The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

It has a scrappy, indie feel that I like...not for everyone...but an honest and compassionate account, the pain and the ecstasy of the creative process...

It'd be easy to map Gilliam on to Grisoni, a film-maker dogged by his artistic misfires and the mess left in their wake. Really, though, he's Quixote, stuck in a noble past and wilfully disconnected from a present that jostles uncomfortably close.

A staggering misfire that's both unambitious and bloated.

It's a messy, unfocused film that seems so in awe of its own existence that it can't quite summon the energy to tell a worthwhile story.

Neither a splendid phoenix from the ashes nor a complete failure, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is erratic, occasionally inspired, occasionally dull, but shot through with a grandiose sense of ambition.

The melancholy is the saving grace, one man out of time immortalising another. Gilliam refrains from explicit meta, but winks over the fourth wall.

It's apparent that both the director and his film are interchangeable now.

True to form, Gilliam starts the frenzy early and delivers delirious passages. [Full review in Spanish]

Like most Gilliam's movies, it's definitely not for everyone but I quite enjoyed all the surreal, bizarre & plain weird-ness of it all. The visuals are wonderful, so I recommend this for those who can appreciate his imaginative and peculiar vision.

There are... common points between Quixote and Gilliam, which go beyond fighting against windmills. The delusions of grandeur and the romantic feeling of justice in the former will have seduced the latter. [Full review in Spanish]