The film weaves together the brutality of a war drama with a dark, mythic undercurrent. Set in 1944, five years after the Spanish civil war, the story follows General Francisco Franco\u2019s regime as it brutally suppresses lingering Republican resistance. The grim reality is filtered entirely through the eyes of a child, Ofelia (portrayed by Ivana Baquero).<\/p>\n
Described this way, it is difficult not to think of the Upside Down world in Stranger Things (2016-25). Particularly given the striking visual similarities between the Demogorgon and del Toro\u2019s iconic Pale Man (played by Doug Jones, who also plays the Faun and has appeared in six of the director\u2019s films).<\/p>\n
In a recent rewatch of Pan\u2019s Labyrinth, I was reminded of the film-maker\u2019s expertise and the dark beauty I had remembered so vividly back in 2006. What I hadn\u2019t remembered, however, was just how sparse the overtly supernatural elements are, occupying less than half an hour of the total run time. Their relative scarcity confirms just how powerful and arresting del Toro\u2019s imagery is, and how less can be more when expertly applied.<\/p>\n The monstrous Pale Man, for example, an anthropomorphic beast with eyes in the palms of his hands who gorges on children, occupies surprisingly little screen time. Yet it came to dominate my memory of the film. Publicity stills probably had something to do with that \u2013 but the lasting trauma the Pale Man represents is also testament to del Toro\u2019s skilful layering of two parallel worlds.<\/p>\n The fairytale world mirrors the horrors of Francoist Spain during the summer of 1944, predominantly experienced through the eyes of 11-year-old Ofelia.<\/p>\n The nightmarish Pale Man finds a real-world echo in Ofelia\u2019s military stepfather, Captain Vidal (Sergi L\u00f3pez). He\u2019s an authoritarian narcissist and avatar of Francoist power. Vidal is dedicated to hunting down the Spanish maquis (anti-Francoist guerrilla fighters) and subjecting them to horrific cruelty. He exerts a different but no less suffocating form of control over Ofelia and her pregnant mother. He regards her unborn baby less as a child than as an heir, destined to continue his name and legacy.<\/p>\n This theme of legacy extends into the film\u2019s mythical realm when the Faun reveals Ofelia\u2019s true identity as a lost princess. To reclaim her throne, she must complete three quests that directly mirror the horrors of her everyday world. In one trial, Ofelia retrieves a key from the belly of a giant toad \u2013 a task that runs in parallel with the maquis rebels\u2019 desperate bid to steal Vidal\u2019s storeroom key for food and supplies.<\/p>\n The film echoes Jim Henson\u2019s Labyrinth<\/a> (1986), which turns 40 this year. As in Henson\u2019s film, Ofelia\u2019s journey into a mysterious world becomes a test of growth, doubt and temptation.<\/p>\n Ofelia\u2019s quest to heal her mother and save her brother recalls Sarah\u2019s mission in Labyrinth. Other moments echo classic 1980s dark fantasy. A chalk portal brings Tim Burton\u2019s practical effects in Beetlejuice<\/a> (1988) to mind. Meanwhile, the final chase through the maze evokes Stanley Kubrick\u2019s The Shining<\/a> (1980).<\/p>\n \n Yet del Toro has been careful to distinguish his labyrinth from other mazes. In an interview<\/a> around the film\u2019s original release, he observed that \u201ca maze is a place where you get lost\u201d, whereas \u201ca labyrinth is essentially a place of transit\u201d. This distinction is key to appreciating del Toro\u2019s complex vision. The film is rich because it charts a transitional moment for Spanish society, while Ofelia\u2019s journey embodies hope, agency and choice against a backdrop of fascism, which del Toro described as an \u201cinstitutional lack of choice\u201d.<\/p>\n Choice, obedience and temptation come vividly to the fore in the iconic Pale Man sequence. Warned by the Faun not to eat anything from the creature\u2019s table, Ofelia, like Eve, succumbs to temptation and chooses to eat two grapes from its banquet. This moment of choice, along with many others, also evokes del Toro\u2019s complex relationship with religion. <\/p>\n Raised Catholic but later describing himself as \u201clapsed\u201d<\/a>, the influence of religion reveals itself throughout del Toro\u2019s work and in many of his artistic choices. For example, the imagery of a young girl and a faun in Pan\u2019s Labyrinth may bring C.S. Lewis\u2019s The Chronicles of Narnia<\/a> (1950) to mind, yet del Toro had already declined the opportunity to direct 2005\u2019s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, in part because he was uncomfortable with the explicit Christian resurrection of Aslan<\/a><\/p>\n In Pan\u2019s Labyrinth, religious symbolism is instead appropriated into something altogether murkier, becoming entangled with ambiguous structures of power. The wounds in the Pale Man\u2019s palms evoke the stigmata, while Ofelia\u2019s temptation by the forbidden feast recalls the forbidden fruit and subsequent expulsion from Eden. <\/p>\n Yet neither offers a straightforward Christian allegory. Del Toro instead twists familiar religious ideas into something strange and unsettling, intertwining them with structures of power, while allowing his child protagonist to question obedience. <\/p>\n Del Toro\u2019s uncompromising vision ultimately meant waiving his director\u2019s salary<\/a> to get the film made as he wanted rather than sacrifice his artistic choices. Twenty years on, Pan\u2019s Labyrinth remains every bit as rich, unsettling and powerful as I remember it feeling in the cinema. <\/p>\nA maze of cinematic influences<\/h2>\n
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