The first incarnation I met was the astronaut-turned-Pierrot of Ashes To Ashes.
I think he is still visible in your work. It's a good shadow to leave.
I've yet to see his Goblin King, but we share a Tesla.
How you feel about the rest of Labyrinth will depend on your feelings toward Jim Henson, Brian Froud, and Terry Jones, but I think you will like Jareth, the Goblin King, no matter what. He turns into a white owl every thirteen hours. He never looks human even before then. He has hair like you only see in anime, showering moon-brindled around the wild bones of his face—he must be the parent and original of Clarke's gentleman with thistle-down hair, merry and amoral and frighteningly un-strange at times, as if we have all met him somewhere before, as if we've always known his bargains. He plays with crystal balls, he plays with time, he plays with fine print and promises and, at the last, his own heart. He dresses like the Regency went through a glitterbomb and he looks fabulous doing it. The songs are not among Bowie's best, but I don't think anyone who loves the film has ever really cared. rushthatspeaks owns a T-shirt that quotes Jareth; I have always thought this a very sensible thing to do. I can't think of another actor who could have played him so successfully and with such genuine otherness that it seemed for years that the only choices were whether Bowie would someday return to his home planet or step through a mirror into his shape-changing maze.
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I think he is still visible in your work. It's a good shadow to leave.
I've yet to see his Goblin King, but we share a Tesla.
How you feel about the rest of Labyrinth will depend on your feelings toward Jim Henson, Brian Froud, and Terry Jones, but I think you will like Jareth, the Goblin King, no matter what. He turns into a white owl every thirteen hours. He never looks human even before then. He has hair like you only see in anime, showering moon-brindled around the wild bones of his face—he must be the parent and original of Clarke's gentleman with thistle-down hair, merry and amoral and frighteningly un-strange at times, as if we have all met him somewhere before, as if we've always known his bargains. He plays with crystal balls, he plays with time, he plays with fine print and promises and, at the last, his own heart. He dresses like the Regency went through a glitterbomb and he looks fabulous doing it. The songs are not among Bowie's best, but I don't think anyone who loves the film has ever really cared.
*leaving hugs for you*
*hugs for you, too*
You remember him well.