It’s 1944 in Spain, and the forces of Generalissimo Franco, known mostly by members of my generation for being “still in grave condition,” have bested the Loyalists. Some Spaniards are trying to regain their footing in this new world order, including Carmen (Gil), a widow who remarried in haste and now travels with her daughter Ofelia (Baquero) to an army post to meet her new lord and master, Capitán Vidal (López). Ofelia, alas, is not one of those Spaniards trying to adjust to the new realities, and the constant collisions of the world she lives in with the world of her new fascist stepfather do not augur well.

Ofelia dwells in the land of fairy tales. It’s a bit of a break with tradition that here our good and kind child hero has a wicked stepfather, but he’s more than up to the cruel tricks of any wicked stepmother. Indeed his hands deal out a lot of casual violence, so much so that he seems to be a laughably one-dimensional character but you know what fairy tale villains are like. And even if you don'’t, you may have grasped that the real-world reflection of the capriciously cruel fairy tale villain is the true believer who occupies a position of power.

People will say this movie is violent, in fact, I heard them saying it as we were leaving the theater. But wait. Fairy tales are violent. God only knows why we tell such horrors to innocent little ones—witches dancing in red-hot shoes until they die, evil stepmothers falling for eternity in bottomless abysses—except… something in our development craves enchantment and terror when we’re young. Some of us never lose the craving.

I should be the target audience for this movie—a lover of fairy tales who, well into her fifth decade, still reads them regularly. Not just the Disney-ready fairy tales familiar to American audiences, but trickster tales and myths and stories that must have been made up by parents who just wanted to scare the living shit out of their kids. I’ve spent several years and considerable dollars acquiring books of fairy tales, including the complete 12-volume Andrew Lang'’s "Coloured” Fairy Books. Plus, in these parlous times, many persons find themselves keenly alive to tales of fascism and repression. Yet Pan’s Labyrinth left me cold.

I yawned a lot during the movie, even though there were parts that truly got my attention (which is not the same thing as holding my interest). That some of these were also pretty gruesome moments may not redound to my credit, but I claim the excuse that they at least were true to the fairy tale code.

We sympathize easily with Baquero’s Ofelia, whose sickly, pregnant mother has only her charms to use to protect Ofelia from the capitan. A better protectoress for Ofelia is the nervy Mercedes (Verdú), who lives a double life as both Republican employee and Loyalist sympathizer. As the capitan’s housekeeper, Mercedes is in prime position to get supplies and information to the partisans, led by her brother Pedro. Both of these mother figures are acutely aware of worldly dangers from which they would shield Ofelia, but neither can know of her strivings to set things right. Exploring the army camp, Ofelia discovers fairies, a labyrinth kingdom of which she may be a princess royal, and the god Pan (Jones), who sets her three—that magic fairy tale number!—tasks to prove herself worthy of her throne. It’s Ofelia’s misfortune that fulfilling these tasks tends to collide with real life and give the appearance of defiance or outright naughtiness, accelerating the rush to… well to what happens, which I won’t reveal, but suffice it say that it’s not exactly a fairy tale ending and that it’s unlikely that an American director would have chosen this resolution.

The movie is full of symmetries, from the echoes of things said by Capitán Vidal and Pedro or Capitán Vidal and Dr. Ferreiro (Angulo), to objects wielded by Mercedes, Ofelia, and the capitan. This symmetry weaves in and out through knives and doors and keys and statements in a way that is indeed labyrinthine, but in the end doesn’t amount to anything because it doesn’t reveal any meaning. Those of us tucked up in bed at night with our fairy tales (or the New York Times for that matter) already know the world is scary.

—Roxanne Bogucka