When thinking of the worlds of Guillermo del Toro, the mind's eye drifts to the spectacular, big budget universes he conjures up out of his cranium.
One thinks of the mystical and magical world of Hellboy and its sequel, both of which feature creature designs and a lived-in universe feel that calls to mind feature-length versions of the cantina sequence from Star Wars: A New Hope. Or the ruined Earth of Pacific Rim, where scoundrels operating on the black market sell body parts from deceased monsters cut down by giant, sword-wielding robots. Or the gothic mansion of Crimson Peak, dilapidated and soaked through with blood-red clay, home both to whispering ghosts and also something far nastier.
And while there's certainly some of that sumptuous world-building in Cronos (1992), The Devil's Backbone (2001), and, especially, Pan's Labyrinth (2006)—which, collectively, make up the Criterion Collection's handsome new set, Trilogia de Guillermo del Toro*—what one appreciates more about these films is Del Toro's skill at building mood and tension through character development and setting.
Cronos, del Toro's debut directorial feature, is, nominally, a vampire story. Jesus Gris (Federico Luppi) discovers a device crafted by an alchemist centuries ago that will grant him eternal life—as long as he's willing to drain others of their blood. Chased by the hulking-yet-insecure Angel de la Guardia (Ron Perlman), Gris is at first enamored of his newfound power and then wary of the hold it takes over him. We see his journey, at least in part, through the eyes of his beloved granddaughter, Aurora (Tamara Shanath), whose innocence helps keep Gris from dancing down the path to damnation.
Del Toro has a way with children, an intuitive understanding of their struggles and fears, their desires and needs. While Mercedes is more of a silent guardian, the orphans of The Devil's Backbone must make sense of a world wracked by war and chaos. His parents casualties of the Spanish Civil War, Carlos (Fernando Tielve) is delivered to an orphanage run by Republican sympathizers Casares (Federico Luppi) and Carmen (Marisa Paredes), who are hiding gold used to fund the fight against Franco. Searching for that hidden treasure is Jacinto (Eduardo Noriega). And haunting the orphanage with his whispering moans is Santi.
What one appreciates the most about The Devil's Backbone on repeat viewings is the time del Toro spends showing the boys at play with one another, steeping us in their petty cruelties and deeper camaraderie—a camaraderie that extends beyond the grave. The Devil's Backbone is certainly a ghost story, but it's an unusual one; though Santi's a spirit, he's not here to horrify but to help. Like the specters of last year's Crimson Peak, Santi hopes to guide the young boys to safety from something far more terrible than the predation of spirits—the malevolence of men.
Pan's Labyrinth takes these themes and ideas and expands upon them in the most fantastic ways. Undoubtedly del Toro's masterpiece, Pan's Labyrinth concerns the travails of Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), whose mother is sick with child and whose stepfather is a cruel captain in Franco's army. Set in 1944, Pan's Labyrinth expertly weaves a historically ugly and brutal confrontation with one little girl's efforts to understand the world around her by escaping into fantasy.
As the film begins, Ofelia is reading about a princess named Moanna who escaped from an underground kingdom and whose father has been looking for her for centuries. Blinded by the sun and bereft of her memories, her spirit haunts the world, waiting to discover a way to return to her ancestral home. After arriving in the Spanish countryside, where her stepfather is hunting the last remnants of the defeated communist-backed opposition, Ofelia finds a faun (Doug Jones) in the middle of a labyrinth. The faun informs her she will be asked to perform three tasks in order to prove she is worthy of returning to her father's kingdom and accepting her place by his side.
Whereas the rest of del Toro's work is quite literal—we are never led to wonder if the Cronos device will lend he who wields it everlasting life or if Santi is in fact a ghost haunting the orphanage of The Devil's Backbone—there's something more delicate at work in Pan's Labyrinth. Is it an actual fairytale, one with a happy ending? Or is it merely one abused, lonely child's way of filtering the horror that surrounds her into a more comprehensible milieu? The film is so cleverly constructed and so expertly edited that you could make a strong case in either direction.
Ever the optimist, I choose to take Pan's Labyrinth as literally as the rest of del Toro's work. Long may Princess Moanna reign! And long may Guillermo del Toro tell his tales.
*As usual, Criterion has outdone themselves. The transfers are all gorgeous—almost too gorgeous in the case of Cronos, insofar as we can see the seams of the modestly budgeted special effects—and the discs are loaded down with extras that will keep del Toro fans enraptured for days. The Blu-ray set comes with a hardback book featuring an introduction from Neil Gaiman, as well as critical essays from Maitland McDonagh, Mark Kermode, and Michael Atkinson and production notes from the films. It's the perfect Christmas gift for any lover of dark fairy tales in your life.