Guillermo del Toro puts a fairy tale inside the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War, and the two halves feed each other more often than they fight. The world above ground is thinner than the one below it. We recommend it warmly, and not to children.
Guillermo del Toro has made a fairy tale set in Spain in 1944, five years after the Civil War ended and the wrong side won. A girl finds a faun in a labyrinth; a captain hunts partisans in the woods above her. It is the most complete film del Toro has made, and we recommend it with two cautions: the mill is less alive than the labyrinth, and the certificate means what it says.
Capitán Vidal (Sergi López) has set up his garrison in an old mill, and his new wife Carmen (Ariadna Gil), pregnant and ill, is brought there with her daughter Ofelia (Ivana Baquero). López plays Vidal as a man who has arranged his life to leave no gap for feeling. He shaves with a straight razor and speaks to the people he is about to hurt in the voice he uses to order dinner. He questions a farmer and his son about a rabbit, and what he then does with a wine bottle made us look away. We do not look away often. Guillermo Navarro shoots the mill in blue-grey, rain on the stone, lamplight that never reaches the walls.
Below it, another palette. Eugenio Caballero’s labyrinth is a ring of mossed stone with a stair down its centre, and the places it leads to are amber and red. The Faun (Doug Jones) creaks when he moves, and has bark for skin and eyes set too wide to read. Javier Navarrete’s score is built on a lullaby that Mercedes (Maribel Verdú) hums without words, and it returns under both worlds until you stop knowing which it belongs to. Del Toro and his editor Bernat Vilaplana cross between them by sliding the camera behind a tree trunk or a pillar, so there is hardly a cut between the captain and the creatures.
One sequence we will describe only as far as its door. Ofelia draws a doorway in chalk and steps into a long dining hall, a table laid with fruit and meat, and at its head a thing with sagging skin, no eyes in its face and its hands folded on its plate. Paintings on the walls show what it eats. Nothing moves for a long time. We were frightened in the way a picture book frightens a child, by a thing that has not yet woken up, and we have not been frightened like that by a film since.
The weaknesses are all above ground. Carmen is a sickbed and a warning, and Gil is given little to play beyond pain and disappointment. The partisans in the hills, among them Mercedes’s brother Pedro (Roger Casamajor), are a cause rather than people. Some critics found the mill duller than the labyrinth and the join between them forced, and we half agree: the war scenes are made with less invention than the fantasy. But we think del Toro means the real world to look poorer than the story, and Vidal’s cruelty needs no design to land.
Verdú plays Mercedes as a woman who has worked out exactly how much she can risk and does not flinch when the sum changes. Baquero carries the film without the tricks child actors are taught: she listens, she is stubborn, and when told she is a princess she looks not delighted but unsure whether to believe it. Lala Huete puts her in a dark green dress with a white collar for the captain’s dinner, and she ruins it in the mud of the fig tree within the hour.
Set against del Toro’s films, this is where the pieces fit. Cronos (1993) had the creatures and The Devil’s Backbone (2001) had the war and the children; Hellboy (2004) had the budget and not much else. Here the monsters and the history need each other, and at 118 minutes there is no fat on it.
Watch it with the lights off and the sound up, and do not let anyone under fifteen talk you round, however much the trailer looks like a story for them. The last ten minutes moved us more than we expected, and we knew what was coming.