife withhis infectious giggling at the wonderment ofit all. After months of press, though, theweary director’s interest in discussing Par-nassus is nearing its end when we meet withhim poolside in Beverly Hills. With this inmind, we harbor a notion that we can touchbriefly on his magazine illustration period andhis animation with Monty Python, beforecovering the major points of his film career.But as it is with a man who works tirelesslyto show the world what a stream of con-sciousness looks like, we find ourselvesengrossed in the tale of Gilliam’s early years.

Venice: Could we start off with a littleabout your history?

Terry Gilliam: If I can remember it. It’s sofunny now, because I’ve done so many inter-views about these things over the years, I’mbeginning to believe that the interviewsmight not actually be the true history — justwhat was convenient to talk about. [laughs]

TERRY GILLIAMThe Road to Parnassus

BY ANDREW FISH PHOTOGRAPHY CRAIG CAMERON OLSEN

december 2009/january 2010 venicemag.com 129


You were going to be a missionary, isthat right?

Yes, at one point. I went to Occidental Col-lege on a Presbyterian scholarship. I was areasonably zealous youth. I think it was prob-ably because I wanted to go out and travel theworld — and also, I guess, it’s what you dowith films. You’ve got ideas, and you’re tryingto transmit them to a lot of people That’s whatmissionaries do. I just got bored, or irritated,with the closed-mindedness of those in theChurch. Every time I made jokes about God,they took umbrage. What kind of God do youbelieve in that can’t take a joke?

How did you make the move from Min-nesota to Occidental?

We moved out to Panorama City when Iwas about 11 or 12. I went to school at Birm-ingham High School, and then went to Occi-dental College. And then off to New York withHelp! Magazine and Harvey Kurtzman.

You were the editor of a magazine atOccidental College that you revamped.

It was actually the literary magazine, and Iturned it into the humor magazine, calledFang. And at the time, Harvey Kurtzman wasGod to most of us young satirists and car-toonists, and he was doing Help! Magazine inNew York, and I kept sending him copies ofFang. We were doing things like Help! We wereworking with these “fumetti,” these photo sto-ries. Fumetti means “puffs of smoke,”because whenever somebody talks, you seepuffs of smoke. All these Italian romancemagazines did fumetti all the time, and Harveytook the form and turned it into satirical photostories. I was doing the same thing. They werelike movies without movement.

You did some of your own photographyand used stock photos as well?

We wouldn’t use stock photos. We’d tell astory with stills. It’s just like doing a story-board, basically, [with wide shots] and close-ups. Just static, and they talk with balloons.So I was doing them in college, and Harveywrote a nice note back, saying, “Well done.Good work!” And I graduate with nowhere togo, and I wrote him a letter, saying, “I’mcoming to New York!” And he said, “Don’tbother! There’s no work here, kid!” [laughs] Iwas sitting that summer reading Moss Hart.George Kaufman and Moss Hart becamethis great theatrical duo, writing just incred-ible, wonderfully funny, satirical theater. Ahuge success. And I was reading his autobi-ography, called Act One. When he was a kid,his hero is George Kaufman. He comes toNew York and ends up working with his hero— and that’s exactly what happened to mewith Harvey.

How were you two communicating? Just letters! Remember we used to do that?

[laughs] I would send a letter off, and, amaz-ingly, a month or two later, a letter comesback! [gasps] It’s from Harvey — wow!

And he told you not to come out? Yeah, but of course you don’t listen! [laughs]

And I went there, and he agreed, okay, hewould say hello because I was there. He wasworking in the Algonquin Hotel, and to me theAlgonquin was this romantic place, whereDorothy Parker and the whole AlgonquinRound Table met [from 1919 through 1929]. All

the great satirists in New York: [Robert]Benchley, [George] Kaufman... So I turn up atthe Algonquin Hotel, and knock on the door,and open it, and Harvey’s not there — but allthe famous cartoonists from Mad Magazinewere working in this room. It was likeopening the door to Olympus. ChuckAlverson, who was the assistant editor at thetime, was quitting, and they were looking forsomebody, and I just walked into the job. If Ihad come a couple days later, somebodyelse would have had that job.

So you did get to meet with Harvey. Yeah. He just said, “I’m looking for some-

body.” And I was being all bright and bouncy.He said, “We’ve got no money.” They werepaying two dollars less a week than you wouldget on the dole. There’s a job! [laughs] So howmany people are going to jump into that one?

Mad Magazine and Help! were associ-ated?

Harvey had left Mad, and did a couple ofother magazines, one called Humbug, onecalled Trump, and then Help! And the firstassistant editor on Help! was Gloria Steinem.So Gloria was the first, Chuck Alverson — whoultimately co-wrote Jabberwocky with me —was number two, and I was number three.Then that was it! [laughs]

How long were you there?I was there for about three years, until the

magazine failed. It was slowly on the decline,and finally it failed. And I took what little moneyI had and went off to Europe, hitchhikingaround for six months.

What kind of work did you do at themagazine?

Everything. That was the thing; Harveyand I were the editorial and art staff. [laughs]There was Jim Warren, the publisher, andthere was Harry Chester, who did the actualpaste-up work; that was it! We were doingthe fumettis, I would be going out and findingactors who would work for $15 a day — and

that’s where I met John Cleese. I got him tobe in one. We were writing the fumettis, I wasdoing cartooning, I was designing, every-thing — it was great! When you’re workingon something with such a small staff, youhave to do everything. I was the delivery boy,I was the guy on the phone, saying, “Mr.Gilliam will be sending a package over veryshortly.” And then Mr. Gilliam, me, would turnup as the delivery boy. “Hi!” [laughs]

John Cleese was touring with a show inthe States when you met him, right?

He was touring with Cambridge Footlights

Revue. They were really on the coattails of[British comedy stage revue] Beyond theFringe, who had been very successful, but[Footlights wasn’t]; they ended up in the Vil-lage at some small theater. GrahamChapman was in it, Bill Oddie from [Britishcomedy trio] The Goodies was in the group.John, of course, stood out, and I got him tobe in this fumetti story about a man whofalls in love with his daughter’s Barbie doll,and consummates the relationship with her.He made $15 for his day’s work! [laughs]

Was it a fun day working with him? Yeah, it was great! And we sort of

became friends. Then I went off to Europe,and I think he went off to work forNewsweek. Then we didn’t see each otheruntil years later, when I finally came, in1967, to England. When I’d hitchhikedaround Europe, it was the end of ’64 and thebeginning of ’65, and then I came back andI actually lived in Harvey’s attic for severalmonths. I didn’t have a place to stay, so Iwas in the attic near the air conditioning.

Harvey was one of your heroes whenyou were younger, and then you endedup not only working with him every day,but living in his attic. What was that like?

[laughs] Harvey was great! He was a greatmentor. I learned so much with him. WithMad comics, he really created satire, andpastiche, and parody, all of that, on a comiclevel, far greater than anyone else ever had.And it was a meticulous kind of work. It wasall in the detail. It was detail; it was rich. Hiscomics were made like a movie! He woulduse tracking shots, and zooming in. Nobodywas doing anything like that! So, he was, formy generation, a hero. With Help! Maga-zine, we were a magnet for all the guys whoeventually became the underground comicartists. Bob Crumb would come to NewYork, Gilbert Shelton, Jay Lynch. Thesewere all the guys that were around Help!;they were all my buddies. We were all justromping around New York.


Come on, learn to think about things. Don’t accept the reality that’s beaten down on you every day.



It sounds like that’s how you cut yourteeth for the work you ended up doing withMonty Python.

Everything I learned there was applicableto Python. The difference was that I starteddoing animation. I used to draw on film thatwe would peel out of the dustbin of produc-tion companies. They would throw the filmout, and there would be lots of clear film, soyou would just draw on it, and make little ani-mated films that way.

Who were you doing this for at that point? I was doing it in New York. Because the

magazine came out once every two months,there was a lot of time in between. I wasworking in a studio that did stop-motion ani-mation — dancing cigarette packs, and thingslike that. I got a job there, working for nothing. Ijust wanted to be near the gear, and find outwhat the stuff was. I managed to save enoughmoney to buy my first 16-millimeter Bolexcamera. My roommates and I, on the weekend,we had one roll of film, three minutes.Depending what the weather was, we’d write alittle movie and go out and shoot it. We werejust playing, practicing.

How did you first get involved with tele-vision?

That was by the time I had gotten to Eng-land. By then, I had come back to America andworked in advertising out here in L.A., forCarson Roberts, the company that gave us thephrase, “Have a happy day,” and the smileyface. It all came from Carson Roberts, and Iwas working there. I was an art director andcopywriter, and I was working with Joel Siegel.Remember Joel Siegel on ABC’s “GoodMorning America”? He and I were great friends— and we met, actually, on Help! Magazine.Once again, Help! Magazine; Harry Shearer,too. This was before National Lampoon cameout, and Help! was the one national comicsatire magazine. So that’s how that all cameabout. Advertising for 11 months was enough,so I got out of it.

You’ve said that you were being treatedbadly at that period in the U.S., because ofhow you looked.

Yeah, I had long hair, and suddenly I realizedwhat it’s like being a black or Mexican kid. Dri-ving around in an English car with the topdown, and the cops would stop me everynight. And me, I just can’t keep my mouth shut,so the cops have got me up against the wall,and they’re giving me this monologue aboutmy being some kind of druggie, out-of-workmusician, living off some rich man’s daughter.I said, “No, no, no. I work in advertising. I makea lot more money than you guys do.” That’sreally how to [conduct] yourself with a cop! Butmy attitude was, “Fuck you! Just fuck you.What the fuck is this? Because my hair is long.”I got really angry with America, and I realizedthat if I’m that angry, can you imagine what theblack kids are like, and what the Mexican kids

are like? They’re getting this nightly as well —without a nice job like I had.

So you moved to the U.K. Yes, I was living with an English girl, who

was a reporter for the Evening Standard inLondon. She wanted to go back, and I said,“I’m out of here. Let’s go.” I was very crazedabout the war going on, the Vietnam War. Ithought, “This is ridiculous. It’s a stupid war.”So I went to England.

When did you get involved with MontyPython?

In England, I was just doing illustrations.Magazine work, I could always do. And my girl-friend at the time became the editor of thismagazine called The Londoner, the weeklynews magazine, and I became the art directoron the thing. Again, the two of us would basi-cally do it with a couple of other people. Wewere churning out a news magazine, weekly,which is good exercise! [laughs] We scoopedeverybody, all the big magazines — and wehad the first color photograph of the riots inWashington, D.C. We were out there beforeanybody else. I used to take all the artwork bytrain up to the North of England, where weprinted, and then the next morning come downwith magazines, which we would then runaround, putting on the desks of all the majornewspapers and magazines. [laughs]

This sounds a lot like our work at Venice!Yeah, I know! I know exactly this world.

[laughs] So I did that for quite a while — andJohn [Cleese], by then, was very well known ontelevision because of “The Frost Report,” sothat’s when I said, “John, come on, introduceme to somebody in television. I want to get outof magazines!” And that was it.

And he introduced you to Humphrey Bar-clay.

Humphrey, interestingly enough, was anamateur cartoonist. And I came in with myportfolio, and he loved my cartoons, and I thinkout of sympathy, he bought a couple of mywritten sketches. He forced them on MikePalin, Terry Jones, and Eric Idle on their [chil-dren’s comedy] show, “Do Not Adjust YourSet.” [laughs]

I’ve heard the story about how youwalked into the room in your Afghan coat,and Eric Idle fell in love with it.

Yes, it was the coat that started a relation-ship. He loved this Afghan coat. It was one I’dbought in Turkey; it was a big sheepskin coatright down to the floor, and I had been paintingit. So it was a beautiful coat. Me with my longhair — I was quite glamorous then. [laughs]

You waltzed in and the future Pythonstook you in.

Well, there was actually one step more,because they used those sketches — and theydidn’t do them very well, I thought. [laughs]



And then Humphrey started another seriescalled “We Have Ways of Making You Laugh,”and had gotten me on it. Eric was on it, andseveral other people — and I used to do cari-catures of the guests. That’s when I did myfirst animation, because they had material thatthey didn’t know how to present, and I said,“Let me animate it.” And I had, I think, twoweeks and 400 pounds, and the only way Icould do it was with cutouts. I started cuttingthings out and moving them around, andnobody had ever seen that. And overnight, Iwas an animator!

Were you using sketches you haddrawn?

No, at that point I was basically cutting outthings. I was cutting out the heads and thehands, but then the bodies would be things Ihad drawn on these characters. That was thefirst thing, and then I did another one, andanother. Then they did “Do Not Adjust YourSet,” and I did animation on there — so bythen, there were four of us that were a team:Mike, Terry, and Eric were doing the writing,and I was doing what I did. We all just got onvery well. And John and Graham... John hadbeen offered a television series at the BBC, ifhe wanted to take the slot. He was keen towork with Mike, and Mike was dragging histhree friends along, [laughs] and then sud-denly there are six people — and there’sMonty Python.

Were you involved in the writing of thesketches?

No, not really. Mostly, I was just doing myanimation sequences. When we had the jointmeetings, when we were all together... Basi-cally, Mike and Terry wrote together, Ericwrote alone, then John and Graham — sothey’d come in with all their stuff. I would alsohave ideas that I had written down, and thenwe’d have these joint sessions, where every-body is throwing in, and tearing everythingapart, and ideas are coming up. So that wasa total, communal thing. Then it would endup with my taking over at a certain point fromwhat they were doing, and taking it to thenext point. In a sense, I had the mostfreedom of anybody.

Did you look at the final footage beforeyou did the animation?

[laughs] Oh, no. The script was written, butthey hadn’t started rehearsing it. Sometimesthere would be film sections that I could thenwork from, but it wasn’t until we did the show.I would come in with my animation film canson the day of the show! I would be there, put itin, they would do the sketches, and then itwould all be edited together.

Would they base some of the endingsand beginnings of the sketches on youranimations?

No, I’d worked out those transitions. Likemy dancing Venus: I had it fall into the water,because I knew we could then start the sketchwith it. I cut out with Venus floating down a fishtank, which would take us into the pet shop.So I would do those kinds of transitions.

That led into the parrot sketch. Yeah. [laughs] So all of that stuff was

worked out in advance, but I was alwaysamazed that my stuff worked so smoothly withwhat they were doing. We all just seemed tobe on the same wavelength — approaching it

from different ways, but that same wavelengthwas going right through it.

And you gave them the ability to work onthe meat of the comedy without having tobe concerned about punch lines.

That was a decision we came up with veryearly on — that the punch lines were killingnormal sketches at that time. So, get rid ofpunch lines! And that’s why my function wasto, before the punch line, get in there and takeover and move on! [laughs]

So you were allowing them to ...... not embarrass themselves.

It wouldn’t have worked without themortar you provided.

There was this animation I had called“Beware of Elephants,” which was totallystream of consciousness. One thing flowedinto the next, and Terry Jones argued verystrongly that the show should be like that.More stream of consciousness; everythingflows. It wasn’t stop-start-stop-start. You’vejust got to smooth the transitions, so nobodyrealizes they’re transitions.

Who did all the grumbling and strangevoices in your animations?

That was me. I would sit there and do all thesound effects and most of the voices in thecartoons. I’d be recording it at home under ablanket with kitchen utensils and all sorts ofthings. [laughs]

I’d always wondered who did that. [classic Python animation grumbling] “Oh,

hello there, uhm grmhm mmgrmm.” [laughs]

Once the show was finished, did youhave any idea that Python was going tomove into film?

Actually, we had done the first three sea-sons, but we hadn’t done the last seasonwhen we did Holy Grail. Terry and I had been

chafing at the bit for quite a while, wanting todo it better than it was done on television. Wehad done the first film, which was And Now forSomething Completely Different, which wasjust a collection of sketches. And Ian Mac-Naughton, who was directing the show,directed it. So Terry and I were grumbling,“Let’s do it better!” So we had our chance inHoly Grail. That was the leap.

And then there was Life of Brian......and Meaning of Life, yeah.

I don’t know why I’m in the minority, butThe Meaning of Life is one of my all-timefavorite movies.

You know Henry Jaglom? He thinks it’s amasterpiece.

But for some reason, it’s so pooh-poohed.

Well, we pooh-poohed it, and everybodyfollowed us! Because nobody’s thinking forthemselves! [laughs] The great elements are asgood as anything we’ve ever done — somebetter. But as a whole is what we were reallytalking about. Brian holds together; it’s like amovie. Meaning of Life is a series of sketchesagain, and some of them are good, and someof them are less good. But some of thosesketches! I mean, I love that whole businesswith “Every Sperm Is Sacred.” The Catholicfamily, then the Protestant couple — won-derful stuff. And Mr. Creosote’s extraordinary.Some of the best stuff we’ve done is there; it’sjust the totality that none of us were verypleased with.

The songs that Eric Idle did... “The Galaxy Song” is wonderful. It’s a beau-

tiful song. “The Galaxy Song” is better than“Always Look on the Bright Side [of Life].” It’s areally smart song. When I look at it now, I thinkwhat we were all really feeling is that we hadsomehow reverted back to the show, and theformat of the show. We had all been wantingto make real movies. [laughs]

But the great songs, great animation,mostly great sketches, and then at the endwith “Flying Circus” playing on the TV that’sfloating off into space — that is MontyPython.

That’s what Henry said at Cannes. We actu-ally won the Jury Prize at Cannes; it’s the onetime we did win a prize. I said, “There’s someshit [in there],” and he said, “No, that’s whatmakes it so great! The variations, the highsand lows, is what makes it rich!”

I thought it encapsulated what “FlyingCircus” was all about.

I just got bored, or irritated, with the closed-mindedness of those in theChurch. Every time I made jokes about God, they took umbrage.

What kind of God do you believe in that can't take a joke?



I think you’re right on that one, yeah. ButTerry and I, we were just so desperate to be“proper filmmakers.” [laughs]

Well, then you got your chance to dothat. What was the first film after Pythonthat you directed?

First was Jabberwocky with Michael Palin,which is a kind of semi-escape from Python.The worst thing that happened with Jabber-wocky is that it got sold as a Python film. Andit’s not a Python film. Just because I’minvolved, Mike’s involved, and Terry Jones isinvolved in the beginning — it’s not a Pythonfilm. And it was being judged on the stan-dards of Python, which was not my intention.

And that was one of the funniest things; Iwrote a note to the New York critics to thateffect, and they just ripped me apart fordaring to suggest to them how to approachthe movie. The reviews were about me, notabout the film. “How dare he!” And I wassaying, “It’s more an homage to [Renaissancepainters] Breugel and Bosch.” “How dare hecompare himself to great artists like that?” Oh,shut the fuck up. I mean, look at Breugel andBosch: We’re talking about people shitting,and doing wonderful, awful things, and that’swhat I’m talking about. I’m not talking abouttheir painterly technique, you asshole! [laughs]No, they hated any suggestion that maybethey needed some guidance.

And Time Bandits was after that. And that was the big one. It’s the most

financially successful film in the U.S. for me,when you actually do the numbers. It washuge. And it was a film that nobody wanted.The studios all passed on it in script form, andthey passed on it as a finished film. We finallygot it out because we went for the small com-pany, Avco Embassy, and George Harrisonand Denis, our manager, guaranteed five mil-lion for prints and ads. We went out and it wasnumber one for I don’t know how manyweeks. It was just big. That’s why I questionthe wisdom of the studios daily. [laughs]

That was your intro to the shape ofthings to come. Was it a lot of fun makingthat film?

It was great, a joy to make! Again, lowbudget, work hard and fast — we were luckyto get people like Sean Connery, which, Ithink, was obviously an important thing.

How did you find the transition fromPython to directing films on your own?

[At this point we’re told we have oneminute left.]

Oh, my God! Enough of that, get to the point!

So you made this movie recentlycalled The Imaginarium of Doctor Par-nassus. Can you just tell me somethings about it?

All the websites have all the information.What do you want to know? What's agood thing I can talk about?

The stilts! Is that an image you’d hadfor a long time, of a ladder cracking downthe middle and turning to stilts?

No, I don’t know why that came to me. Itstarted with, you know, “Reach for theclouds!” And so I thought, “Well, how do youreach for the clouds? Everybody usesphrases like that.” So, ladders! He’sclimbing these ladders, and once I go fromsomebody climbing a ladder, and then someRussians are chasing him, and well, how doyou stop it? So, nothing better than just[snapsnapsnap], and down it goes. Thisknock-on effect, the action always intriguesme. The thing goes down, and then maybeit goes right through the earth, around, up tothe stars, back to the top, and down! That’sthe way I imagine it. So it’s coming down athim — and then you have stilts! I’ve alwaysloved “seven-league boots” in fairytales, sothis is as good as you can get with giantsteps, and off he goes. Those things — Idon’t know why — they seem to come veryeasily to me. I just let my mind float, and thenext thing happens. One thing is a knock-oneffect to the next thing, which does that, andthat. And they’re all pretty logical, as far asI’m concerned, so they don’t seem like greatimaginative leaps. It’s just the logical pro-gression of something. [laughs]

That’s what Parnassus is trying toteach people to do — to use their imagi-nation. Your goals are similar.

Oh, totally. That’s exactly what it is. That’sme preaching to the crowd out there. “Comeon, learn to think about things. Don’t acceptthe reality that’s beaten down on you everyday.” We’re inundated with what reality is.

And fuck that! Why is that reality? Learn tolook at things. Find your own. Otherwise,you end up being, as Hunter Thompsonpredicted, a nation of panicky sheep —and that’s what America’s become now.People are afraid to think for themselves.They all want to be P.C: “Don’t say thosewords, because they might causeoffence.” Causing offence is the worstthing you can do to people? No! Actually, itmight make them think! Everybody’s sothin-skinned now. My whole approach tolife has been, “Sticks and stones can breakmy bones, but words can never hurt me.”And yet a lot of people are afraid to saythings. They’re so timid, they’re tip-toeing

around in their lives — and I say fuck that!Let’s go! And that’s what Parnassus isbasically saying. [laughs]

My last question is something I’vebeen wondering about for years. Hadyou always thought, when you went toGrand Central Station, “Boy, this wouldmake a great ballroom?”

No. There was a scene that was going totake place in there, and it was basicallyJeff [Bridges] having a [revelatory]moment, because there was a ladysinging. That’s all it was. I was watchingthe rush hour there with some of the crew,and I kept saying, “Wouldn’t it be greatif...?” If all these people rushing to theirtrains, suddenly glanced over theirshoulder and fell in love, and starteddancing. And everybody said, “Wow, whata great idea!” I said, “Not gonna do that.That’s a Gilliam film, and we’re trying to doa Richard LaGravenese script!” And theykept beating me up,until, “Okay, I’ll do it.”[laughs] It’s that thing about being open towhat’s happening in front of you, beingaware of it, and being able to imagine thathappening. For me, it’s a really easy thingto do. It depends on your state of mind.I’ve got a romantic mind up there. So howdo you counter this mindless rushing? Well— love, maybe. And dancing! You know,they now dance every New Years Eve. Anorchestra plays in Grand Central Station,and people waltz. It came true — sinceFisher King! [laughs]

That makes me feel so good inside.We can have an effect, occasionally. ▼

Causing offence is the worst thing you can do to people? No! Actually, it might make them think! Everybody's so thin-skinned

now. My whole approach to life has been, "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

And yet a lot of people are afraid to say things.


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