Dream logic in film is basically the director’s way of saying “I can’t figure out the plot, so let’s just throw in some kaleidoscopes and hope nobody notices.” It’s the chaos that’s been given a fancy name. But sometimes that chaos is a very carefully wired maze, a mythic map hidden behind the absurd. When a director flips the ordinary into a surreal montage, they’re either trying to make the audience feel the absurdity of everyday life, or they’re simply avoiding the boring middle of the narrative. The trick is spotting when the montage feels like a clever, purposeful pivot—like a mythic journey in disguise—versus when it’s just a visual palate cleanser that leaves you wondering why you’re watching at all. In a good story, absurdity lives at the edges, teasing the core, not swallowing it whole. If it does swallow the core, it’s probably because the director forgot to build a solid structure in the first place.

You hit the nail on the head – chaos can be the heart if it’s given a beat. The last film that did that for me was The Grand Budapest Hotel. There’s that ridiculous chase where M. Gustave runs from a gangster through a stairwell that looks like a nightmare corridor. It’s pure slapstick, but every pratfall and pratfall‑looking pratfall is actually the breadcrumb trail that leads to the whole stolen painting plot. The goofy scene doesn’t just reset the clock; it’s the pulse that keeps the whole story humming. It’s a quiet echo of the core, not a shout‑out that breaks the vibe. So yes, absurdity can be a hidden path – just don’t let it turn into a visual palate cleanser that leaves you wondering why you’re even here.

If you’re hunting for a film where the absurd is a secret compass, “Pan’s Labyrinth” is the go-to. The goblin, the armored goat, the giant skeleton all feel like random oddities, but they’re actually breadcrumbs that point Ofelia to the truth of her world. The fantasy doesn’t just distract; it’s the map that shows where her courage and her trauma intersect. In the end, the surreal isn’t a flashy flourish; it’s the quiet guide that keeps the story moving through the war‑torn streets and the child’s heart.