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In my time studying and critiquing cinema, many have suggested to me that the art form “isn’t what it used to be,” implying that works created years ago are somehow mystically superior to those made today. This concept, my dear readers, is total elitist horseshit, and Pan’s Labyrinth is here to prove it. Before elaborating on that film, a brief explanation of the word “masterpiece” – an interesting and oft misused label meant to represent a level of art so innovative and dynamic that it is typically overshadowed at birth by mainstream fads; later, however, once time has sufficiently eroded the fakers into little more than vague shapes and helpless shadows in the sand, these classics stand out brilliantly as the very best a certain period had to offer. It has always been this way and will most likely continue along this route until human civilization collapses and the earth lies silently devoid of beings who may have given a crap about art.

Returning to the topic at hand, Pan’s Labyrinth – the latest cinematic endeavor from acclaimed writer / director Guillermo del Toro – is a deliciously audacious blend of fantasy and horror and definitely a film of the aforementioned caliber; a gem that will probably pass under the radar for many moviegoers, criminally unappreciated at its release but garnering massive praise from critics and, eventually, earning a place among the classics from this age. Del Toro, up to this point responsible for solid work like Blade 2 and Hellboy, has surpassed my expectations and crafted a fable that transcends the mindless horde of lesser, Lord of the Rings inspired tripe which seem to be flooding theaters at the moment. He showcases said virtuosity by way of cleverly analogous cinematic worlds which hold within them a slew of compellingly crafted characters, grounding it all firmly against a gritty, post-civil war backdrop.

Pan’s protagonist, a young girl named Ofelia, is an individual caught between two worlds: in one, she is the newly acquired step-daughter of a brutally fascist captain in the Spanish army; in the other, a princess from a supernatural land, struggling toward redemption and the reclamation of her birthright. Though one of these obviously possesses a clearer resemblance to our own historical reality, del Toro never forces judgment upon Ofelia’s complex diegesis, instead developing perils and benefits inherent to both and blending the lines between the two just enough to allow a free-thinking conclusion that Ofelia’s “true” environment is the one within which she finds greater solace.

These slightly ambiguous undercurrents require a deft touch, and Pan’s Labyrinth applies it fluently when necessary, resulting in a silky-smooth package of cinematography, editing and special effects. But the most remarkable elements lie in the contrasting harshness of the unnerving creature design and makeup artistry, accentuated by an eerie score and startlingly violent imagery. It all meshes perfectly, style and theme colliding into a rhythmic pattern of color and sound that will steal breath from even the healthiest of lungs.

Del Toro’s efforts succeed on many diverse levels – symbolically and stylistically – but despite its newness the whole affair never feels extraneously experimental or unfocused. It’s a dramatic experience of rare quality; one that elicits deep feelings of gratitude not only for this potentially breathtaking medium but also for those creators driving it forward from within, keeping things consistently fresh and exciting through unwavering devotion to the exhilaration of conceptualization; the notion that creative vision ought never yield in support of box-office gross. Film as a whole has not deteriorated, but rather changed, and Guillermo del Toro has offered potent evidence to this fact; it waits patiently within the haunting celluloid halls of Pan’s Labyrinth, lingering momentarily for those willing to appreciate its ephemeral beauty like curling smoke in a chilled, motionless patch of nocturnal air.

-Scott Miller