The Fisher King

Terry Gilliam’s The Fisher King asks us to accept a Holy Grail quest in Manhattan and to care about the damaged men conducting it. We recommend it, with patience for a film that sometimes wanders after it has made its point. Richard LaGravenese’s screenplay brings together Jack, a guilt-ridden radio DJ, and Parry, a homeless man pursuing the Grail and the possibility of romance. Gilliam takes both the quest and the distress behind it seriously, even when the comedy threatens to drown them out.

Jeff Bridges is particularly good at keeping Jack’s self-interest visible. Helping Parry offers Jack a chance to feel better about himself, and Bridges lets us question how much of his concern extends beyond that. The guilt does not make him automatically agreeable. That gives LaGravenese’s story somewhere to go: there is actual selfishness here for a friendship to disturb.

Robin Williams has the more exposed part, and Parry’s exuberance can be exhausting. Williams leaves enough fear visible for us to understand why the jokes keep coming. His performance makes the shifts into nightmare troubling, because the man beneath all that activity already seems so vulnerable. Gilliam occasionally lets the comic business go on too long, but Williams makes Parry worth staying with through the noise.

Roger Pratt’s cinematography is at its most affecting in the Grand Central waltz, when the station becomes a ballroom. We were moved by the sight of people dancing where they should be hurrying through. Mel Bourne’s production design also keeps the contrasts between comfortable Manhattan and life on its streets clear, so the fantasy never quite makes the city cosy. That matters in a film asking us to enjoy Parry’s imagined adventures while recognising that he has nowhere secure to live.

Mercedes Ruehl is invaluable as Anne, giving the film a directness it badly needs. She delivers the comedy plainly and lets Anne’s feelings have their proper weight. Amanda Plummer’s Lydia is awkward without becoming a collection of habits we are expected to find charming. Both actresses help the romance by allowing affection to be hesitant and inconvenient, with none of the confidence that the film sometimes has on their behalf.

Lesley Walker’s editing preserves space for the actors, which pays off in Ruehl’s scenes but also lets some comic business run long. At 138 minutes, the film could afford to lose a few of its diversions. George Fenton’s score gives the romance warmth, though the music can become too persuasive when LaGravenese is already telling us how much to care. The trouble is repetition: a feeling established by a performance gets another scene to underline it.

Redemption stories often become too satisfied with the person doing the helping, and there is some of that danger here. Williams gives Parry too much life to let him become merely Jack’s opportunity to improve. We prefer the film when kindness is difficult, embarrassing work, and Gilliam gives that difficulty enough room to register. Allow a full evening, and some tolerance for his reluctance to stop.