“You want to reach out and touch everything”: Why Labyrinth is my feel-good movie | David Bowie

TThe 1980s were the golden age of the annoying little brother. Before the dawn of those dull devices — the smartphone and the tablet — an annoying brother with a penchant for invention could make life hell for his aloof older sister. For me, imitation and tickle torture were just the basics. My best hours? Removing the slats on my sister’s top bunk, she jumped on the mattress to collapse like Wile E Coyote.

In December 1986, our only common ground was that we wanted to see the maze. Me, because I was a huge Muppets fan, and the Jim Henson fantasy film was a sensation in the stadium (before the Internet, we had no idea it had hit the US box office over the summer, which broke Henson’s heart). Which, because it was about a teenage girl who summons goblins to kidnap her little brother (I think she only went with her to learn spells).

After being presented with terms for a Christmas ceasefire – and sparking interest from David Bowie in the role of Jareth the Goblin King, as well as a script credited to Terry Jones (the Python star later claimed the story had been ripped from him) – my parents booked tickets.

Labyrinth begins with Sarah (Jennifer Connelly) running home in the rain, late for a babysitter party, and her parents usher her out the door while little Toby screams over a thunderclap. With her buttoned-up eyes flashing, the girl presents the goblins with the appropriate Where’s Wally bag (the moment they appear on screen is their second jump ever, after a poltergeist in the Ghostbusters library).

Suddenly, in full Tina Turner hair and so leggings that she doesn’t know where to look, Bowie arrives to set the challenge: Sarah must complete his extravagant maze in a bizarrely limited 13 hours, or else her brother will be cursed to permanent goblin status.

I still think Henson’s latest project is the most imaginative, beautiful, and utterly human film – watch it now and it will feel like an anti-AI statement. You want to reach out and touch everything on screen, and thanks largely to the spirit of practical effects, you were able to do that (even Bowie’s playing with the crystal ball was real, with master juggler Michael Motion doing it from behind).

By the director’s own admission, the plot lines 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 thank-you note was left in the credits, to the relief of his legal team). But to me, Labyrinth is its own beast: a witty, weird, creepy, raunchy, silly, visceral adventure that, if anything goes right, would be squashed by studio executives if the long-awaited reboot actually happened.

In 1986, from furtive side glances, I sensed that my sister was enjoying everything as much as I was. There was the turkey-hatted Wiseman, at war with his hood. Ludo, the gentle, shaggy giant, who in a more profitable parallel universe might have achieved Chewbacca-style pop culture immortality. The Fire Gang, whose detachable limbs routine starts out naughty, but, like so much in Labyrinth, quickly turns sinister (“We’ll pull your head off!”).

Rewatching the film for this article, I felt the same joy from key moments. Incredible magical dance routine (Bowie throws Toby high into the sky like a foolish father in the park). A miasma of eternal stench, messing around as casually as a minivan full of rugby players. The Escher-inspired staircase finale, whose impossibility makes the back rooms look as tacky as a suburban bungalow.

But I forgot the amazing scene where Sarah falls into a forest of moss-green hands, all making leering faces with their knuckles and thumbs. And I’m surprised my guy made it through the masquerade, where the hideous, chatty aristocrats conjure up a bit of the same warped fantasy horror as Neil Jordan’s The Company of Wolves.

And most treasured of all was the scene that reset my relationship with my sister. Sarah, her head fuzzy from an enchanted peach, stumbles into a replica of her bedroom, while a noisy hag distracts her with toys and trinkets, reducing the task to a half-remembered pulse. At the time, I was thrilled when Sarah finally returned to focus, shattering this empty image of accomplishment and stepping out with renewed vigor.

Now the echo is louder. Adult life will turn your head to shiny superficial trinkets. It’s up to us to keep our eyes on what really matters. And what is more important than supporting your brother, “through countless dangers and countless difficulties” (or, in our case, work crises, relationship problems, parental illness)?

My sister and I never fought that hard again after that. Now, with my son and daughter who are prone to fighting, the Labyrinth has a dual purpose. Henson’s masterpiece is not only a feel-good movie, it is the best peace offering I know.