LOST IN LA MANCHA

-By Shirley Sealy

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Director Terry Gilliam, the former Monty Pythoner, is not just any filmmaker. He is, in the truest sense of the word, an artist. Whether commercially successful or not, Gilliam's films are always grandly envisioned, wildly original and infused with a kind of crazy creative passion which is uniquely his. Finding cinematic material to match Gilliam's talents and grandiose aims cannot be easy, but Don Quixote seemed to fill the bill. As compelling a character today as when he was created 400 years ago (in the novel by Spain's Miguel Cervantes), the disastrously idealistic 'man from la Mancha' not only dares to dream the impossible dream--he dares to strike out and pursue it. With gusto! Just like Terry Gilliam.

Documentarians Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe had met Gilliam when they did The Hamster Factor, a documentary on the making of Gilliam's Twelve Monkeys. They thought Gilliam would be the perfect subject for a more 'gonzo-style' film, and Gilliam himself suggested their cameras could follow the progress of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, his revised version of the classic tale, which introduces a time-traveler from the 21st century who winds up in the Sancho Panza role, as the accidental adventurer who goes along for the bumpy ride with the dotty Don.

Fulton and Pepe planned to make a one-hour TV movie which--because of Gilliam's innate flamboyance and his inability to resist a challenge from the filmmaking gods--they hoped would prove more entertaining than the ordinary 'making of' documentary. They arrived in Spain in August 2000 to catch Gilliam and crew at work on pre-production, and just in time to document the first validation of what came to be known as the 'Quixote curse.' At the last minute, one of Gilliam's chief financial investors simply backed out. Gilliam is shown grudgingly but gamely accepting the revised budget, even making jokes about it. But he begins to grow testy when, because of conflicting schedules, he has no actors to begin rehearsals.

The great French actor Jean Rochefort had agreed to play Quixote--and he's physically perfect for the role--while Johnny Depp was cast as the time-regressed witness to Quixote's follies. Both actors show up in Lost in La Mancha, but not for long. Had Rochefort developed any ailment other than a prostate infection, which made it excruciatingly painful for him to sit on a horse (and who can picture Don Quixote not astride his noble nag?), well, maybe Gilliam could have eventually finished the epic he had been working on for over ten years. But the disasters, both big and small, continued. Military jets flying over the desert location caused constant shooting delays. Then the rains came--a major storm producing flash floods sweeping camera equipment and buffet tables into swiftly moving arroyos. In the end, it was an 'act of God' clause that allowed the pained producers to halt production on The Man Who Killed Don Quixote.

As the 'star' of Lost in La Mancha, Terry Gilliam evolves from being a funny, optimistic and upbeat creative force, his natural state, to becoming a supremely frustrated and anguished director--fully aware of his own disappointment and that of an entire community of his fellow film artists. Gilliam's assistant director, Phil Patterson, assumes a role akin to that of Sancho Panza, the realist, to Gilliam's woefully idealistic Quixote, and both emerge as sympathetic. Lost in La Mancha is not only a rare close-up look at a rare talent, Gilliam, it's also a wonderfully enlightening expose of the kind of risks--financially, emotionally and professionally--any filmmaker faces in trying to get any movie made.

--Shirley Sealy