Production Story
 
"The battle of Don Quixote is a battle against reality. And I think filmmaking is a battle against reality. But in this case, reality has been stronger than the dream" - Bernard Bouix, Executive Producer, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

Terry Gilliam and Johnny Depp
In March of 1999, when Terry Gilliam first began pre-production on his feature The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, he asked Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe to document the process. The filmmakers were thrilled at the opportunity. The metaphors couldn't have been richer: Gilliam, the fantasist, the maverick, the iconoclast, grappling with his alter-ego -- a character whose grandiose fantasies defined both Gilliam's aesthetic and his work ethic. Two months later, Gilliam's principle financier confessed to not really having all the money, and both films were left to languish. The curse of Don Quixote --one which had previously haunted another maverick filmmaker, Orson Welles -- had been re-kindled.

In June of 2000, Gilliam called again. The film was on -- for real this time. Fulton and Pepe teamed up with producer Lucy Darwin who had collaborated with the documentary team on The Hamster Factor and Other Tales of 12 Monkeys. Mindful not to cover the same ground, they decided on an entirely fresh approach, one which would focus on the as-yet-unseen process of pre-production, documenting the ways in which a film gets 'off the ground.'

Financing the film independently and with the full cooperation of Gilliam and his producers, they had unprecedented access to Quixote. Their strong relationship with Gilliam enabled them to capture the process in a uniquely intimate way: Gilliam agreed to wear a wireless microphone for the duration of the project. And even though Fulton and Pepe showed him the power switch, Gilliam proved his candour by never once turning it off.

Difficulties with The Man Who Killed Don Quixote were quick to emerge. When the production began to falter due to a host of factors -- not the least of which was the growing inflexibility of the film's schedule and budget -- Fulton and Pepe's work grew increasingly awkward. Instead of a chronicle of a movie getting off the ground, the documentary was evolving into an entirely different kind of project. It was now unveiling at every turn the imminent collapse of a major film production.

Fulton and Pepe had found their conflict, the most valuable discovery when shooting a documentary and attempting to structure a good story. Gilliam had an unshakeable dream, but the realities of big-budget filmmaking were too harsh for his vision. If you give any credence to the formula, good conflict improves with a happy ending -- a character prevailing against all odds. The filmmakers began to worry that their story was pure tragedy. In the words of several of Gilliam's crew members, it was the story of a man so desperate to realise his dream that he would attempt to achieve it by any means -- uncannily similar to the madman Don Quixote, tilting at windmills.

Director Gilliam examines the shot

Uncomfortable with the nature of what they were capturing on tape and with the strange looks they'd receive from members of the production team every time they pointed their lens, Fulton and Pepe brought their concerns to Gilliam. He assured them that they should document whatever might happen, no matter what transpired in the course of the following weeks. Gilliam was steadfast in his support of the documentary, telling the filmmakers, "This project has been so long in the making and so miserable that someone needs to get a film out of it. And it doesn't look like it's going to be me." The curse of Don Quixote had struck again.

After documenting only six days on the set of Gilliam's Quixote -- days which unfolded like a series of biblical plagues -- Fulton and Pepe were still reluctant to believe that Quixote would not prevail. Even as they tried in vain to move their car from a road that a flash flood had transformed into a river, a road that was strewn with camera gear and props, the filmmakers heard Gilliam laughing on his wireless microphone. They figured if the director wasn't worried, why should they be? But what kind of laughter were they hearing?

The filmmakers recorded the days during which Gilliam's production was stalled, rapid decisions were made, "force majeure" was defined and re-defined, and the fate of the film was ultimately sealed. All that remained was a $15 million insurance claim, the largest in European film history. The tragic irony of Gilliam's quest had outdone Cervantes.

During a year of post-production, Fulton and Pepe painstakingly reconstructed the story of the 'un-making' of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote from over 80 hours of verité and interview footage. The editing process played like an autopsy, in which moments that had seemed insignificant at the time now revealed themselves as clues to the death of Gilliam's production. Facing the difficulty of characterising a movie that might never exist, the filmmakers incorporated Gilliam's own storyboards, staged readings of Gilliam's script, and the scant film footage from the short-lived production in an attempt to bring Gilliam's Quixote alive. They conceived original animation to tell Cervantes' tale and fill in the story of Gilliam's career. They commissioned a fitting musical score which they describe as "Nino Rota goes to the bullfights."

Lost in La Mancha gives the viewer a unique insight into the way in which films are made and unmade, a glimpse at the peculiar fragility of filmmaking as an art form, and a portrait of the insanity and nobility of the creative spirit.

Lost in La Mancha Home