The major problem with Alejandro Jodorowsky's films is that the imagery does not stand alone; it stands for something else. The essence of surrealism, of course, is its lack of rational coherence, its absence of logic and meaning. The images in 'Un Chien Andalou' were dreamt up, while Jodorowsky's are contrived. He imposes meaning and does not seem to believe in free association. He is, in a word, didactic.
'The Holy Mountain,' an improvement upon his muddy cult epic 'El Topo,' begins promisingly enough with an eerie, wordless prologue in a temple in which the heads of two women are shaved by a cloaked deity as an initiation rite. The imagery here is striking, as is the imagery throughout most of the film, but I dare say it'd all be a lot more significant with the volume muted.
What follows is, initially, strained attempts at blasphemy serving alone as satire on Christianity, with a Christ-like figure smoking herb and making kissy-kissy with a limbless midget, and then happening upon a Christ factory (representing Christianity as a commercial product, in case you're slow). Following this, we see a reenactment of the Mexican revolution with a cast of frogs. After this display, our hero is led into the peak of a tower through a rainbow-colored corridor, where an alchemist locks him in a retort and his excrement is transformed into gold. Pelicans appear. The movie evolves again, this time into a satire on consumerism.
This initially striking feature becomes more grating as time wears on, and the juvenile tone of its satiric statement seriously compromises the power of its visual compositions. My heart sank as the film drifted further away from ambiguity and abstraction into the land of the cerebral and polemical. Jodorowsky is more suited for comic art and graphic novels than films, as the reconciliation between literal ideas and otherwise abstract images here is poor. Jod himself appears unmasked in the final scene, with a revelation that seems wrongheaded and smug.
'The Holy Mountain,' an improvement upon his muddy cult epic 'El Topo,' begins promisingly enough with an eerie, wordless prologue in a temple in which the heads of two women are shaved by a cloaked deity as an initiation rite. The imagery here is striking, as is the imagery throughout most of the film, but I dare say it'd all be a lot more significant with the volume muted.
What follows is, initially, strained attempts at blasphemy serving alone as satire on Christianity, with a Christ-like figure smoking herb and making kissy-kissy with a limbless midget, and then happening upon a Christ factory (representing Christianity as a commercial product, in case you're slow). Following this, we see a reenactment of the Mexican revolution with a cast of frogs. After this display, our hero is led into the peak of a tower through a rainbow-colored corridor, where an alchemist locks him in a retort and his excrement is transformed into gold. Pelicans appear. The movie evolves again, this time into a satire on consumerism.
This initially striking feature becomes more grating as time wears on, and the juvenile tone of its satiric statement seriously compromises the power of its visual compositions. My heart sank as the film drifted further away from ambiguity and abstraction into the land of the cerebral and polemical. Jodorowsky is more suited for comic art and graphic novels than films, as the reconciliation between literal ideas and otherwise abstract images here is poor. Jod himself appears unmasked in the final scene, with a revelation that seems wrongheaded and smug.