MIRRORMASK

Novelist Neil Gaiman established himself as one of the premiere comic book writers of the 90s with his phenomenally popular Sandman series. A sprawling examination of myth and allegory the books shifted from gritty realism to flamboyant fantasy with grace and wit. Often teamed with illustrator and painter Dave McKean, Sandman presented a world filled with complex characters, lush artistry and savvy storytelling.

Unfortunately, a comic book is not a movie. Narrative discipline has never been Gaiman’s strong suit and his first foray into motion pictures, despite director Dave McKean’s arresting visual sensibilities, lacks the drama or immediacy to make compelling cinema.

Borrowing ideas and themes from The Wizard Of Oz and Labyrinth, the film follows Helena (Stephanie Leonidas), a young woman who, ironically enough, wants to run away from the family circus and join the real world. Angry with her mother (Gina McKee), she petulantly wishes her dead only to have her fall mysteriously ill. As the circus dissolves and the disease progresses, guilt begins to consume Helena until one night she wakes to find herself in a surreal dreamworld that echoes the fanciful sketches on her bedroom wall. Filled with mask-wearing humans and bizarre monsters, it’s a troubling landscape where darkness and light perpetually wrestle for dominance. Joined by a juggler named Valentine (Jason Barry), Helena journeys from the city of the slumbering White Queen to the dark lands of the Black Queen to find the mirrormask, which will not only save her mother but also prevent the runaway Princess Of Shadows – who has escaped into the real world and taken Helena’s place – from destroying the kingdom in a flood of poisonous gloom.

Joined by Jim Henson’s creative team, McKean uses this overly familiar dark fantasy as a canvass for his outlandish and highly impressionistic visuals, delivering a film that could only be created in the digital age. Words can’t effectively describe Mirrormask’s lavish and delicately gorgeous imagery. McKean has created an entire universe out of whole cloth, translating his evocative paintings into flesh and blood.

Over time, however, McKean’s visuals overwhelm the senses. It becomes difficult to relate to the film’s landscape and the effects begin to oppress instead of transport the viewer. Since everything is presented as an illusion you lose track of what you’re looking at and why you should care. Furthermore, Gaiman’s confusing and overly vague plot, leads McKean to sacrifice dramatic momentum in favor of dreamy wonder.

The cast of mostly unknown actors is engaging enough and Leonidas, in particular, shines with overripe innocence and sexuality. The young actress almost manages to carry us through the story’s more baffling turns but is eventually undone by the film’s lethargic pace.

As an exercise in artistic design, Mirrormask is certainly unique and even revolutionary. Gaiman and McKean in an attempt to marry the visual stylings of Salvador Dali to the film sensibilities of Jean Cocteau have created some astonishing visual moments. In one amazing sequence, macabre, oversized jack-in-the-boxes dance to The Carpenter’s Close To You. It’s a wondrous image ripped from our dreams. But a movie is more than its most fanciful moments and even the most sophisticated of smoke and mirrors can’t hide an undercooked story.