Santa Sangre - Sangue Santo

This is a startling work, a truly artistic masterpiece, which did achieve some mainstream recognition for Jodorowoski but not what the film deserved. Filled with unsettling images, grotesque displays of violence and sexuality, and subtle but comic references, Santa Sangre is Jodorowoski's most coherent work. It is also a thoroughly artistic work, with a greater emphasis on representation than drama or morality. If you have not seen this movie, rent it. You will not soon forget it whatever your final evaluation might be. Too bad its not available on DVD (hint).

I saw the U.S. premiere of this movie at the DC FilmFest. I was intrigued by the thought of a man who makes movies once every 15 years.

Well, I'll tell you. The people sitting next to me left 10 - 15 minutes into the movie. If you can get through the first 30 minutes, it is worthwhile.

Of course, I am into very surrealistic movies and ones that address the question of what is real and what is not.

After seeing it, the visuals have stayed with me over the years. A powerful movie for the adventurous.

Fenix is a troubled young man. As a child in the circus, he experienced extreme brutality and grotesquery first-hand; as a result he has spent years in a mental asylum. He whiles away his days thinking he is a bird and his nights in the company of a group of down-syndrome fellow patients. One day, he escapes the place, where he finds his mother and takes up arms against those she deems deserving of punishment. Falling ever further into a spiral of violent madness, only Alma- a friend from his past- can stop Fenix before his murderous spree gets out of hand.

Alejandro Jodorowsky's 'Santa Sangre' is a wild, beautifully photographed black comedy of the surrealist variety that is highly entertaining and intensely macabre. Full of dark metaphors and symbolism, the story is anything but predictable. From the opening scenes, a strange tone is established, one that is both bleak, stylish and- somehow- quite funny. Jodorowsky's tale- written alongside Claudio Argento and Roberto Leoni- goes to some rather brutal territory, from practically the very beginning of the film. Jodorowsky doesn't treat the material completely seriously, however; there is a tongue-in-cheek element to the whole proceedings that is most appreciated.

The dialogue in 'Santa Sangre' is consistently heavily melodramatic, and would not be out of place in your average soap opera. This is almost certainly a stylistic choice, as the heightened drama and violence calls for equally over-the-top lines. This doesn't mean that the stilted, overly-theatrical nature of the dialogue can't be pointed out, though; nor can it not be said that it makes some scenes unintentionally hilarious and lessens their dramatic power. It's akin to the dialogue from a good B-movie from the 50's: a little over-blown, a little stagey, but by no means terrible.

Under Jodorowsky's firm hand, director of photography Daniele Nannuzzi brings us some incredible shots that linger in the mind long after 'Santa Sangre' has ended. In fact, the whole film is a delight for the eyes, full of the efficacious use of colour, visual metaphors and abstractions Jodorowsky is known for. Enrique Estévez's set decoration is incredibly highly stylised, as is Tolita Figueroa's costume design; their work is as strange and as beautiful as the cinematography.

Simon Boswell's score is remarkably eerie and powerful, again proving the notion that he is one of the finest film composers working today. His strange, Spanish influenced music heightens the impact of scenes undeniably. Some moments- especially one when a young Fenix gets a tattoo from his father- take on a mythical quality because of Boswell's work (combined of course with the fantastical visuals). His is the music of the soul, and it is a pleasure hearing it in 'Santa Sangre'.

The late Axel Jodorowsky stars as Fenix, giving a performance of intensity and depth. He appears tortured, carrying with him a pervasive air of sadness that is most affecting. It is also a performance of immense physicality, and the way in which he moves and utilises his hands in particular is most striking and memorable. Blanca Guerra co-stars as Fenix's mother, Concha, and she makes Lady MacBeth look like Snow White. Commanding the audience with her remarkable dignity and grace, Guerra gives a performance of such vigour and barbaric potency you struggle to recall ever seeing a more vehement, villainous presence on screen.

From the large supporting cast, Guy Stockwell and Thelma Tixou both impress, giving terrific performances as two incredibly seedy and selfish carnies. However, the partial post-dubbing of characters is jarring, especially as it is an inconsistent job in terms of quality. Also- and this is more of a question than a critique- why Jodorowsky chose to shoot the film in English when the majority of his cast are Spanish is a little odd when a lot of the actors struggle with the language. Perhaps he wanted a larger audience; though he surely knew that 'Santa Sangre' won't appeal to everyone, and those to whom it does appeal don't mind subtitles in their movies.

At any rate, 'Santa Sangre' is a darkly funny, intriguingly bizarre film that is a bit like the results of a Tod Browning and John Waters combination. Beautiful, sinister and strange, the film is utterly unique and highly memorable. Well-acted, strikingly photographed and featuring a terrific Simon Boswell score, it's a film that impresses on nearly every level. It is not for the easily perturbed; but for those who from dark abstractions yield immense satisfaction.

There's so much you can say about this work. Vivid characters, colours, and situations that practically leap off the screen into the theatre next to you. A wonderfully quirky, repeatedly startling story. Graceful low-key cinematography that turns slums and sideshows into an eerily beautiful netherworld, countless images that look like you could freeze them and hang them as inspirational totems for cults we have to hope don't exist. Jodorowsky paints with a heavy, vibrant brush, but it's the perfect tone for this primal-yet-humanizing tale.

But I should post a warning. As far as I'm concerned, my first viewing of this film was one of the more worthwhile two hours or so I've ever spent in a theatre, and I think based on my experience that this sadly neglected wonder deserves every bit of word-of-mouth promotion it can get. But I'm betting it's not to everyone's taste.

So this is my advice: if you found Storaro's green and red/jungle foliage and human remains canvasses in Apocalypse Now unsettlingly beautiful the first time you saw them, and wondered momentarily whether still prints were available for hanging before realizing what you were actually suggesting to yourself, here's a film for you. If you found Delicatessan's celebration of the paradoxical beauty hiding in human ugliness and stupidity a bit too sanitized for your taste, Santa Sangre's rather murkier depths await. You will love this work.

If, on the other hand, you have no taste for painters who work best in human blood as opposed to oils, and/or don't appreciate a bloody carnality mixed in with your religious metaphor, you will quite probably hate it with a passion that exceeds my affection. And I don't really blame you or judge you for walking out early. It takes all kinds.

Either way, fondly or with revulsion, you will remember it vividly, ten years later. I can say this confidently, as that's how long it was from the first time I saw this film to the day I wrote this review. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Santa Sangre (1988) is an absolute curio; a surrealist satire on the absurdities of organised religion, a violent pastiche of slasher cinema and an infernal parody of Hitchcock's classic Psycho (1960) all rolled into one. These particular ideas are further tied together by director Alejandro Jodorowsky's continuing preoccupations with circus themes, childhood, murder and performance art; as vivid colours and bold strokes of character and ideology are thrown wildly around the screen amidst surreal visions, childhood reflections and elements of satire. It perhaps lacks the obvious depth and esoteric mysticism of his earlier films - that trio of surrealist masterworks Fando and Lis (1968), El Topo (1970) and The Holy Mountain (1973) - but it remains, nonetheless, a visually impressive and psychologically deep experience that manages to be moving and emotionally demanding, despite the often grotesque and uncomfortable presentation of theme and imagery.

Given the superficial aspects of the narrative, many people have chosen to see the film as a work of horror; something that is entirely plausible given the definite themes of psychological breakdown, madness and inner-torment; not to mention a number of violent murders that propel the story back and forth between enigmatic moments of nightmarish abandon and more colourful and darkly comic moments of parody, farce and cinematic self-reference. However, it is wrong to box the film in with such limited interpretations or categorisations of genre, given the very obvious fact that the film has a number of more interesting layers at work beneath these more blatant surface elements. If anything, I would call the film a psychological fantasy and leave the individual viewer to project their own ideas and interpretations onto it, without having their opinions swayed or pre-led by the hyperbolic platitudes of reviews like this.

However, even with that in mind, Santa Sangre is one of those films that simply demands such discussion, and perhaps requires reviews like this one, not for the benefit of other people, but as an attempt by me to piece together all aspects of the film's bizarre, patch-work like approach to storytelling, and the deeper themes and references that Jodorowksy toys with amidst the continual barrage of visual and aural stimulation. The presentation of the film involves a number of different aspects, some referential, others purely fantasy, moving from an almost Felliniesque portrait of carnival life and idyllic youth - as we are introduced to our central character as a young boy - before shifting further into the young man's life and becoming something of a darkly comic send-up along the lines of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) or Bad Boy Bubby (1993). From here the film becomes darker still, with Jodorowsky establishing the murderous sub-plot, which reaches something of a peak with one of the most insanely violent murder scenes ever witnessed in contemporary cinema.

Nevertheless, anyone expecting a straight murder film - something more akin to the work of producer Claudio Argento's brother Dario - will probably be disappointed. Jodorowsky's intentions for the film go beyond such notions, as he instead ties together a number of disparate concerns to create a grotesque, yet strangely beautiful film that manages to reference the Hollywood melodrama of Sunset Blvd. (1950) and the Gothic horror of the films of James Whale within a story of murder, innocence and Freudian psychology. The impact of the film is certainly within its bizarre symbolism and surreal beauty; the elephant's death-scene for example is one of the most extraordinarily moving things I've ever seen, and ties in nicely with the feelings of the character towards the end of the film, in which the ghosts of the past return amidst a series of startling and frightening recollections, fairy-tale like abstraction and moments of absurd humour.

The film creates an astounding atmosphere from the very start, particularly in the early scenes set within the circus, churches and sweaty streets of Mexico City; with Jodorowsky demonstrating a real understanding and feel for the place, with its sad incongruities of dwarfs and giants and that air of suffocating and claustrophobic dread. The direction, production design, music and photography really capture the dangerous and somewhat confusing tone of the environment, whilst simultaneously retaining a sense of childlike wonderment; particularly in one of the film's most astounding sequences, in which the corpse of an African-elephant is carried through the streets in a giant coffin, dumped into a ravine by a concoction of carnival mourners, only to be savaged and ripped to pieces moments later by a pack of hungry peasants. This scene acts as a grand metaphor for the supporting characters here, and how they send our anti-hero-like protagonist into a spiral of madness, murder and forgiveness.