(Sorry, couldn’t resist the awful pun.)
I speak of the (usually) masterful Terry Gilliam’s latest movie, Brothers Grimm. I cast doubt on its outlook not because it’s a horrible movie (it’s not – it’s not a great movie either, but certainly not a disaster on the order of Van Helsing), No, I cast my doubt because it’s already been shredded by the critics and, if Toronto is any indication, because it’s suffering from a fairly limited release (and the theatres that are showing it are resigned to its failure – on opening weekend the movie was already relegated to the high-digit, small screen gulag in the local multiplex). There are certainly terrible aspects to the film – for instance, Jonathan Pryce and Peter Stormare’s performances were, well, inexplicable. They seemed more like an excuse to have a bad accent wander the scene than for any real purpose (even as comic relief they were stagnant). But buried amidst the rubble is a fun, silly movie. It’s not anywhere near the masterpiece that was Time Bandits, nor as brilliant as Brazil. It might even be the weakest of Gilliam’s movies, but I’ll take a bad Gilliam movie over any of Michael Bay’s abortions.