Usually, writing about why The Princess Bride is a comfort movie is like writing about why a tree produces oxygen. It just does. It's science. Thousands of microscopic events and millennia of basic evolution collided to create an objective truth, and to question "why?" would be like staring straight into the sun instead of just basking in its rays. However, we are living in trying times—unless you're a wasteland marauder discovering this piece in the future as an artifact, I don't think I need to re-hash why—and it can be worthwhile to explore just why our safe spaces feel like home. Want me to explain what makes The Princess Bride the perfect film? As you wish.
First off, it's actually about four or five perfect films in one. Directed by Rob Reiner from a script by William Goldman (adapting his own book), The Princess Bride is a swashbuckling fantasy adventure. And a blazing love story. And a farcical comedy. And kind of a satire? All wrapped around a frame story that doubles as a fable about the ageless nature of love and life. Simply: A grandfather (Peter Falk) shows up to read a book to his resistant, sick grandchild (Fred Savage), who finds himself drawn further and further into the tale of a princess, Buttercup (Robin Wright) who falls in love with a stableboy, Westley (Cary Elwes). Five years after his ship is attacked by the murderous Dread Pirate Roberts, Westley returns home to save Buttercup from a loveless marriage to the scheming Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), aided by a revenge-driven swordsman, Inigo Montoya (Mandy Patinkin), and a giant, Fezzig (Andre the Giant).
A plot synopsis doesn't give justice to a few things, though. For one, William Goldman's script is the most quotable of all time, maybe equal only to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, written by [checks notes] William Goldman. Then there's a cast so blindingly charming it deserves its own warning from the CDC for anyone prone to fainting spells. But what sets The Princess Bride on its singularly unique pedestal is the juggling act pulled off by Reiner and Co. It's hard to illustrate without just watching the film how accurately all of those genres listed above could accurately describe the film, but somehow all at once and separately at the same time. It's weird to describe something as purely joyous as The Princess Bride as a "well-oiled machine", but everything in the finished product performs so well because of the cog chugging along beside it. The cheesier stuff works because hey, this is a children's fantasy story. The darker, more adult themes also work because it's a children's fantasy story being used to illustrate a point about growing up. Any critique of one aspect of the film just bounces off another that works too well. For example: The fact that Andre the Giant is a straight-up terrible actor doesn't matter at all because wow, he's a literal giant, and the same physical magnetism that turned him into a folk hero makes every garbled word from his mouth sound endearing. Andre the Giant is a bad actor who I unironically think deserved an Academy Award nomination for The Princess Bride.
But it's the structure of the film that turns its Comfort Watch Status to "timeless." Plenty of films are great, but The Princess Bride is designed to be great across generations. The idea of a grandparent imparting knowledge with a story so dazzling the grandchild doesn't even notice is a potent one. It's like a gateway drug in film form. As a kid, it's enough to just watch the swordfight between Westley and Inigo—still a dazzling piece of choreography to this day—without appreciating just how razor-quick the banter is between blade-clangs. ("You seem a decent fellow, I hate to die"? Come on.) When you're young, the lesson is about love being unbeatable; when you're just a little older, the line that sticks in your head is, "Who says life is fair? Where is that written?" As a youth, Westley is dashing, Inigo is daring, Fezzig is funny; as an adult, you can finally realize that everyone in this movie is achingly hot. Everyone. Robin Wright? Good lord. Cary Elwes? Sweet Christmas. Mandy Patinkin? Avenge me, king. Wallace Shawn? A baroque tights icon. Andre? Mountain climbing equipment exists for a reason.
The point being, The Princess Bride is one of the few films in existence that actually falls in the "never a bad time" category, and there is no "incorrect" way to watch it. Throw it on in the background, looking up only to occasionally quote along. Pay deep attention and pick up another detail of the shockingly tender performances. You can't go wrong. From every angle, The Princess Bride is the perfect delivery system for joy. So perfect that it's...impossible to comprehend on a mental level? If only I knew a word for that.
