There is such a narrow boundary between tenacity and being annoyingly persistent – when it comes to Terry Gilliam, figuring out which one best describes his journey to making The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, the distinction between the two is not easy to make out, and really depends on who you speak to, since everyone had very different interpretations on this production that seemed doomed for nearly three decades. In the early 1990s, he set out to make his own adaptation of Miguel Cervantes’ Don Quixote, combining that cherished work of epic prose with a modern twist, which aligned with Gilliam’s own fantastical image of the world. This production halted before it even started, and he spent over a decade trying to manoeuvre around the various challenges that stood in his way, before trying to mount the production again, even going so far as to begin the production process in Spain, only to encounter a range of misfortunes that derailed the production and caused it to shut down, putting an end to yet another attempt to bring this story to life. This process was captured on film by Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe, the young directors hired to film backstage footage from the beginning of the production to the end for a behind-the-scenes featurette that would accompany the main film on home media, but which was subsequently released independently when it became clear that Gilliam was likely never going to make the film due to the obstacles that stood in his way. Lost in La Mancha is a fascinating film, a curious little documentary that gives us a glimpse behind the curtain of a film undergoing production, commenting on various intriguing ideas along the way.

Watching this film in hindsight is a very different experience, especially at the present moment, since we are armed with the knowledge that Gilliam did eventually manage to make The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, meaning that a lot of the impact made by this project, which was designed as an elegy for a doomed production, is somewhat lost. However, even taken on its own, Lost in La Mancha is a terrific film, primarily because it gives us insights into the directorial process of one of cinema’s great masters, a filmmaker whose entire career has been about taking the road not travelled, and telling the stories no one else was willing to, whether its because they were seen as unfilmable, or simply because few directors are creative enough (or perhaps demented is a better description) to conceive of such ideas. Fulton and Pepe had a mammoth task ahead of them when they were hired to create what was essentially supposed to be a supplement to the film – and one can only imagine the impetus for such a process was specifically to capture the unique and rewarding process of making a Gilliam film, a careful examination of the methods used by the master to create these absurd and surreal adventures which have helped define the science fiction and fantasy genres in increasingly creative and exciting ways. The result is a very revealing glimpse into his directorial style, which is at least fascinating for those who have ever been curious about how an artist undergoes such a process of forming their work and turning a few abstract ideas into something compelling, which is essentially the entire story being told here, with the only caveat being that there isn’t a completed film at the end of it, meaning that Lost in La Mancha had to find a way to tie up its narrative, considering the original intention of the film was lost, which covertly allowed the directors to make a few interesting choices that elevate this far beyond a simple behind-the-scenes featurette, which it would have been had Gilliam managed to go through with the completion of the film.

However, there is so much more to Lost in La Mancha than just a lamentation of the trials and tribulations of a director doing his best to fight against the obstacles that stand in his way. Gilliam is a great director, and this film does work as a very effective examination of his artistic process. However, it also manages to be quite a profound exploration of artistic expression as a whole, which is something that we may not expect from a film that was created under circumstances very different from those that eventually became part of the film’s structure. What started as a supplement to a broader film became a critical examination of the artistic process, with Gilliam happening to be the central subject here – and over the course of 85 minutes, the directors use their footage filmed during the pre-production and early filming stages of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote to create a vivid and unsettling portrait of a filmmaker who is struggling to maintain his vision in the wake of realizing that there are far too many challenges that prevent him from realizing his vision – whether it is studio interference, problems with the facilities or funding, or the simple fact that there are some unforseen circumstances (whether minor, like a case of bad weather that halts production, or something more impactful, like the injury of one of the actors), this is a tale of misadventure and misfortune, using this doomed production to be a vivid depiction of how everything that can go wrong on a film set likely will, especially when dealing with someone whose main artistic currency has been ambition and a need to constantly reinvent the medium – and considering the scope of the films he made over the course of his career, its not surprising that Gilliam’s process is one that presents as many challenges as it does moments of pure ingenuity – and the duo of Fulton and Pepe are there from the start, capturing every moment of his unique process, and configuring it into this compelling depiction of an artist struggling with the realization that his creation is quite simply not going to manifest in the way he wanted, or even at all, since the constant obstactles finally result in Gilliam and his cohorts deciding to cease their pursuit of this film, at least until he was inspired to start the production again years later.

Failure is rarely a theme that we find anchoring a film, at least in terms of films that end with a complete lack of resolution. We all appreciate a neat ending, and regardless of how much they try, Fulton and Pepe simply could not give Lost in La Mancha a positive conclusion, quite simply because there wasn’t one, and it was singularly impossible to end this film in a way that wasn’t bittersweet and defined by failure. It would be nearly two decades before we finally saw The Man Who Killed Don Quixote as Gilliam intended (and even then, the release was subjected to an immense amount of drama in itself, making this one of the most cursed productions in the history of cinema), so there was a happy ending, it just occurred several years after this account of the momentary rise and rapid fall of the original attempts to bring the story to life. It’s not the most original or exciting account of the filmmaking process, since it was never designed to be as such. There is something so compelling about how a supplementary account of a film’s production actually managed to be a great work in itself – The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may have not happened at the time (with the footage here being the closest anyone got to seeing Gilliam’s vision of the story, with the footage and stories painting a vibrant picture of what he intended to do with the material), but it didn’t mean that this footage had to go to waste. If nothing else, Lost in La Mancha acts as a fascinating account of the artistic process, a chance for those outside the industry to get a glimpse into the process of making a film, which is a harrowing, difficult process that usually ends in a great work being produced, but occasionally derails enough to simply cease to exist. It was an unfortunate turn of events at the time, but one that has mercifully been rectified with Gilliam finally making the film – and in between them we have this terrific documentary that is blisteringly funny, wonderfully insightful and frequently informative, which is essentially all a film like this needs to be to be seen as successful.