Gillam's helter-skelter romance makes Orwell seem pious and defeatist -- as there is no scene too grim in "Brazil" that can't and won't shift to the dance steps of the theme song. What is most futuristic for me is that the terrorism is joyfully, randomly directed against the meaningless state edifices. Who cares what happens to the institutions or the nameless apparatchiks? We don't care that much for the fate of the hero either, though we do admire his fantasy life. Working in Washington is not dissimilar, absent the glamour of the violence and the hair-dos.   Gillam's imagination would consideriably improve the leaden atmospherics of the Obama administration on its stiff-lip course of patch and mend and skate and deny all interruptions in the rock star script from the late campaign.  The Obama team needs "Monty Python" pizzaz.  Some dead parrot skits.  A cheese shop.  Green Knight pantomine.  You know, skip and soar a little.  Stop covering up your driver's permit brain trust and its self-pitying lugubriousness.  Try grace and ideas, they work.  Whenever I see the ceremony of Air Force 1 or the Rose Garden or a Joint Session of Congress, I can imagine them breaking into laughter, singing,  "Aquarela do Brasil."