I don't usually like criticising works for self-indulgence either; there's nothing wrong with it (The Brown Bunny is a masterpiece). But the criticism isn't necessarily of its indulgence, but of it being a "mess". You could replace self-indulgent just as easily with "colourful". A colourful mess, of sorts. Depp's over-acting doesn't suit him one bit, and Del Toro steals the film's finest moments -- the elevator scene had me in stitches. Gilliam's loud, boisterous style works well with the Monty Python team in front of the camera, but it doesn't translate well to an American voice-over. Actually, my favorite scene with Depp was in the cafeteria, just before he's about to leave after Del Toro has scared the shit out of the waitress. But these moments of subtlety are few and far between. A relentless, exhausting film which, as with all cult films, runs the risk of selling itself before it is seen. Indeed, its preceding reputation will either enhance the film or repel viewers away.

Perhaps Thompson's book begged a cinematic treatment; it would have felt less strained if it was an animation.