You’re walking into a strange hallway. It seems both oddly familiar and unfamiliar. It reminds you of a childhood on the brink of death. There’s a faint smell in the air, of roses and Taco Bell. It makes you pause. Why is there Taco Bell in a place like this? Fortunately the skink crawling up the not-before-noticed stone wall next to you says “Hey Fucko, you’re dreamin!” and then you wake up in an alley in Tijuana and realize you’ve just been robbed by a feral pack of raccoons, and your spleen may or may not be missing.
This is a film by Alejandro Jodorowski, which has absolutely nothing to do with a feral pack of raccoons but there may be some adjancencies to that goins on. Plot synopses are generally kinda for chumps, but at least here it involves a young circus kid who is in... Mexico? Spain? Does it matter? If you were raised in a circus, know that It may have serious repercussions later in life. Especially if you have an Oedipal complex and fall for a deaf-mute girl who belongs to a slutty tattooed lady. And hate your dad too. Alright. Synopsis synopseed.
The opening shot, you’re like, shit, this is an art film, isn’t it? Then you realize, naw, the dude is jusssst off-his-gourd crazy. Fuckin Birdpeople, right? Like any Jodorowski film, I wrote way too many notes and ignored all of them when gettins to this part. It’s a Jodorowsky film. El Topo started the Midnight Cult Film journey for many, The Holy Mountain solidified the insanities, and I am still left to wonder what the mushroomingly fuck this dude could have done with his proposed treatment of Frank Herbert’s Dune. Don’t ask me what this film is about, besides maybe mom issues and being a carnie. I imagine it’s more than that. I had an intermission in the middle of viewing this which involved several shots of whiskey and some beers and helping fill up a tire low in air with a cigarette-lighter air pump that was in the back of the car. In hindsight, it was an appropriate lesson for those involved. What that has to do with the movie itself? Nothing. What the movie has to do with filling up a low tire with a cigarette-lighter powered pump? Nothing. Full circle. Get (responsibly) loaded before watching this, the visuals and situations are not normal, with a minimal amount of bloodshed. And then you ask yourself, shit, this is an art film, isn’t it?
