I think I enjoyed watching The Fisher King, but I felt really...disappointed by the end. I guess one of the things I expect and perversely enjoy about Terry Gilliam movies is getting trumped out of a happy, well-resolved ending. I was surprised to find a sappy, happily-ever-after finish to a satisfyingly weird plot. Why would Mercedes Ruehl's character take back that schmuck (Jeff Bridges)? Why was Lydia okay with finding out Parry (Robin Williams) was a clinically insane hobo? The ending really jumped a plot point or two.
That said, I rather enjoyed all the performances, but especially Mercedes Ruehl. What a sass machine she is. I always seem to enjoy Mercedes Ruehl, and every time I see her in something, I remember I need to re-watch Lost in Yonkers, which I haven't seen since I was 9. I have a feeling I'll enjoy it more this time around. Amanda Plummer was quite convincing as Parry's weird, unfriendly love interest. Robin Williams didn't irritate me to death. I rather like Jeff Bridges, even when he's playing a sleazy character like this one. Of course, in any Gilliam movie the minor performances are the scene stealers. In this one it's Michael Jeter as the homeless, faggedy, cross-dressing cabaret singer with a death wish. He was marvelous. And Tom Waits has a cameo as a legless, philosophizing bum. In fact, if you ignore the saccharine mess of a plot this becomes and just focus on the homeless guys, this movie becomes an ode to the eccentric fabric of bums that carpets New York City.
Gilliam is not to blame for my problems with this movie. He does his trademark job with fisheye lenses and disorienting flights of fancy, and does it well. The problem rests with Richard LaGravenese's retarded screenplay manipulations. He's the guy who brought us that impossible-to-watch-without-cringing Living Out Loud and the load of sap that is Bridges of Madison County. He's also the reason why I have to cover my eyes through half of The Mirror Has Two Faces, and that's got Babs in it! Someday I'd like to meet this bloke just to shake my fist at him and ask him, "where are your balls, dude?"
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