Endless Poetry

I thought a few things within the movie were a bit too extreme for me, but none the less I still had an overall great experience with this film. From the start, you immediately get sucked into this world of wonder and excitement, there's this underlying message to it that feels preachy, but for some reason, it never feels forced. I had fun with this movie, it was bright, it was colorful, and it was absurd, but I believe it had a poignant message to it.

For a more in-depth review, check out my video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDS4f-R8wC4

Outré Chilean cult stylist Alejandro Jodorowsky has broken a protracted 23 year hiatus in 2013 with THE DANCE OF REALITY, an autobiographic treatment based on his own memoir, and ENDLESS POETRY is its sequel, in the beginning, departed from his hometown Tocopilla, a teen Alejandro (Herskovits) is transferred to Santiago with his parents Jaime (Brontis Jodorowsky, Alejandro's eldest son in real life) and Sara (Flores), all three continue their roles from TDOR.

Exhorted by his martinetish father to become a doctor, the gawky Alejandro takes a rebellious act in plumping for poetry as an outlet, introduced by his gay cousin Ricardo (Carrasco), he leaves home and stays with a cohort of amateur artists and soon an adult Alejandro (played by musician Adan Jodorowsky, Alejandro's youngest son) meets the avant-garde poetess Stella Díaz Varín (Flores too), overwhelmed by her prowess over his manhood, a wide-eyed Alejandro subjects himself to her whims but eventually thinks better of it (after the taste of forbidden fruit). Later he founds camaraderie in fellow poet Enrique Lihn (Taub), but his over-closeness with the latter's dwarf girlfriend Pequeñita (Avendaño) strains their friendship. Eventually, disaffected by General Carlos Ibáñez's ascension to power, Alejandro bids farewell to his friends and motherland, embarks a trip to Paris before squaring up with Jaime whom he will never meet again, told by his old self (Alejandro in person), a second chance only can be conjured up in its filmic illusion.

First and foremost, the octogenarian maestro still has his outlandish style in check, his trademark magic realism, wedded confidently with an ultra theatrical tableau (that old haunt Cafe Iris, peppered with soporific patrons and senile waiters in its subdued timber), grants his audience a sumptuous feast of chromatic plethora: those varicolored decor, a boisterous shindig, a risqué tarot seance, a devil-cum-death parade, not to mention bold sex exploitation, nothing can curb Mr. Jodorowsky's imagination and recollections, in this sense, the film is a perfect ode to his youth and a left-field Chile of that time. But, yes, there is always a "but", what takes the film's appeal down a peg or two is its relinquishment of mystique, of poetic-ism, of art and of life itself in lieu of visual impact. Its dialog fails to capture the subtlety of words and the film is overtly plain in recounting the vicissitude of incidences, the usage of poetry is self-consciously verbal and evanescent, we are not given enough time to dwell on its connotations before the story rambles on in its episodic reveries.

Adan Jodorowsky's central performance is adequate at best, affable but far from an engrossing raconteur; Brontis Jodorowsky, on the other hand, sometimes falls into unnecessary cothurnus as if his monstrous father figure is not repugnant enough; but it is Pamela Flores, in her magnificent double roles, one as a domestic mother embodied solely by soprano, another is the red-hair, buxom dominatrix, sets the screen ablaze in addition to the Oedipal tie-in.

Admittedly, poetry is always a thorny subject to get its full treatment with cinematic parameters, Jodorowsky's attempt has its benign intention, but doesn't give justice to the soul of poetry, nevertheless, it is still a stunning achievement of reminiscence and self-confession, with this auteur's flourish.

Alejandro Jodorowsky's visually-exaggerated fantastical portrayal of his own past continues, beginning by cleverly playing off imagery from the first film, THE DANCE OF REALITY (2013), and thus making it clear that this is an ongoing narrative.

In this case we see young boy Alejandro arriving in Santiago Chile with his strong-willed father and his mother with her unique form of communicating... There, he grows into a teenager and then a young man who discovers his greatest desire is to become a poet, against the wishes of his father. Leaving his family he seeks out other artists and the unhindered artist lifestyle. The unique characters he meets on his journey...well, that's a big part of the story.

There were a couple scenes in this film that seemed slightly self indulgent, which detracted from the feeling of complete pure story that I experienced with the first film. But that's not intended as a strong criticism of the entire film. It felt like a middle film in a trilogy sometimes feels, having it's points to make. Overall, it's an entertaining continuation and is at times emotionally powerful.

The original plan was to film five "memoirs" total...I hope he makes it to the end.

Think Cocteau meets David Lynch with the colourful brilliance designed for the 4K HD TV sets we've been inundated with

Great visuals with hilarious storyline yet still a powerful message

Thank you

There's hope for the return of Jodo in the first scenes, where the real street is transformed by roll down monochrome photo mural drapes into the street of his youth and we see the child in the shop where his dinero-dominated dad encourages him to put the boot into shop lifters, stripping them naked in the street while his singing mum creates strawberry sponge cakes like the one her brother choked on for her tortured mum.

However it soon becomes obvious that we are in for two hours plus of not very clever ideas punctuated by some striking images in Christopher Doyle's brilliant colours and some kinky sex that loses it's shock impact at this length. Concepts - the broken mirror,monochrome Cafe Iris, real Jodo's appearances, the bunraku black covered scenery changers, the circle of bohemian artists led by the pierette - come back not as motifs but as indications that the maker has run out of new ideas.

We get about half an hour of great material buried in the pretentious and increasingly un-funny stodge.