Very few novels have had as bizarre a journey to the screen as Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the semi-autobiographical account of the trip he and his eccentric lawyer took to Las Vegas in the early 1970s, focusing on fictionalized adventures of Raoul Duke and Dr Gonzo, the surrogates for the real-world companions who spent quite a bit of time engaging in the most sordid behaviour imaginable, all captured so exceptionally well in Thompson’s strange but immediately iconic novel. From the moment it was published, there were discussions to bring it to the screen (there’s a particularly misguided attempt to adapt it in the mediocre Where the Buffalo Roam), and a direct adaptation simmered within Hollywood for almost three decades, attracting numerous directors and actors, each one believing they were intrepid enough to tackle Thompson’s work, but all struggling to actually mount the production, due to a variety of reasons. Then it passed over into the hands of perhaps the most obvious director for this material, the terrific Terry Gilliam, whose career had been defined by his own admiration for the bizarre, which stretches back well into the earliest days of the 1960s, where he built his reputation around his perverse sense of humour and penchant for the absurd, which made him a perfect candidate to helm this adaptation, which is a far more faithful version of the story than many other filmmakers (whose sensibilities veered more towards the logical and straightforward) would have brought to the proceedings. Challenging in ways that we may not necessarily expect, but just as predictably weird and deranged as most of Gilliam’s productions, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas does very well in capturing not only the spirit of Thompson’s work, but paying sufficient tribute to his life and legacy, which has been codified into history, becoming a major part of 20th-century culture, both in what he represented as a writer and counterculture figure, and how he inspired generations of writers and other artists to pursue their own interests, embracing their eccentricities and celebrating the bizarre act of simply existing.

It almost seems like a blessing or act of fate that an adaptation of this novel didn’t manifest until Gilliam was given the opportunity to direct it. He may not be the only filmmaker who produces work that are tinged with absurdity and off-the-wall hilarity drawn from the most surreal corners of the human imagination, but he is someone who popularized it in a way that instantly made him one of the most acclaimed alternative auteurs working at the time. He was born to make Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which essentially contains everything that defines him as a filmmaker – outrageous scenarios that are filled with bizarre humour, a range of eccentric characters that could have easily been plucked from the discarded sketches of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, and a complete incredulity to traditional narrative structure and plot progression, which has been the foundation for much of Gilliam’s work, even those that are based on existing texts, which he views as rough guidelines rather than scripture, using his own distinctly demented perspective to handcraft a very intriguing and wildly entertaining dark comedy with a jagged edge and a unique worldview. Gilliam spoke at length about how he intended to design Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas to feel like an acid trip from the very first moments, which is a bold choice – a more conventional film may have started off by being relatively straightforward before easing us into the absurdity, so as not to lose the viewer before the story even reaches its peak. Gilliam has very little interest in taking the easier route, choosing instead to submerge us in the madness from the start, making it clear that this will not be a traditional film by any means, and those that can survive the first few polarizing scenes will be able to easily adapt to the endless madness that lingers over every frame of the text, which takes place in a discordant, unnecessarily muddled version of the world, which is seen through the eyes of someone whose entire purpose was to push boundaries of his craft. All of this is effortlessly and brilliantly brought to life on the screen in a way that is enticing and mesmerizing, as well as being wildly enjoyable in a multitude of ways, which has always been the driving factor behind Gilliam’s films, which aim to unsettle and entertain in equal measure.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas came about at a very specific time in the culture, where Johnny Depp was at his peak – he was one of the biggest movie stars in the industry, but he had yet to reach his peak, after which he suffered from a combination of being overly saturated in film based on his casting in a range of ill-fitting projects, and the fact that he became something of a parody of himself, playing very similar characters and rarely deviating from the one note that initially made him so popular. However, his performance here is legitimately excellent, and a lot of that has to be attributed to the personal connection he had with the material. He was a close friend of Thompson, who supported Depp’s casting, claiming he was the only person who he thought could do the character justice. Thompson’s involvement in the film was minimal (although he does appear in the film very briefly, in a centrepiece segment), but his contributions were invaluable, mainly because they involved transforming Depp into Raoul Duke, the esteemed writer even borrowing his own clothing and other possessions that he would have likely worn during this trip to Las Vegas, which adds a level of detail and authenticity that the film utilizes very well. Gilliam’s films are peculiar in that they are rarely acting showcases (or at least the performances are not the first quality that is discussed, nor the aspect that is most commonly remembered), but they still tend to bring out very strong work in their performers. Whether this is a result of Gilliam giving his actors the space to experiment, or simply a matter of finding new ways to provoke interesting details from his cast, it’s undeniable that we’ve seen him direct some impressive performances. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is anchored by Depp, but Benicio del Toro is impressive as his sidekick (and later momentary adversary), and the cavalcade of cameos make the film’s perspective worthwhile, since there are many familiar people who lend themselves to the film, surrendering to Gilliam’s distinct vision and helping bring this story to life in as eccentric and intriguing a manner as possible.

However, as much as we could wax poetic about the extent to which Gilliam finds himself challenging conventions and realizing the most unorthodox, bizarre aspects of the human condition, it’s important to note that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is not solely defined by a lack of logic. Thompson may have been an eccentric, but he was still someone that took his craft seriously, enough to be a pioneer in the field of journalism, defining his own style, which has come to be known as gonzo journalism, which still has an influence over contemporary writing in many ways. This film captures both the madness of his adventures in Las Vegas, as well as the deeper conversations incited throughout the story. Raoul Duke is not only a surrogate for Thompson’s drug-fueled misadventures, but also a reflective version of the writer, a man who possesses a deep sense of introspection, which punctuates the narrative in the form of his narration of his inner psychological workings, which becomes increasingly more bleak as he recounts his memories of the 1960s, reflecting on the differences that only a few years can make, with the free-spirited hippie era coming to a sudden close, and instead being replaced with an insidious, bureaucratic social system that aims to control and destroy anyone who goes against the status quo. Of course it’s important to remember that Thompson was a major part of the counterculture movement, so his discussions on these issues are always going to be intentionally quite biased towards his opinion – but this isn’t even a real factor in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which finds the time to meditate on themes like the march of time (which the main character reluctantly remarks as being inevitable), and how nothing can ever remain the same, which is shown in both the interactions between the main characters, whose friendship grows increasingly tense over the course of the film, as well as in Duke’s recollections, which are both hilarious and melancholy. Gilliam ensures that a balance between the two is constantly present, showing his own fondness for this period, likely working from his own experiences, having come of age around the same time, and likely had the same sense of nostalgia for those sun-baked days of a bygone era, making it a personal work in his own way, which elevates it beyond simply being pure narrative and psychological anarchy, an accusation thrown onto this film far too often.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is the definition of an acquired taste, and anyone who has even the vaguest knowledge of the kinds of films Gilliam makes will have some idea of what to expect, especially in his collaboration with a writer like Thompson, whose own distinctly bizarre worldview inspired a lot of this film’s more peculiar aspects, the interactions of styles resulting in a disquieting but fascinating experience. However, for those with a taste for the absurd, or at least the curiosity to experience it, the film is a delight – a hilarious and irreverent satire that starts off by firing on all cylinders, and never calms down for the duration of its two hours of unhinged madness, maintaining a level of carefully-curated chaos that never quite abates, and tends to get more intense the further we immerse ourselves in the world of these characters. Gilliam may not be particularly popular anymore, both for his personal actions and statements, and for the fact that his brand of off-the-wall madness has been replaced by more sophisticated, polished works that tend to have a more direct connection between their sources and the final product, which can either a positive or negative depending on your perspective. However, the boundless imagination and ability to evoke both a narrative and visual poetry with his work is the reason why Gilliam is an extraordinarily important and influential filmmaker, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas proves that he can create something absolutely astonishing even when dealing with as complex a text as this one. The director blends with the most eccentric imagery imaginable to create a very distinct social landscape, from which he and Thompson’s reflections can merge into a beautifully chaotic cacophony of sights and sounds, a film that may not revolutionize the genre, but contributes to it in increasingly strange and profoundly beautiful ways, which is the exact kind of response that a film like this should incite, being one of the many reasons it is so difficult to not be utterly entranced by this demented morality tale, the product of two of the most deranged artistic minds of their generation that come together to form something quite astonishing and wholly unforgettable, for better or worse.