There are many painful things involved in watching The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus but by far the worst is the realisation that this, of all films, is to be Heath Ledger’s epitaph.
Upon finally escaping the cinema the lasting impression left on me was not the promised sense of child-like wonder but an all too adult sense of pity for Ledger, as he deserves a far better film as his swan song. The sad truth is that apart from the fascinating use of CGI there is very little to commend here: the film consists of a dark alignment of a loose plot, a lamentable script and some remarkably wooden acting, not to mention the persistence of rather ill-fitting motifs.
The film opens in a bleak 21st century London and follows the wandering troupe of the thousand year old Dr Parnassus (Christopher Plummer) on his eternal quest to open up the imaginations of the public by taking them through the Narnia-esque portal on his stage. Dr Parnassus is accompanied by Anton, a young magician and actor (Andrew Garfield), an assistant named Percy (Verne Troyer) and his ethereal daughter Valentina (Lily Cole). It soon transpires that Parnassus made a bet with the devil (Tom Waits) some years ago and as a consequence will have to surrender Valentina to him when she turns sixteen, which happens to be in three days’ time.
The devil offers Parnassus one last chance to save his daughter: the first to claim five souls wins and the battle for these souls will be waged in the fantastic world through the portal. Crossing Blackfriars Bridge after another unsuccessful night they stumble across Tony (Heath Ledger) hanging beneath them. Tony is on the run after defrauding the children’s charity he once ran. With his cheeky showmanship and sleight of hand Tony gives Parnassus’ troupe the edge in their contest with the devil.
Conceptually this does not sound too bad as a plot line. However, almost anything that could work in this film does not. The only memorable performances are given by Waits, who clearly had been waiting for this role his whole life, and, thankfully, by Ledger himself. Lily Cole, though visually ideal, suffers in the parts where she is required to speak. In fairness she is hamstrung by poor dialogue, which includes such killer lines as ‘Sweet sixteen, the age of consent’. Garfield, in his role as Anton, seemed to have given up on any pretence of trying to act his part well and instead delivered each line with febrile desperation; as if he too couldn’t wait for the film to end.
Then there was the whole host of other minor sins which made the film unwatchable: the pastiche of a Russian oligarch and his bodyguards, the scene where a row of London policemen line dance in drag in front of a sign saying ‘Join us if you love violence’ and, perhaps most unforgivably, the scene where Depp soliloquises by the riverfront as photos of Princess Di, James Dean and Rudolph Valentino float by: ‘They are forever young; they won’t grow old’.
Neither will Heath Ledger, but the sooner this film is forgotten the better he will be remembered.
one star
