The Fisher KingForgiveness only comes after a genuine desire to right a wrong. The Fisher King is a comedy and drama about a radio shock jock in the Howard Stern vein named Jack Lucas (Jeff Bridges), who inadvertently incites a maladjusted listener to go on a shooting spree in an upscale New York City bistro. Crippled with guilt, Jack yields to "suicidal paranoia" and prepares to end his life by drowning. Just before he does, a pair of hoodlums try to finish the job, only for Jack to be saved by a homeless, self-described knight errant calling himself Parry (Robin Williams), who Jack learns is really the delusional widower of one of the victims of the shooting.
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The Fisher King takes its name from a myth about a wounded king who is presented with the Holy Grail, and the film uses this as a metaphor to describe both Jack and Parry's respective emotional wounds. The film's prologue establishes Jack as a pompous, arrogant, and altogether unlikable narcissist. He unapologetically tears down those who call into his program, which just so happens to make him a hit with his listeners who see him as edgy and raw. Jack's life is one of complete self-absorption, constantly seeking bigger and bigger, more and more, but never being satisfied. It is surprising, really, that this glimmer of humanity emerges at all after he hears about the shooting by a lonely heart listener, to whom he describes "yuppies" as scum that needs to be wiped out. But this is the seed of conflict in Jack's heart that makes it clear that despite his angry exterior, there is a good man buried deep beneath it. Fast forward three years to the tail end of Jack's breakdown. He is living above a small video store owned by his girlfriend, Anne (Mercedes Ruehl), who somehow has tolerated all of Jack's self-indulgent wallowing in pity and remorse, and even his prevailing venomous tongue. Jack does nothing but drink all day and sneer at the sitcom he watches, not for joy but because he resents that he missed out on a defining role in it. Ultimately, Jack is not truly contrite; he may have been affected at the news years before, but he has fallen back into letting his ego dictate his behavior. He hasn't done anything to remedy what he sees as the result of his misanthropic advice to his caller, but takes out his frustrations on a woman who tolerates far more from him than anyone should. Enter Parry, who rushes daringly to Jack's defense and (along with a few other homeless warriors) protects a perfect stranger at great peril to his own well-being. Initially confused by the experience, Jack discovers the truth about Parry through the man's own words and from those of the person letting him crash in his boiler room. Parry believes that he was called to a higher purpose by "fat, little fairies" to claim that the "Holy Grail" dwells in the residence of a millionaire (whose home happens to bear a striking resemblance to a medieval castle); and Parry claims that only Jack can bring it to him. His guilt reawakened, Jack instead makes feeble efforts to "pay the fine" for his transgressions, throwing money at Parry to make his own sorrow go away. Realizing that Parry has no interest in money, but instead pines for the affections of a clumsy and socially awkward editor of "trashy romance novels" named Lydia (Amanda Plummer), Jack redoubles his efforts to get these two oddballs to connect, concocting elaborate schemes involving a free membership to the video store, having Anne do Lydia's nails, and even a signing telegram via a transvestite with balloons (Michael Jeter).
Directed by Terry Gilliam, The Fisher King feels right at home in his body of work, which has principally focused on flawed and/or neurotic protagonists who get wrapped up in fantasy to try to make sense of their terrible reality. (There is even a nod to Brazil.) But in a typical Gilliam movie, Parry would likely be the "hero" of the tale, a latter day Don Quixote prone to exuberant and impulsive singing, favoring "How About You?" by Burton Lane. Yet Parry is a supporting character, even if he is someone who has been devastated by tragedy and forced to cope by retreating into visions of "Red Knights" and so on. Jack, on the other hand, deceives himself and others about his motivations, and like any good protagonist, is forced into crisis after crisis before coming to terms with who he truly is. So we're stuck with Jack, which in and of itself is a kind of cynical commentary on how audiences tend to gravitate toward ego-driven protagonists who are (like Jack) quick-witted and charismatic. Parry, by virtue of his delusion, labors to chip away at Jack's icy armor, even if what he does seems to amount to little more than tilting at windmills. Jack doesn't want to be "saved", because he struggles to think of a world in which he is not the center of it. It is telling that in the last moments of The Fisher King, Jack is usually not in the center of the frame, and he has come to accept that he is a greater part of the lives of others, and has to behave accordingly. In a way, The Fisher King is a kind of interpretation of "A Christmas Carol", except that it is Parry who is largely visited by "ghosts". Yet Jack is haunted by his past and deep down knows that his ambivalence has had a devastating butterfly effect on Parry and many others. He is the "wounded king" for whom salvation isn't at the bottom of a glass, but in the overflowing cup that is his heart--even if it needs a good kick in the pants to get it going.
Recommended for: Fans of a story that mixes mirth and misery to tell a story of a pair of broken men who find absolution and redemption through friendship and understanding. The Fisher King is sometimes outlandish with unexpected twists and scenes (like the impromptu waltz at Grand Central Station), but has enough charm and ardent performances to make it endearing; and, of course, Robin Williams is emblematic of this via his performance as a modern day "Man of La Mancha".
Directed by Terry Gilliam, The Fisher King feels right at home in his body of work, which has principally focused on flawed and/or neurotic protagonists who get wrapped up in fantasy to try to make sense of their terrible reality. (There is even a nod to Brazil.) But in a typical Gilliam movie, Parry would likely be the "hero" of the tale, a latter day Don Quixote prone to exuberant and impulsive singing, favoring "How About You?" by Burton Lane. Yet Parry is a supporting character, even if he is someone who has been devastated by tragedy and forced to cope by retreating into visions of "Red Knights" and so on. Jack, on the other hand, deceives himself and others about his motivations, and like any good protagonist, is forced into crisis after crisis before coming to terms with who he truly is. So we're stuck with Jack, which in and of itself is a kind of cynical commentary on how audiences tend to gravitate toward ego-driven protagonists who are (like Jack) quick-witted and charismatic. Parry, by virtue of his delusion, labors to chip away at Jack's icy armor, even if what he does seems to amount to little more than tilting at windmills. Jack doesn't want to be "saved", because he struggles to think of a world in which he is not the center of it. It is telling that in the last moments of The Fisher King, Jack is usually not in the center of the frame, and he has come to accept that he is a greater part of the lives of others, and has to behave accordingly. In a way, The Fisher King is a kind of interpretation of "A Christmas Carol", except that it is Parry who is largely visited by "ghosts". Yet Jack is haunted by his past and deep down knows that his ambivalence has had a devastating butterfly effect on Parry and many others. He is the "wounded king" for whom salvation isn't at the bottom of a glass, but in the overflowing cup that is his heart--even if it needs a good kick in the pants to get it going.
Recommended for: Fans of a story that mixes mirth and misery to tell a story of a pair of broken men who find absolution and redemption through friendship and understanding. The Fisher King is sometimes outlandish with unexpected twists and scenes (like the impromptu waltz at Grand Central Station), but has enough charm and ardent performances to make it endearing; and, of course, Robin Williams is emblematic of this via his performance as a modern day "Man of La Mancha".