Brazil's Flying Circus

Brazil

Directed by Terry Gilliam

At the Harvard Square Theatre and the

USA Copley Place

THERE HAS ALWAYS been an element of horror lurking behind the humor of Monty Python. In The Life of Brian, for instance, the members of the British comedy troupe presented us with the deeply disturbing image of a chorus of men and women singing "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" while being crucified at Golgotha.

In Brazil, an equally disturbing new film from Python member Terry Gilliam, this darkly comic "Bright Side" philosophy is brought to its ultimate extreme. Using a setting strongly derived from George Orwell's 1984, Gilliam gives us a hero whose world is so dark that he loses the ability to see anything but the bright side of it.

In the disjointed world in which Brazil (the name comes from a song which the hero is fond of singing) takes place, tragedy and absurdity are inextricably mixed, as is evident from the very first scenes. Early on, we are taken deep into the bowels of the Ministry of Information a bureaucratic, Leviathan institution no doubt based on Orwell's Ministry of Truth. A fastidious technician is clambering over an enormous teletype machine while in pursuit of an equally enormous, noisy fly, which he dispatches with his shoe. The fly falls into the machine, and causes it to type the name "Buttle" instead of "Tuttle" on one of its printouts, triggering a chain of events which we follow throughout the first part of the film.

In the next scene, the importance of the error becomes clear as we join the Buttle family in their Yuletide celebration. The family is gathered around the Christmas tree, and Mrs. Buttle is just finishing the last lines of "A Christmas Carol" when black-clad, gas-masked stormtroopers burst through the doors, windows, and ceiling. Amid the screaming of his wife and children, the unfortunate Mr. Buttle is grabbed by the intruders and stuffed into what looks like a combination straitjacket and garment bag.

This all sounds pretty Orwellian, but here comes Gilliam's comic twist. Almost immediately after the dust settles, a man in a tweed suit walks in and politely gives the terrified Mrs. Buttle a receipt for her husband before leading him away. At the same moment, state-employed maintenance men begin shouting at the stormtroopers through the shattered ceiling, cursing them for messing up the heating system.

WHAT GILLIAM GIVES us here is a masterpiece of irony--inhumanity with a human face. The same storm-troopers who destroy the Buttle home are later seen relaxing among themselves, complaining about how hot their uniforms are, and even practicing Christmas carols. Within the Ministry itself, barried, faceless clerks evade the hawkish eyes of their supervisors in order to watch Casablanca on their telescreens. Although these people are serving under a brutal system, they are nonetheless living creatures, unlike the automatons of Orwell's novel. There is even a resistance movement, evidencing itself in a variety of sudden explosions, which occur so often that they are hardly noticed.

If the masters of the Ministry of Information tyrannize the populace, they in turn are tyrannized by the maze of technology in which they live. No machine works properly, from elevators which stop and start at random, to air conditioners which alternately broil and freeze their victims. The intrusion of technology into daily life is visible in the presence of giant, serpentine ducts which protrude into every living space, from the richest apartment to the lowliest hovel.

Bound in this political and technological straitjacket is Gilliam's hero, the unassuming, unambitious Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce). In order to find a little peace and quiet, Lowry spends every spare moment fantasizing about another life. In his dreams, we find him coursing through the clouds over a fairytale landscape, and fighting to rescue a beautiful maiden (Kim Greist), a stark contrast to his humdrum daily existence in which we find him ably solving problems for his incompetent but adoring boss (Ian Holme).

A major problem erupts when Mr. Buttle dies under interrogation and the Ministry discovers its error. A refund is sent to the family, and the duty of delivering the check is given to Lowry. The experience of walking into the ruined Buttle home and seeing the almost catatonic widow gives Lowry the first intimation of the evil behind the checks and receipts which pass over his desk every day. It also gives him a glimpse of Jill Layton, a truck driver whom he recognizes as the maiden in his dreams.

At this point, Lowry's life becomes a quest to find and meet the beloved Jill, even at the price of gaining a promotion through his sleazy but influential mother (Katherine Helmond). In his search for more information about Jill, the obscene brutality of his world becomes clearer and clearer. For instance, he accidentally discovers that his best friend (Michael Palin, whose performance combines aspects of Josef Mengele and Mr. Rogers into one person) does not run an office, but a torture chamber, gouging people's eyes out while his secretary takes dictation.

THE FACT THAT Jill is being watched by the Ministry for complaining about the Buttle arrest, combined with the fact that the real Mr. Tuttle, (a working class, bowling-league type of terrorist played by Robert DeNiro), arrives one night to fix his air conditioner and sabotage his building, sends Lowry on a collision course with the government.

It is a hopeless fight for Lowry and Jill, as each mishap and misadventure complicates their lives. As if in self-defense, Lowry begins to retreat into his own mind. In his dreams, the stormtroopers who beat him become massive, fantastic samurai fighters with whom he does battle. His fellow employees and the kingpins of his mother's high-society existence become orc-like creatures who are dragging Jill in a cage. The myriad ducts which encroach upon his apartment become snakes which attack him, and his mother, who has been getting progressively more drastic facelifts, appears looking like his daughter.

When Lowry's situation becomes an Orwellian equivalent of Golgotha, however, the line between fantasy and reality becomes blurred. The living nightmare around him fuses with the nightmare inside Lowry's mind, and we no longer know if what is happening is really happening. All of his wildest dreams come true, as do his worst nightmares. This is perhaps both the best and worst part of the movie, for even though this sequence is entertaining, it is as disjointed and confused as the most bizarre of our dreams.

This effect is no doubt intentional on Gilliam's part, for what he has crafted here is a tribute to the human imagination. Though the body may be shocked, beaten and tortured with a power drill, the mind is still free to escape. As is apparent in the final scene, where he soars through the clouds in a torture chair singing "Brazil," Lowry's mind gets away.