You have no power over me

Unpacking "Labyrinth"

If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is an essay in my Trigger Warning Series — where I unpack and dive deep into the intersection of trauma and storytelling of film, tv, and fiction. I love having conversations around these topics, so share your thoughts in the comments!

Warning — there are spoilers for Labyrinth in this article.

We are all guilty of having creature comforts. You know… those things, people, places, etc., that comfort us when we require self-soothing? For me, that happens to be movies. I have certain films that I go back to time and time again depending on my mood, if I feel triggered, and how much I’m trying to avoid looking or sitting with something.

One of those comfort movies is Labyrinth.

This is going to be a more biased essay than some of the others in this series because, well, Labyrinth has a special place in my heart. My sister and I grew up watching it over and over again and nearly everyone else we know hates it. We don’t mind.

But I will say that prepping for this essay was a lot harder than I thought it would be because it forced me to look at the movie through lenses I normally don’t use when watching it. I can see some of the problematic places but also, I see a lot more depth in areas I’ve missed before, too.

So without further ado…

The Trauma Line

A deeply empathetic and sensitive child with a blended family, I often resonated with the main character of Sarah (Jennifer Connelly). Her angsty literature vibe was the epitome of “cool” to me and the fact that she had enough balls to ask the Goblin King to take away her little brother (why didn’t it ever work when I asked Jareth to come whisk my baby sister away?).

But watching Sarah as an adult, I’m struck by how much trauma I find in her story. And how her responses to events in the film mirror that of a child who hasn’t been given the tools to process her deep well of emotions. So they come flying out in childish and immature manifestations. “It’s not fair!” (Oh how I used that phrase in my youth…)

What I see when I watch Sarah in the present is a burgeoning young woman who feels neither safe nor understood in her family home without the means to explain what is hurting her. I see a young woman who has watched someone she loves leave her, (her mother, though we don’t have an official way of knowing where she went) she has watched her father marry another woman, and she has a new family member coming into her life at a volatile time.

Anyone from a blended family (raises hand!) understands that this transition is not for the faint of heart. It’s not something that just “happens” and everyone is hunky dory. It is and can be very traumatic. In Labyrinth, it’s clear that the parents expect Sarah to just acclimate and understand the nuances of adult life without giving her the room and space to do so and instead force her into actions that only serve as evidence for her angst (like telling her to babysit her younger brother).

So it actually makes complete sense for Sarah to retreat into her own imaginary world. It’s a common coping mechanism for kids and young adults and for Sarah, the challenges she faces in the labyrinth are mirrors of her frustration and helplessness in the real world.

When you stop to think about the labyrinth and everything and everyone in it as a manifestation of Sarah’s unconscious — all the seemingly “weird” aspects of the labyrinth make sense.

Because it’s not stated in the film, I can only speculate using my own experiences as a basis as well as working with hundreds of trauma survivors — that Jareth, the Goblin King is extremely symbolic. I’ve read many reviews that comment on the “inappropriate” or “problematic” relationship between David Bowie’s character, Jareth, and Sarah. But most of them are missing the big picture. They’re responding from surface-level analysis.

What I believe Jareth really stands for is what Sarah ultimately wants — to be loved and accepted unconditionally. It’s not uncommon for trauma survivors to idolize or idealize adults or find comfort in their attention when they are not getting their needs fulfilled in their home life. We all want to be the object of someone’s affection. To have someone so completely on our side that even if we wish the goblin king could take our brothers — they’ll still love us.

And on the flip side, Jareth also represents all of the “things” that stand in Sarah’s way of her growth. His ability to trick, poison, and disarm Sarah is reflective of the way she believes the world is against her. And her resolve to keep going through the labyrinth is her way of standing up to those obstacles.

Jareth is a paradoxical character — brilliant actually — in that he serves as a mirror for Sarah’s inner world and mind. As all of us have experienced at one time or another, our inner world and mind are sometimes confusing, frustrating, out of reach, or an awakening of sorts. He is a fever dream of fairytale substance littered with villainess qualities. A perfect antihero for Sarah to learn to overcome.

And overcome it she does.

She (and the audience) realize the changing of tides when Hoggle so ironically says, “But that’s not fair!” and Sarah says, “No, it isn’t. But that’s the way it is.” Her revelation is swift but mighty and as she takes one step toward adulthood, her other battles become easier to overcome. Her maturity allows her to solve the labyrinth and give up the fairytale fantasies to save her brother.

Sarah’s journey comes full circle as she recites the verse from the play she was rehearsing for before she entered the labyrinth. It is ultimately what helps her realize the truth in the end.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great — You have no power over me.”

It’s a glorious moment for Sarah and for audiences as we understand that she’s passed the test she created in her own mind — to grow beyond childish desires, take responsibility, and understand what is truly important to her.

The Storytelling

Labyrinth follows a pretty typical “hero’s journey” plot with Sarah as the reluctant hero who is called to adventure, faces trials, receives aid from allies, confronts her deepest fear, and returns transformed. Although it all takes place in her mind, the fantastical elements help Sarah and the audience visualize her transformation in a gripping and exciting way. And everything is symbolic here. Everything.

We’ve touched on what Jareth and the labyrinth symbolize but what about Hoggle? What about Ludo and the Junk Ladies? Well, they’re all part of the symbology as well. Hoggle, in particular, has always been one of my favorite characters from the film because he changes throughout the movie as much as Sarah does. His curmudgeonly attitude, in the beginning, is simply a front for the fact that he doesn’t have many friends and is treated poorly. When someone is actually nice to him, it throws him off. And while he makes mistakes along the way, in the end, Hoggle becomes a real friend and ally to Sarah.

And then there’s Ludo who is a classically misunderstood monster. He is really a fluffy teddy bear of a monster that is tortured simply because of his stature and appearance.

Without ever being heavy-handed, the world of the creatures in the labyrinth are also moralistic guideposts. As is often said in the movie, “Nothing is what it seems,” neither are its inhabitants.

Very early on in my viewing of Labyrinth, I took away lessons of friendship and kindness which I think is often discounted by viewers because of the overarching plot point of Jareth.

But in the margins — where characters like Hoggle and Ludo live — there are plenty of opportunities to see the beautiful messages. Only if you’re really looking, though.

One of my favorite aspects of storytelling used in this film is that of foreshadowing. We get a glimpse of the characters before Sarah ever enters into the world of the labyrinth as so many of her toys and collectibles in her room are static versions of them. Not only does this bolster the whole “this is just a fantasy dream of hers” but it also reinforces what psychology has told us all along: we use everyday objects and experiences and translate them into our fantasies or dreams as subconscious artifacts. We seek out what is comfortable to try and work out what it is we need to know.

Normally, I wouldn’t connect particular actors/actresses to their roles or pull it out as significant, but… most people are not David Bowie. And let’s be honest, part of the appeal of this movie is Bowie’s magic. And I really, truly believe that he elevates the film in a way that no other actor or singer could have done. He fully embodies Jareth and for that reason, there is something special about the Goblin King. Something that is intensely magnetic, mysterious, and dark. Yet there feels like there could be layers upon layers to his character had it been focused on him. All of this is to say that had this role been played by someone else, I’m not sure the movie or the takeaways would be as memorable.

Honestly, I think there’s so much more to be extracted, dissected, and excavated within this film, but for now, this is what I have to say.

And your reward for making it to the end is none other than the “Magic Dance” music video featuring David Bowie and the goblins of Labyrinth.

Want to see what films could be up next for this series? Check out my Letterboxd account → https://boxd.it/pktaA