''The Fisher King'' is grand lunacy and wisdom of the highest order, graced by two Oscar-caliber performances from Robin Williams and Jeff Bridges.
A demanding concoction, rife with dense weirdness and ''radical amazement, '' ''The Fisher King'' should lure a castle-full of awards and a plentiful b.o. tithe as well.
For those not up on medieval legend, the Fisher King was the guardian of the Holy Grail, Christ's chalice at the Last Supper and the symbol of God's divine grace. Not surprisingly, entrustment of such a staggering moral yoke was overwhelming, even for the Fisher King. He suffered, withering away physically and spiritually (he could not experience love or be loved) and thus, literally, lost the Grail.
A Fool saw his anguished thirst and picked up the nearest goblet, the Grail, and nourished the King back to health. That act of harity, with no thought of reward, restored God's grace in man.
That's the philosophical pinion beneath this fantastic bellow. Screenwriter Richard LaGravenese has distilled the character of the Fisher King here into two modern-day, New York City characters: Jack Bridges) an ultra-saracastic DJ, and Parry (Williams) a former medieval history prof traumatized by his wife's murder, indirectly caused by Jack's on-air excesses.
Both are in an emotional and physical abyss: Parry is shacked up in a boiler room, spouting high nonsense, and Jack is drunked-up above a video store -- Jack has lost the power to love, while Parry yearns for love. Meeting coincidentally in the hellish underbridge of the city, the two form a bond. But it's a fragile and false bond: Jack feels if he can restore Parry to emotional health he will assuage his own guilt over ''causing'' the death of Parry's wife.
But Parry, cloaked in neo-medieval finery, is on his own plane and not easily toppled back into the ''real world.'' He is convinced the Holy Grail is ensconced in a local billionaire's mantel and it is his mission to rescue it, a knight's errant mission of the looniest order. Jack's charity, motivated by guilt, does not help Parry -- or himself.
It is only through transcendence of his own plight, through uncalculated kindness, that Jack can restore Parry and, thus, himself, to health.
Wonderfully, whenever the proceedings tend to tilt toward grand statement and high angular philosophy, Gilliam magnificently levels and redeems it with bursts of . . . well, Ethel Merman. Laced with billowing flourishes of inspired nonsense, ''The Fisher King'' is inspired storytelling. Admittedly, the story spinning gets a little cross-stitched at times and the ending is a shade too movie-hued, but Gilliam's stylish weave is mesmerizing.
Chisel in stone, next to Anthony Hopkins' name, Williams and Bridges for best actor nominations. Williams' squat, burly grace as the babbling fool is high poetry, while Bridges' forceful, lean style as the Nietzschean man is hard grace.
Amanda Plummer, as Parry's klutzy vision of loveliness, is winningly klutzy, while Mercedes Ruehl's brassy performance as Jack's caretaker-lover is splendid. Gary Jeter's Merman rendition is likely to be the movie's most-talked-about scene; even in this cinematic kingdom, it's a show stopper.
In this radiant bombast, technical contributions have been forged with the hottest fire: Mel Bourne's magical, multileveled production design pierces with philosophical implication, while Beatrix Pasztor's costume design, from Williams' elfin, red ear flaps to Bridge's viperish coatings are splendid pokes.
THE FISHER KING
TriStar
Producers Debra Hill, Lynda Obst
Director Terry Gilliam
Screenwriter Richard LaGravenese
Director of photography Roger Pratt
Production designer Mel Bourne
Editor Lesley Walker
Costume designer Beatrix Pasztor
Music George Fenton
Color/Stereo
Cast:
Parry Robin Williams
Jack Lucas Jeff Bridges
Lydia Amanda Plummer
Anne Napolitano Mercedes Ruehl
Cabaret singer Michael Jeter
Running time -- 137 minutes
MPAA Rating: R
(c) The Hollywood Reporter...
A demanding concoction, rife with dense weirdness and ''radical amazement, '' ''The Fisher King'' should lure a castle-full of awards and a plentiful b.o. tithe as well.
For those not up on medieval legend, the Fisher King was the guardian of the Holy Grail, Christ's chalice at the Last Supper and the symbol of God's divine grace. Not surprisingly, entrustment of such a staggering moral yoke was overwhelming, even for the Fisher King. He suffered, withering away physically and spiritually (he could not experience love or be loved) and thus, literally, lost the Grail.
A Fool saw his anguished thirst and picked up the nearest goblet, the Grail, and nourished the King back to health. That act of harity, with no thought of reward, restored God's grace in man.
That's the philosophical pinion beneath this fantastic bellow. Screenwriter Richard LaGravenese has distilled the character of the Fisher King here into two modern-day, New York City characters: Jack Bridges) an ultra-saracastic DJ, and Parry (Williams) a former medieval history prof traumatized by his wife's murder, indirectly caused by Jack's on-air excesses.
Both are in an emotional and physical abyss: Parry is shacked up in a boiler room, spouting high nonsense, and Jack is drunked-up above a video store -- Jack has lost the power to love, while Parry yearns for love. Meeting coincidentally in the hellish underbridge of the city, the two form a bond. But it's a fragile and false bond: Jack feels if he can restore Parry to emotional health he will assuage his own guilt over ''causing'' the death of Parry's wife.
But Parry, cloaked in neo-medieval finery, is on his own plane and not easily toppled back into the ''real world.'' He is convinced the Holy Grail is ensconced in a local billionaire's mantel and it is his mission to rescue it, a knight's errant mission of the looniest order. Jack's charity, motivated by guilt, does not help Parry -- or himself.
It is only through transcendence of his own plight, through uncalculated kindness, that Jack can restore Parry and, thus, himself, to health.
Wonderfully, whenever the proceedings tend to tilt toward grand statement and high angular philosophy, Gilliam magnificently levels and redeems it with bursts of . . . well, Ethel Merman. Laced with billowing flourishes of inspired nonsense, ''The Fisher King'' is inspired storytelling. Admittedly, the story spinning gets a little cross-stitched at times and the ending is a shade too movie-hued, but Gilliam's stylish weave is mesmerizing.
Chisel in stone, next to Anthony Hopkins' name, Williams and Bridges for best actor nominations. Williams' squat, burly grace as the babbling fool is high poetry, while Bridges' forceful, lean style as the Nietzschean man is hard grace.
Amanda Plummer, as Parry's klutzy vision of loveliness, is winningly klutzy, while Mercedes Ruehl's brassy performance as Jack's caretaker-lover is splendid. Gary Jeter's Merman rendition is likely to be the movie's most-talked-about scene; even in this cinematic kingdom, it's a show stopper.
In this radiant bombast, technical contributions have been forged with the hottest fire: Mel Bourne's magical, multileveled production design pierces with philosophical implication, while Beatrix Pasztor's costume design, from Williams' elfin, red ear flaps to Bridge's viperish coatings are splendid pokes.
THE FISHER KING
TriStar
Producers Debra Hill, Lynda Obst
Director Terry Gilliam
Screenwriter Richard LaGravenese
Director of photography Roger Pratt
Production designer Mel Bourne
Editor Lesley Walker
Costume designer Beatrix Pasztor
Music George Fenton
Color/Stereo
Cast:
Parry Robin Williams
Jack Lucas Jeff Bridges
Lydia Amanda Plummer
Anne Napolitano Mercedes Ruehl
Cabaret singer Michael Jeter
Running time -- 137 minutes
MPAA Rating: R
(c) The Hollywood Reporter...
- 9/11/1991
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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