“I ask for so little. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I shall be your slave.” - Labyrinth
There seems to be an iron law that binds film critics, such that when a creative genius releases a movie that is destined to be understood as their magnum opus, its reception is doomed to be lukewarm. So it is with Labyrinth, Jim Henson’s final - and greatest - movie. Henson had achieved enormous acclaim for The Muppet Show in the 70s, and to some extent the fact that we became so comfortable with the immense grace by which he and his fellow performers could create seemingly effortless marvel is perhaps part of the reason that Labyrinth failed to have the impact it deserved.
The second and final collaboration between Jim Henson and concept designer Brian Froud (following The Dark Crystal), the screenplay involved so many writers it’s difficult to untangle its development. Terry Jones of Monty Python fame, who wrote the first pass and shares the on-screen writing credit, remembered the script returning to his desk having passed through many other hands and not recognising the story as his any more. But there is a purpose to this tale that I can only guess was nurtured by Henson’s guidance. And even though today there is great love for Labyrinth, I’m still rather surprised that many fans do not understand how this tale works as an allegory.
Labyrinth must on the one hand be understood as literally the fantasy adventure it depicts. There is a scene that does not feature the heroine, Sarah, at all, when the goblin king, Jareth (a dazzling pantomime performance by David Bowie) conspires with fairy exterminator Hoggle (voiced by Henson’s son, Brian, and performed by Shari Weiser). This shuts down any attempt to explain what we are watching as occurring purely in her imagination, as otherwise might be tempting. But allegorical stories work on different planes, rather like parables - except that parables are solely about their metaphorical meanings, while allegories are about both their literal and their figurative interpretations.
As an allegory, Labyrinth concerns the escape from childhood. Sarah begins the film as a slightly spoiled and self-centred girl. She whinges and whines about being made to babysit her baby brother, Toby, preferring to be aloofly acting out her fantasy adventures. These are inspired by the book, Labyrinth, that is not literally her story (as it was for Bastian in The Neverending Story) but it’s a tale she has simply fallen in love with. When her idle words cause the Goblin King to kidnap Toby and throw her into a thirteen-hour race against time to rescue her brother, she is forced to grow up, step by tiny step, and recognise that there is a world of real people around her.
A pivotal scene in the film occurs after Jareth has attempted to enchant Sarah at an illusionary ball. She breaks out of the phantasy and finds herself seemingly back in her own bedroom. The room is filled with toys and images representing the fantasy elements of the film - almost every character has its corresponding stuffed toy or doll. Yet upon opening the door, she is confronted by the Junk Lady (voiced by Denise Bryer - Zelda on Terrahawks - and performed by Karen Prell). Piled high with the worthless things she has acquired, the Junk Lady tries to weigh Sarah down with all her childhood trinkets. It is a figurative portrayal of being trapped by youthful nostalgia, and the harsh realisation in growing up when we are forced to appreciate, as Sarah says, that it’s “all junk”.
The ultimate challenge in growing up is the confrontation with those desires conjured by our childhood imaginations. This is incarnated for Sarah in Jareth the Goblin King. On the one hand, the embodiment of what she wishes for (even if she doesn't fully understand these feelings yet), but on the other - as the opening quote alludes - he threatens perpetual imprisonment. To grow up she must declare to her phantasmal lover “you have no power over me”.
And yet, as the film’s ending reflects, letting go of ‘childish things’ is never forever. Sarah admits to herself that in some way she cannot explain she still needs her youthful figments. Even when we escape the labyrinth of childhood and become adults, freeing ourselves from our self-centred imaginary world, we too will sometimes need to revel once again in the wild visions of our youth.
Thanks for this piece, Chris. It makes me want to rewatch the film. (I'm more familiar with The Dark Crystal.) That said, I'm not quite sure what you're after here. As I see it, part of the trouble with our times is the relegation of the entire inner world (our heart lives) as childhood junk. I suppose your piece leaves me wanting to have that conversation: where is the line between immature fantasy and mature incorporation of our inner lives?