The world of Lemony Snicket is a strange one. Over the course of thirteen books he recounts a tale brimming with murder and betrayal, kidnapping and deceit, venomous vipers and lethal leeches. At the center of this ordeal is the most tragic misfortune anyone could suffer, the death of two parents in a horrific house fire that instigates the series of unfortunate events that befall the Baudelaire orphans. And this is all a children’s story, let’s not forget, even despite Snicket’s warnings that no sensible person should want anything to do with it. However, when looking beyond the extravagant presentation of the series that mixes enough dark comedy and witty wordplay to make Wes Anderson jealous, Daniel Handler is able to craft a story perfectly suited for a younger audience. Its themes of transitioning from childhood to adulthood teaches a valuable lesson to its readers, and it’s refreshing to see a children’s series that treats its audience with the maturity they deserve.
The series has recently undergone a revival thanks to the excellent A Series of Unfortunate Events show that ran for three seasons on Netflix. The television format proved hugely beneficial when translating such a large amount of plot from one medium to another, and the strong writing and performances (most notably from Neil Patrick Harris as the sinister Count Olaf) made it a hit with both critics and audiences. Mark Hudis and Barry Sonnenfeld did some of the best work of their careers on the show but, in what must be one of the strangest pieces of criticism ever leveled against a work of art, they almost did too good of a job. The show’s success has made any other adaptation feel insignificant by comparison, most notably the feature film version from 2004, the appropriately titled (and incredibly underrated) Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events.
Despite being forced to condense much of the source material to keep things within a reasonable runtime, the film still largely adheres to the plot of the first three novels. Following the mysterious death of their parents, the Baudelaire orphans consisting of Violet (Emily Browning), Klaus (Liam Aiken), and Sunny (Kara and Shelby Hoffman) find themselves shepherded from one guardian to the next, all the while trying to avoid the clutches of the nefarious Count Olaf (Jim Carrey) and his schemes to obtain their family fortune. Due to the very nature of being a film, it would have been impossible to compress three books worth of story into a two-hour runtime without sacrificing the idiosyncratic writing that made them such a hit, something director Brad Silberling appears to have realized. Of course, he could have just carried on with a straightforward adaptation anyway, its target audience probably not being the most clued in to a sloppily written script, but Silberling had something more creative in mind. Rather than compressing three books into two hours and then calling it a day, Silberling opted to use the original Snicket books as a palette from which to paint a beautiful morose canvas. The result is one of the most visually arresting children’s films ever made, with a level of care put into its cinematography and production design that is unparalleled for films of its nature. It’s a fantastic example of someone weaponizing the constraints placed upon them to their advantage, with Silberling silencing any doubts that this was just an easy money grab to cash in on a successful line of books. A Series of Unfortunate Events may suffer from trying to cram too much material into too short a runtime, but there’s no denying the technical prowess of Silberling and his team.
Two of the biggest influences on A Series of Unfortunate Events were A Little Princess and Sleepy Hollow, both films that operate on the thin line between dreams and reality. It should come as no surprise then to learn that Emmanuel Lubezki, the cinematographer on both films, was hired by Silberling to take control of his camera in what was easily his greatest directorial choice. Enlisting the help of this Sleepy Hollow production and costume designers Rick Heinrichs and Colleen Atwood, respectively, Lubezki gives the film an otherworldly vibe that seems like it’s been ripped straight from a child’s imagination. For example, the gothic design of Olaf’s house that eschews primary colors in favor of a palette consisting of blacks, greys, and greens appears to have been dragged kicking and screaming from a Brothers Grimm folktale, and the idea that anyone would willingly call this place their home is the most terrifying thought in the film. This muted use of color persists throughout the film, giving the impression of a world where any trace of humanity has long since been thrown away.
At times the cinematography is almost overwhelming, such as an early scene on a beach where the Baudelaires first learn the news of their parent's death. The dour colors and expansive set utterly dwarfs the children in a shot that evokes the barrenness of a Caspar David Friedrich painting, encapsulating their plight of being just small, innocent children in a large and uncaring world. However, Lubezki is careful our adolescent heroes never get lost in the landscape, with the camera staying by their side throughout much of the runtime (resulting in lots of low-angle shots that make the world feel even more terrifying). His subtle inclusion of warmer lighting in scenes featuring just the three of them perfectly captures their struggle for happiness in a world that seems entirely devoid of such things, and its sudden removal when the next tragedy strikes makes the memories of it burn all the brighter.
Complementing this look is the film’s use of special effects, with Silberling favoring practical over digital effects whenever possible. When coupled with the intrinsically detailed sets that earned Heinrichs a nomination for Best Art Direction at the 2005 Academy Awards, it gives the world of A Series of Unfortunate Events a tangible quality that allows the viewer to fully immerse themselves in the struggles of the Baudelaire orphans, despite the outlandishness of much of its plotting. The use of matte paintings rather than green screens during exterior scenes (such as in the aforementioned beach scene) is the greatest example of this. While their stylized design means the viewer will never mistake these locations for ones that actually exist, their presence gives the fantastical world of Lemony Snicket an authenticity that digital effects could never replicate. The sense of timelessness that persists throughout the film adds to this feeling of unreality, with sets and costumes that feel like they could belong in any period from the Victorian era until today. This is a world like no other, flitting between different designs with the regularity of a ticking clock, and Silberling and company are loving every minute of it.
No discussion of A Series of Unfortunate Events is complete without mention of Thomas Newman’s soundtrack, an ominous collection of tracks that sounds like a typical score for a children’s film if it had tripped and fallen down the pathway to hell. His perchance for whimsical strings and pianos that tug on the heart makes him a perfect fit for a story with such anguish as this, and by pushing this sound through the filter of youthful fascination reminiscent of his work on Finding Nemo (with just a touch of his darker side from Road to Perdition), Newman is able to craft one of the most evocative soundscapes of his career. Rather than trying to overbear the images like he’s in competition with the rest of the crew, Newman infuses every scene with the atmospheric notes of melancholy that enhances rather than distracts from Lubezki’s visuals, and the result is the perfect soundtrack to accompany the Baudelaire orphans and their hardship.
Image via Paramount Pictures
It’s a testament to the film’s production values that they make the film highly recommended despite its other shortcomings. As previously noted, the decision to cram three books into one film can make it feel like you’re just watching a recap video on YouTube rather than the fully-fledged adaptation that it should be, perfect for kids skimping on their reading assignments but disappointing for everyone else. The acting is also somewhat of a mixed bag. While much of the supporting cast artfully walks the line between comedy and drama, bouncing off the scenery with such ease it’s like they were placed there by Lubezki himself (with particular mention to Billy Connelly and Meryl Streep as two of the Baudelaire’s short-lived guardians), others seem to get lost in the vistas. Liam Aiken is rather one-note as Klaus Baudelaire, a major issue since he essentially shares joint protagonist duty with his sister, while the level of goofiness Jim Carrey exudes as Olaf makes his usual characters seem tame by comparison. He’s entertaining, no doubt about it, but he lacks the touch of genuine terror that Harris brought to the Netflix show.
But for all the strengths of that series, it cannot hold a candle to the design of its predecessor. Never has a children’s film looked as good as this, with Silberling and Lubezki going above and beyond what would have been required of them for such a project. Their work flawlessly captures the aesthetic of the books, and succeeds in giving a tactile quality to something that should be too exaggerated to take seriously. The world of Lemony Snicket is a dark one, but also one where flickers of light can be found if one searches for them long enough. It’s exactly this belief that defines the look of A Series of Unfortunate Events, and the execution is stunning to watch.