Fled is
that vision
by Sasha Stone

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, it was to be called, and it would star Johnny Depp as an unlikely Sancho Panza to John Rochefort's Don Quixote, in an odd retelling of the famous Cervantes novel, with Depp being thrust from our modern world back in time and inadvertently finding himself cast as Quixote's sidekick.

We learn all about this in the first few minutes of Lost in La Mancha, a documentary by Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe on the ill-fated Terry Gilliam project. They began work on the picture as they would have started any ordinary making-of movie -- only this one had a perplexing outcome: there would never be a Don Quixote film. Lost in La Mancha tells the story of a production gone so badly wrong it could be misinterpreted as cursed and no one would know the difference.

Little did fans of Terry Gilliam know that a bad reputation was lurking beneath the genius. Hollywood apparently has a fear of Gilliam inflating productions - Orson Welles style - out of control, over budget, before ultimately hitting the box office with a thud. Item: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, which made a scant 8 million in 1989 (By way of contrast, Field of Dreams, from pedestrian director Phil Robinson, made around 67 million that year). It was the legend of the Munchausen production that was on the minds of the financiers (this would have been the most expensive 100 % European-funded movie ever made) and of the various people involved with Gilliam, like his first assistant director and his producers. The one thing they all didn't want was another Munchausen.

Orson Welles had tried and failed to bring the story of Don Quixote to the big screen. What he ended up with were a few cans of film but nothing ever completed, just glimpses of what might have been. Ironically, that is what, after an admirable effort, Gilliam et al. ended up with. They also got one hell of a great documentary on filmmaking. This was nearly accidental, and feels that way from the start, as Pepe and Fulton dutifully follow Gilliam around through production meetings, costume fittings, and set visits. We see warehouses packed full of wonderful costumes and sets, we see Gilliam's gorgeous sketches and storyboards. Then the trouble starts.

To begin with, Gilliam has already overshot his vision, planning on spending about a fourth of what his movie should cost to make and not really sure how he's going to make it for less. Nonetheless, production begins in Spain. Almost immediately there is not only a storm, but a deluge that drenches the shoot and nearly ruins all of the equipment. But that can be overcome. Unfortunately, their Don Quixote, the perfectly cast John Rochefort, becomes ill with a prostate infection. Yet Gilliam, despite the harsh advice of his AD, decides to put Rochefort on the horse anyway (he'd have to ride a horse through the whole film). When shooting ends for the day, Rochefort has so much trouble getting off the horse that it the takes him about three hours to get into the car where he is then whisked off to the hospital. There is no way they can continue the production without their lead actor, who, it turns out, is now laid up in a hospital bed for months. They can't hire another actor, because not only does Gilliam not want anyone else, but the contract stipulates that the film be done with Rochefort. The clock ticks, the money dwindles, eventually all must face up to the fact that this potentially great film will never see a theater and will end up much like Welles' project -- a few great rushes and what might have been.

The rushes and what might have been are, however, the main reason to get thee to a theater to see Lost in La Mancha. Fans of Gilliam's work will be amazed, while fans of film will be interested -- would-be directors might be a little horrified at the business of it all. Still, everyone likes that Mr. Gilliam has a vision, and most are willing to admit that what happened wasn't his fault. It's on film now for all time. This is probably why Gilliam has been so supportive of the documentary. It shows that he is not a wild man out of control who can't hold together a production -- it also shows how hard it is to get a film made when you try to do it independently, without the studio to come in, piss all over your vision, but ultimately get the film made. So now, the fate of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, ten years in the making, is in the hands of the insurance company. And we must be satisfied with what little glimpse we get into a fleeting, albeit lovely, dream.

©2003 Sasha Stone
CineScene