This month marks 30 years since the release of Labyrinth, the Jim Henson classic that gave countless kids their first crushes in David Bowie’s Goblin King and Jennifer Connelly’s eyebrows. Three decades on and the film is still a palpable piece of the zeitgeist. This anniversary year has seen countless articles dissect it as a coming of age allegory, a comment on female sexuality, and an effort to create an updated, 20th century fairytale. Not to mention the ongoing debate over the possibility of an eventual reboot or sequel.
It’s a legacy any film would be proud of, but especially impressive considering that Labyrinth was initially seen as a colossal failure. Earning back only back half its budget upon release, it was described as “silly and flat” by Variety while Roger Ebert observed, “It never really comes alive.” At the time it was seen as too dark; audiences didn’t appreciate the departure from Henson’s Fraggle Rock style. In 1989 the world wasn’t ready for a leading man who could sing, dance, work a mullet, and surround himself with puppets while looking super cool.
In 2016, after such a dark and trying year, the grim undertones of a goblin lord stealing a baby and attempting to seduce a teenage girl are central to the film’s appeal. Hell, post-Trump they feel downright whimsical.
In her piece for The Atlantic, Alison Stine reflects, “Jareth’s land, an eerie expanse of bullies, traps, and two-faced allies, is pretty much an exaggerated blueprint of childhood.” Rather than being unsettling, this brutal universe recognizes that to kids, the world is a big confusing place. When children’s media tries to convince us existence is a bed of loveliness and order, it’s strangely comforting to have adults acknowledge your fears in a 101 minute rock opera.
I saw Labyrinth as a primary schooler in the mid 90s. By the time I came across the VHS, its cult status had begun to solidify. But I bet kids in the 80s felt the same pull, even if their parents were yet to catch up. Like the children imagined in Alison’s article, I wasn’t put off by the dark undertow. As a nervous kid, eternally drawn to ghost stories and crime sections, I felt disconnected from most children’s entertainment. The continuing insistence that life was beautiful made me feel short-changed in my own everyday. Jareth’s glistening dystopia felt more realistic than Equestria or Strawberryland.
This lingering appeal for kids is unchanged 30 years on because children will always be obsessed with the dark. There’s a reason why, for most of history, children’s stories housed little mermaids forced to kill their true loves and step-sisters with pecked out eyes. A hundred years ago, Labyrinth would be pretty on-brand for pre-teen digestion.
In the same way the film didn’t pretend the world was perfect or fair, it also presented a heroine who has flawed. Kids movies are over-populated by Mary Sue characters who are honorable, resourceful, and endlessly pure of heart. Sarah is not one of them. Rather she’s insecure, jealous, arguable, and vindictive. The supernatural kidnapping at the heart of the film is, after all, the result of her wishing away her infant brother who did little more than be born and act like a baby. Yes, she does then literally venture to the bowels of the earth to rescue him and set things right, but she has a vital moment of hesitation.
Watching it back then, the scene I always skipped to and replayed until it fluttered was when Sarah is lead into the false version of her bedroom, crafted from impressively up-cycled garbage. Half a life later it still breaks my heart how badly she wants to believe things are okay, that everything was somehow resolved without her having to do the hard work. It speaks to the same part of us that wants to pull up the covers to block out a Monday morning.

Sarah’s not a born hero, and neither was I. Usually watching movies I’d just think about how overwhelmed I’d be if I was faced with the hero’s journey. When she realizes this magical bedroom is an illusion, she snaps, falling into a tantrum, shattering her things and the reality she so clearly wanted to hold onto. When she emerges from her moment of comforting cowardice to face off with the outside world and fight for her brother, it feels real. Not because she has experienced an awakening and is ultimately good, but because she has to. She now understands she has no other choice. She’ll get canned by her folks if she doesn’t – which is the central motivation of most people under 15.
The final salute to the dark realities of childhood is the placement of David Bowie as the surprisingly sexualized Goblin King. There is no doubt that in 2016, presenting a pre-teen audience with a confusingly attractive anti-hero old enough to be their dad would be a decidedly un-PC move. Erotic stranger danger is a tough sell, but again, just like the descent into anxiety and selfishness, it works. It delivered a dose of sex to a group who were only beginning to wake up to what that meant. Viewed now, the scenes between Bowie and Connelly show a grown man lusting after a teenage girl. But years earlier their exchanges were buffered by the silent subtext that most viewers were beginning to detangle their initial understanding of sex as a reality outside of health class. Soon we would be like Sarah, unwitting and perhaps not always understanding objects of sexual desire. She was an introduction to the unaware-nymph archetype that would soon cling to us as we entered adolescence.
Obviously Labyrinth is not a flawless fable, and many of these readings are generously lent, cobbled together by examining subtleties that might not be there on purpose. But like anyone who continues to descend into the Labyrinth year after year, in this semi-new century it remains a perfect fairytale for an imperfect world. Something we could all be sorely needing as we head into 2017.
Credits
Text Wendy Syfret
Images via @Labyrinth