The Princess Bride

(Rob Reiner, 2004)

"The Princess Bride" started a curious tendency of mine to hold my breath at certain points in movies when characters are deprived of oxygen. Buttercup (Robin Wright Penn) accidentally steps into a patch of lightning sand in the Fire Swamp and disappears for about 40 seconds. I can't remember the last time I watched this scene while inhaling and exhaling normally. When Westley (Cary Elwes) emerges from the sand with Buttercup clinging to his neck, I gasp for air along with them as they roll about in dirt and ash on the forest floor, coughing their lungs out, trying to shake the horror loose.

"The Princess Bride" was among the first DVDs I owned after my parents gave me a DVD player as a graduation present. Though the transfer of the original MGM release has its issues, there was no contest in the quality of the film versus the old VHS copy my family had taped from the First Choice movie network in the late 1980's. I count it among my early exposure to the benefits of viewing films at their original theatrical aspect ratios rather than the standard framing of films for television screens. It's a movie I adored as a kid. I've seen it so many times, I now spend as much time with a direct eye on the sets and locales as I do on the characters.

It contains one of my favourite film scenes of all time, in which Westley goes sword to sword against hired Spaniard Inigo Montoya (Mandy Patinkin). Everything about this scene works perfectly - the rocky terrain, the back-and-forth rhythm of the duel in both swordplay and language, the painted sunset backdrops that take just enough reality out of the scene without making it seem overly cartoonish or surreal. The way that Patinkin instantly brings his character to life in the imagination with a measured and humble monologue, detailing how his father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. If Westley were this man, Inigo's seething anger would bring an apocalyptic tone to their duel; as he is not, the two men battle while quibbling humourously over whose technique is superior.

This is counterbalanced with Inigo's final confrontation with Count Tyrone Rugen, played by Christopher Guest, known more recently for his directing prowess rather than his vastly underrated abilities as a character actor. Here, he channels Vincent Price yet leaves even that figure's few traces of humanity at the portcullis. Their duel is as brutal as the earlier is skillful. We see the blades enter the men, the blood pooling onto their clothing from the open wounds. Deranged with pain and frustration, Inigo utters what has now become a classic phrase, a mantra that has kept him from drinking himself to death over his greatest moment of loss: "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." We see his face jerk slightly as the blade makes its final plunge. Justice has been served.

My experiences as a fascinated watcher of this film go back a long way. I still remember lines my mother laughed at on early viewings, more often than not delivered by the egocentric and verbose Vizzini. He's played by Wallace Shawn, who doesn't need a lot of makeup to fit this world. Nor does Fezzik, the towering man mountain played by former WWF wrestler Andre the Giant. These actors are recognizably left of center in a child's eyes, contributing to the fantasy in a way that special effects can't.

Descriptions of the film point at its status as a storybook story, a fairy tale with a twist of sharp postmodern humour. It's based on the book by William Goldman, who also wrote the screenplay and whose work as a screenwriter has seen him awarded Oscars for films such as "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" and "All the President's Men". His story is wholly original, told with a zest for putting recognizable character types (the princess, the hero, the freak, etc.) into one death-defying situation after the next. Director Rob Reiner keeps everything at a very contained octave, never relying too greatly on effects wizardry. There is not a single identifiable shot of the characters swashbuckling in front of a blue screen, a technique that so many other films of the period opted for.

Everything is played out in breathtaking locales and inventive sound stage constructs. The first half of the narrative flows symphonically thanks to the set of goals put in place by Westley's quest. Buttercup is kidnapped, a masked man dressed in black tracks down the kidnappers, battles them one by one and each in a unique way, rescues Buttercup and eludes Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon) and his men until they are finally caught upon exiting the Fire Swamp. Over the course of these events, Westley's true identity is revealed, though even a child would understand that the masked man pursuing Buttercup is the only man she'll ever love.

Fairy tales are like that. However, fairy tales rarely jump their own tracks as often as "The Princess Bride" does. When the albino hisses at Westley in the Pit of Despair, we don't expect him to cough and reveal a matter-of-fact tone to his voice, obstructed by phlegm - natural to an adult's perception of such a creature, but unexpected considering the shine the movie takes to a child's imagination. The film is full of moments such as this, pulling us away from the fantastic when it becomes a little too "out there", grounding the situations with humour so that an adult can't possibly complain about the lack of realism.

As a kid, I recognized that humour, too. The film brought me to realize how unlike life a story can be, yet how fantastic a story can make life seem. Goldman keeps returning to the little boy (Fred Savage) listening to his grandfather (Peter Falk) tell the story. The boy's vocal observations break up the parts he dislikes, creating the impression that the parts that proceed without interruption have him grabbing the sheets in amazement. "The Princess Bride" believes that our imaginations remain fertile ground for wonder in spite of the distractions of cynicism later on in life. Not a bad belief to keep around.

Two more reviews to go.