I will definitely have to come back and talk about this movie, simply from a love of fairy tale and horror and because of how much so many symbols and themes spoke to me through this movie. This is a genre that I flirt with in many writings and some of my art, too. My children's books (first one out, novel now being edited) are written in a (unusual?) blend of nonfic, horror, and fairy-tale, using a fiction character to narrate nonfiction tales that sounds like tales in a fantasy frame. (Not true of the novel, which is not nonfic at all, just horror/fantasy.) My book has many elements that are very similar to this film. Noticing this both excited and ...annoyed me. In the end I chalk it up to growing up in the same world and being influenced by similar stories as Señor Del Toro. Perhaps it is more, LA FLOR calling to both our blood! (Um, a magical flower is prevalent in my work and in this film. Incidentally, the flower seems to be an image and metaphor used often in Mexico, as well as Spanish filmmaking, I find).

Anyway, this is not a writeup about how similar my book is to this movie. The two stories really are very different. Yet certain elements resonated strongly with me—magical hollow tree in forest, enchanted flower, forbidden food, magical shape-changing friend, spindly, sharpfingered villain creature. Wow! I was really blown away just by all that. And any artist who sees the themes they are working on emerge in another piece of work understands why I have to note it!

Also, because I was so enchanted on so many intellectual/analytical/artistic levels, I missed out on some key bonding with the protagonist. At the same time, I had some possible issues with the script that may have been fatal flaws in a viewer identifying emotionally in general and I can't be sure which is which, yet. Another few reasons why I can't give a full writeup yet.

BUT

Not since watching Tool videos, or seeing Sauron in Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings have I seen such a creepy character as this one that guards a table of food in Pan's Labyrinth, the Pale Man. Beautiful. He sits at the head of a sumptuous meal that our protagonista, Ofelia, is told she cannot eat from—no matter what. (Of course we know what this means.)

The Pale Man does not eat, does not see, has no eyes, no real face, does not move. As if in a dream, a perfectly still and sour nightmare from which there is no escape his presence fills the room regardless. He has only two bloody orbs on his plate and this sits between his bloodstained, blackened, lengthy and pointed fingers; between the feast and himself.

On the walls of the room are various pieces of art. They look to be painted on tiles, and have a iconic feel. They remind me of both Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic art documenting pharaonic legacy, as well as Church-commissioned art, such as in the Renaissance, procured in order to render a certain history and prominence of a person or saint. These particular tiles show the Pale Man murdering children in various ways. This was a terrifying element.

He is unmoving. The Pale Man—especially in light of Ofelia's directive—is pure potential. And this potential is envisioned about the room, in case you were curious, or unsure of what it might be. The arrangement might be compared to a serial killer passed out in a room decorated with his crime headlines all over the walls. No. It is far worse than that. A serial killer is still human.

The scariest part, of course, was when Ofelia ate the fruit she was told not to (damn sinning women, they always ruin things, don't they?) and the Pale Man awoke.

When the Pale Man wakes, he methodically places his eyeballs into bloody gaping sockets in his palms. Then he holds up his hands so that he can see the room.

The very fact (and visual impact) that his face is assembled, that it is assembled as two hands open and raised at you, and that even assembled it is composed of empty space makes even his animated existence partially abstract and horrific to try and percieve.

The Pale Man is a brilliant character, one that will haunt you.