The Holy Mountain
Jodorowsky here feels like Pasolini by way of Lynch, with a few sprinkles of Roy Andersson perhaps. It started off well enough with some pointed critiques of colonialism and Catholicism and capitalism for good measure. That said by maybe a third into the film I feel like it had abstracted so much that I was no longer taking it in as metaphor and instead seeing merely spectacle. That melange of oddity, and nudity, certainly keeps the film from ever feeling boring or even overly frustrating, but it does leave me feeling empty more than inspired.