The Fall: A Beautifully Self-Indulgent Dreamscape?

Some have called Tarsem Singh’s The Fall (2006-08) beautifully self-indulgent and imaginative, yet essentially boring (New York Times). Variety dismisses it as a "vanity project"—extravagant, expensive, and, notably, devoid of CGI. But perhaps because of that, The Fall is nothing short of epic.

Set to the stirring strains of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Singh’s film takes its viewers on a breathtaking odyssey across four continents, melting the "East" and "West" across historical and cultural boundaries. From Paris to Prague, Rome to Istanbul, Cape Town to Rajasthan, The Fall unfolds like a surreal travelogue, capturing landscapes that seem too stunning to be real. The film embraces a variety of visual styles—nostalgic black-and-white nods to the silent film era, unsettling puppet-filled nightmares, and dazzling bursts of Technicolor brilliance. Each frame is a meticulously crafted painting, a testament to Singh’s background in advertising and music videos, where every shot demands attention.

Yet, for all its visual grandeur, The Fall is not just a spectacle; it’s a story about storytelling itself. A complex web of narrative layers unfolds, stories within stories that shift and reshape as they pass through the mind of their young listener. The film explores themes of love and betrayal, revenge and redemption, loss and self-discovery—but above all, it is about hope. Hope found in the most unlikely places. Hope woven into the very fabric of stories, waiting to be discovered.

The Story Within the Story

Set in a Los Angeles hospital in 1915, the film follows Roy Walker (Lee Pace), a stuntman who is bedridden after a failed stunt leaves him potentially paralyzed. Broken in body and spirit, Roy is a man on the edge—suicidal, spurned by love, drowning in despair. He befriends Alexandria (Catinca Untaru), a young Romanian immigrant with a broken arm, and begins telling her a story. What starts as a tale about Alexander the Great soon transforms into something far more fantastical. As Alexandria listens, she reshapes the narrative, blending Roy’s words with the boundless imagination of a child.

The result? A band of five unlikely heroes, each with their own reasons to seek vengeance against the tyrannical Governor Odious (Daniel Caltagirone):

• Roy the Bandit (Lee Pace) – The tragic, self-inserted hero, mirroring Roy’s own pain and despair.

• Otta Benga (Marcus Wesley) – A former slave seeking justice.

• Luigi (Robin Smith) – An explosives expert with a score to settle.

• The Silent Indian (Jeetu Verma) – A warrior whose grief is spoken only through action.

• Charles Darwin (Leo Bill) – A whimsical, almost absurd addition to the group, complete with his pet monkey.

As the story progresses, Alexandria’s imagination bends the tale in unexpected ways. What begins as a revenge tragedy in Roy’s voice transforms into something else entirely—an adventure marked by innocence, wonder, and resilience. Through her, the tale gains new meaning, breathing life into Roy’s fading spirit.

A Cinematic Challenge

Like a dream, The Fall unfolds with an episodic, non-linear rhythm, demanding an involved viewer—one who watches closely, listens carefully, and allows the film to wash over them rather than expecting conventional storytelling. Singh forces us to engage with its different narrative levels, mirroring the way Alexandria processes the world around her. It is both a visual masterpiece and a psychological labyrinth, where reality and fiction blur into something more profound.

Context and Subtext

Set against the backdrop of 1915, The Fall subtly engages with historical tensions of the era:

• The Impact of WWI: The war had begun, and America’s stance on immigration was shifting. By 1920, immigration restrictions and literacy tests aimed at limiting arrivals from Southern and Eastern Europe would come into effect.

• The Myth of the Melting Pot: Zangwill’s The Melting Pot (1908) painted an idealistic image of America as a land where cultures fused into one harmonious identity. In reality, new immigrants often faced segregation and hostility, much like Alexandria’s community.

• The Fragility of the American Dream: Roy’s shattered career and Alexandria’s precarious existence echo the struggles of those caught in an evolving nation that often rejected those it claimed to welcome.

The Healing Power of Stories

At its core, The Fall is about the transformative power of storytelling—how narratives take on lives of their own, how they shift based on the perspective of the listener, and how they can heal even the deepest wounds. Roy’s initial intent is manipulative; he uses the story to trick Alexandria into stealing morphine for him. But in the process, something miraculous happens: he becomes invested in the tale. Alexandria, with her innocence and belief in happy endings, refuses to let the story end in tragedy. Her unwavering hope forces Roy to rewrite his own fate, proving that stories don’t just entertain—they save.

Final Thoughts

Is The Fall self-indulgent? Absolutely. But it is indulgent in the way that art should be—lavish, audacious, unwilling to compromise. It challenges, it mesmerizes, and it lingers long after the credits roll. It is a film that refuses to hold its audience’s hand, expecting them instead to lose themselves in its world, just as Alexandria does.

And isn’t that the point of cinema? To take us somewhere else—to remind us that even in despair, there is beauty, and in darkness, there is always a story waiting to be told.