‘You want to reach out and touch everything’: why Labyrinth is my favorite movie | David Bowie

Tthe 1980s were the best years of the annoying little brother. Before the advent of these destructive gadgets – the smartphone and the tablet – a no-nonsense, creative brother could make life hell for an isolated older sister. For me, the imitation and suffering of the game was just a necessity. My finest hour? Removing the slats from my sister’s loft bed, so she jumped on the mattress to come crashing down like Wile E Coyote.

In December 1986, the one thing we all agreed on was that we both wanted to see Labyrinth. Me, because I was difficult Muppets fans, and Jim Henson’s fantasy flick was producing a lot of noise (before the internet, we had no inkling that it was tanked at the US box office this summer, breaking Henson’s heart). And him, because it was about a teenage girl who summons wolves to steal her baby brother (I suspect she took him to study magic).

Presented with the principles of our Christmas break – and enjoyed David Bowie as Jareth the Goblin King, including a script known to Terry Jones (the Python actor later said that the story was against him) – my parents booked the tickets.

Labyrinth opens with Sarah (Jennifer Connelly) running home in the rain, late to take care of her children, her parents running out the door as Toby cries amid thunder. With her button eyes twinkling, the girl gives her Wally-suited tot to the goblins (the moment she appears in the scene was second only to the Ghostbusters library poltergeist).

Suddenly, all Tina Turner’s hair and leggings and not knowing where to look, Bowie arrives to solve the problem: Sarah must finish her windows amazingly in 13 hours, otherwise she will destroy her brother’s stability.

Henson’s last work is, I still believe, the most beautiful, well-crafted and visually stunning human film out there – watch it here and it feels like an anti-AI show. You want to reach out and touch everything in sight, and thanks to the action you can have, you can have it (even playing Bowie’s crystal ball was real, performed behind the scenes by the master juggler Michael Moschen).

By the director’s approval, the plot is immersed in the pockets of The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland and especially Maurice Sendak (the author’s books were placed on Sarah’s nightstand, and a note of thanks was left on the stairs, to revive his legal team). But for me, Labyrinth is its own beast: magical, mysterious, scary, magical, Python-stupid and a deep adventure where everything you think, imagine, can be messed with by the studio if the long-awaited reboot actually happens.

In the year 86, looking around suddenly, I could see that my sister was enjoying it as much as I was. There was Wiseman in turkey hats, at war with his own head. Ludo the shagpile a gentle giant, who in a more rewarding parallel universe would have achieved Chewbacca pop-culture immortality. The Fire Gang, whose limb-removal routines start a frenzy but, as in Labyrinth, quickly change (“We’re removing the head!”).

Watching the film of this story again, I felt the same joy as the familiar moment. The show’s Magic Dance routine (Bowie throws Toby into the sky like a crazy dad in a park). The Bog of Eternal Stench, singing like a minibus of rugby players. The Escher-inspired staircase finale, whose impossibility of twisting the mind makes the Backrooms seem as prosaic as a country bungalow.

But I forgot the amazing sequence where Sarah fell into a forest of green hands, all making glowing faces with their fingers and thumbs. And I’m surprised that little-me went through the ball of glittering, dignified, rebuked critics who evoke the same fear as Neil Jordan’s The Company of Wolves.

The most interesting thing is the incident that rekindled my relationship with my sister. With the head of a beautified peach, Sarah stumbles into her bedroom, where a dashing crone distracts her with toys and trinkets, reducing the mission to a remembered beat. At that time, I was very happy when Sarah regained her composure, broke the principle of fulfillment and began to take action again.

Now, that sounds really loud. Adult life will turn your head with shiny, superficial things. It is up to us to focus on what is really important. And what is more important than having your brother’s back, “in unspeakable dangers and innumerable pains” (or, in our case, work problems, relationship problems and sick parents)?

My sister and I didn’t fight bravely after that. And now, with a son and a daughter who love to argue, Labyrinth has two goals. Henson’s masterpiece isn’t my only favorite film – it’s the best gift of peace I know.