Terry Gilliam's 'Brazil' is one heck of a film. A weird, twisted, fantastical tale of the sheer absurdity of an Orwellian society, the films draws inspiration from a lengthy series of science-fiction and dystopian novels and films including Fritz Lang's 'Metropolis (1927),' Ray Bradbury's 'Fahrenheit 451 {or François Truffaut's 1966 adaptation},' Franz Kafka's 'The Trial {or Orson Welles' 1962 adaptation},' Anthony Burgess' 'A Clockwork Orange' {or Kubrick's 1971 adaptation} and, more than anything else, George Orwell's 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' {adapted just one year earlier by Michael Radford}. Masterfully blending the horror of this misguided totalitarian government with Gilliam's gloriously absurd brand of Monty Python-esquire humour, 'Brazil' depicts the absolute folly of the direction in which our society is heading.
Whilst 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' showed us a frighteningly effective police state in which "evil-doers" are brought to swift and inharmonious justice, 'Brazil's' equally formidable Ministry of Information doesn't even work properly. At the very beginning of the film, when the carcass of a swatted insect falls into a typewriter, the machine mistakenly issues an arrest warrant for a Mr. BUTTLE, rather than the suspected terrorist Mr. TUTTLE. The result of this minor bureaucratic foul-up will be the death-by-torture of the completely innocent Mr. Buttle, the degradation of his unfortunate family and the precipitation of the events of the film, featuring mild-mannered, unambitious, dream-obsessed urban worker Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce).
We first meet Sam Lowry in his own dreams, as a silver-winged, bird-like mythical creature, soaring through the open air, free from the constraints of the fascist government that would later destroy his life. He seeks out his dream girl (Kim Greist), who calls his name softly from beneath a thin, floating veil. This is the first of several mythic dream sequences, full of idealistic notions of love, happiness and freedom, though the restrictive power of the Ministry of Information's totalitarian regime threatens on more than one occasion to rob him Sam of the only moments of happiness he can experience, within his own mind. In one compelling later dream sequence, Sam must battle to rescue his beloved dream-girl from an immense, monolithic like samurai-machine, which might be interpreted to represent the all-powerful technology of the Ministry of Information. When he discovers his own face behind the monster's mask, it is symbolic of Sam's own willingness to take part in such a regime.
In his real life, Sam Lowry is a fairly dependable, but decidedly unmotivated, computer worker at the Department of Records. His jittery boss, Mr. M. Kurtzmann (Ian Holm), relies entirely on Sam to get him out of occasional "tight spots," and fails to notice that his seemingly hard-working employees are switching their computer monitors to the day's classic movie screening as soon as his back is turned. Despite the pressure from his influential, plastic surgery-obsessed mother (Katherine Helmond), Sam has absolutely no desire to be promoted to the Ministry of Information until, that is, he spots his dream-girl in real life named Jill Layton and desires to learn as much about her as possible. Sam is shocked to learn that Jill is considered a potential terrorist, in league with the elusive heater-engineer terrorist Harry Tuttle (Robert De Niro), and so he sets out to protect her from a grisly fate.
'Brazil' is a visually magnificent film, brimming with unparalleled production design (by Norman Garwood), set direction (John Beard, Keith Pain) and costume design (James Acheson). Roger Pratt's inventive cinematography beautifully captures a dark and menacing society that, at times, descends steeply into complete surrealism. The film's enigmatic title refers to Ary Barroso's catchy South American song, 'Aquarela do Brasil {Watercolour of Brazil},' which is a theme used frequently throughout the film, most noticeably during Sam's dream sequences. The opening lyrics of the song go as follows: "Brazil / Where hearts were entertaining June / We stood beneath an amber moon / And softly murmured 'someday soon' / We kissed and clung together / Then, tomorrow was another day / The morning found me miles away / With still a million things to say." Perhaps the film's title, 'Brazil,' refers to this eternal place of bliss and happiness, a seemingly unreachable place under the brutal dictatorship of society.
While the film certainly borrows ideas from a varied assortment of previous works, 'Brazil' is simply unlike anything you have ever seen before. Simultaneously, it is a stern condemnation of fascism and a light-hearted, hilariously-absurd satire of government. The ending to the film is particularly powerful, with Gilliam offering us a typical happily-ever-after ending, and then yanking it away in the final seconds. After all, in such a dystopian society, a happy ending is not only unlikely, but it is damn near impossible. Curiously, Sam does eventually find his happiness, but it comes at the cost of his own sanity, and he starts to absentmindedly hum the title tune as his torturers depart and the credits begin to roll. Could this possibly be construed as a happy ending? It's definitely unlike any other that I've seen.
Whilst 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' showed us a frighteningly effective police state in which "evil-doers" are brought to swift and inharmonious justice, 'Brazil's' equally formidable Ministry of Information doesn't even work properly. At the very beginning of the film, when the carcass of a swatted insect falls into a typewriter, the machine mistakenly issues an arrest warrant for a Mr. BUTTLE, rather than the suspected terrorist Mr. TUTTLE. The result of this minor bureaucratic foul-up will be the death-by-torture of the completely innocent Mr. Buttle, the degradation of his unfortunate family and the precipitation of the events of the film, featuring mild-mannered, unambitious, dream-obsessed urban worker Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce).
We first meet Sam Lowry in his own dreams, as a silver-winged, bird-like mythical creature, soaring through the open air, free from the constraints of the fascist government that would later destroy his life. He seeks out his dream girl (Kim Greist), who calls his name softly from beneath a thin, floating veil. This is the first of several mythic dream sequences, full of idealistic notions of love, happiness and freedom, though the restrictive power of the Ministry of Information's totalitarian regime threatens on more than one occasion to rob him Sam of the only moments of happiness he can experience, within his own mind. In one compelling later dream sequence, Sam must battle to rescue his beloved dream-girl from an immense, monolithic like samurai-machine, which might be interpreted to represent the all-powerful technology of the Ministry of Information. When he discovers his own face behind the monster's mask, it is symbolic of Sam's own willingness to take part in such a regime.
In his real life, Sam Lowry is a fairly dependable, but decidedly unmotivated, computer worker at the Department of Records. His jittery boss, Mr. M. Kurtzmann (Ian Holm), relies entirely on Sam to get him out of occasional "tight spots," and fails to notice that his seemingly hard-working employees are switching their computer monitors to the day's classic movie screening as soon as his back is turned. Despite the pressure from his influential, plastic surgery-obsessed mother (Katherine Helmond), Sam has absolutely no desire to be promoted to the Ministry of Information until, that is, he spots his dream-girl in real life named Jill Layton and desires to learn as much about her as possible. Sam is shocked to learn that Jill is considered a potential terrorist, in league with the elusive heater-engineer terrorist Harry Tuttle (Robert De Niro), and so he sets out to protect her from a grisly fate.
'Brazil' is a visually magnificent film, brimming with unparalleled production design (by Norman Garwood), set direction (John Beard, Keith Pain) and costume design (James Acheson). Roger Pratt's inventive cinematography beautifully captures a dark and menacing society that, at times, descends steeply into complete surrealism. The film's enigmatic title refers to Ary Barroso's catchy South American song, 'Aquarela do Brasil {Watercolour of Brazil},' which is a theme used frequently throughout the film, most noticeably during Sam's dream sequences. The opening lyrics of the song go as follows: "Brazil / Where hearts were entertaining June / We stood beneath an amber moon / And softly murmured 'someday soon' / We kissed and clung together / Then, tomorrow was another day / The morning found me miles away / With still a million things to say." Perhaps the film's title, 'Brazil,' refers to this eternal place of bliss and happiness, a seemingly unreachable place under the brutal dictatorship of society.
While the film certainly borrows ideas from a varied assortment of previous works, 'Brazil' is simply unlike anything you have ever seen before. Simultaneously, it is a stern condemnation of fascism and a light-hearted, hilariously-absurd satire of government. The ending to the film is particularly powerful, with Gilliam offering us a typical happily-ever-after ending, and then yanking it away in the final seconds. After all, in such a dystopian society, a happy ending is not only unlikely, but it is damn near impossible. Curiously, Sam does eventually find his happiness, but it comes at the cost of his own sanity, and he starts to absentmindedly hum the title tune as his torturers depart and the credits begin to roll. Could this possibly be construed as a happy ending? It's definitely unlike any other that I've seen.