Santa sangre

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.

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.

I remember seeing this movie in 1990 in a tiny cinema in London, on a date. As we walked from the theater and got on the tube, neither of us said a word for 20 minutes. Finally, she said, "you have a strange taste in films."

Back then, I was heavily into Luis Bunuel. This was one of the few post-Bunuel movies that embodied the essential creepiness and odd humor of the Surrealists (the other one that comes to mind is "Videodrome"). There's the obvious Freudian stuff, the obvious shock stuff, but leaving all that aside, there are indelible moments of cinematic poetry. The elephant; the son's arms; the final shot. It feels, more than 10 years later, like a repressed dream/nightmare.

I don't consider this a "horror" movie, in the sense that there are no slasher, monster, alien, demon, zombie, cannibal, haunted house, supernatural, dread disease, or giallo elements. I don't remember this movie being particularly scary or gory; just creepy. Maybe it's in a similar genre to "Eyes Without a Face," but only in the sense that both movies deal with mutilation and revenge. (Then again, I remember seeing "Un Chien Andalou" and "In the Realm of the Senses" in the horror section of a video store -- a sign of either ignorance or insight, I could never figure out.) This one truly belongs in the Foreign Films section, but not just for being non-Hollywood.

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.

(translation from Italian) In these days, Santa Sangre is back on the screens in a copy restored in 4k in the original version for the 30th anniversary of its release. Many have asked me to review it, but I can't do it because, first of all I wrote it together with Alessandro Jodorowsky and therefore it would seem to me not very polite and professional to praise me or to criticize me because then in a possible critical judgment today I could also be very bad towards myself... Beyond the jokes, what I can do instead it's telling the genesis of the film, without spoiling it and without weaving neither praise nor criticism, but leaving them both to the judgment of the spectators, above all new spectators, because it is a cult movie and has gone through 30 years unscathed. Even the famous GB magazine Empire has included it among the 500 best films of all time... Beyond this exaggeration, it can be interesting just how the film was born and meanwhile special thanks goes to Claudio Argento, the "crazy" producer, wonderfully crazy, because he believed in this story and produced it. The first idea of this film has a distant origin. I attended university working in the library of a psychiatric hospital and I was in contact with the so-called madness, with mental illness, I saw it up close, I read the medical records, I prepared texts for some degree theses... Obviously I have no competence as a psychologist or as a psychiatrist, however, I also followed humanly life of some patients because I was part of therapy program which taught painting and theatre and also another ergotherapy program, that is, work therapy, which offered to the patients the possibility of doing small jobs allowing them to take off their uniform, because then patients were in uniform. Take off their uniform and attend the library meant that in the eyes of a stranger they were treated like normal people. During the program I had some patients that apparently were very quiet, and they were also very cultured and prepared. In fact, this experience made me understand that schizophrenia is often proper a "degeneration of intelligence", in fact, very often schizophrenics are very clever, very sensitive and very attentive. One of these patients, who worked with me because he knew 3 or 4 languages so he could help me sort the books, because the library had 50,000 volumes of all types and ages, one day started looking sideways and saying: "... 'shut up ...' shut up ..." The third time I asked him what happened and he answered me calmly with his calm blue eyes: "No, nothing, I have a voice that tells me to kill you, but don't worry because I love you. " I was a little uncomfortable, but he reassured me: "No, no, don't worry, I love you, I don't listen to it... " Continuing to stare at me with his blue eyes and I was, as far as I could be, calm. The library was very extensive because there were five very large rooms for the 50,000 volumes and it was me and him alone, isolated on a high floor of this immense palace. And I trusted. I trusted his blue eyes, I trusted him his sincere way of telling me "I love you". Probably this episode, like a small seed, has yielded within my psychology, giving me a sense of confidence, giving me a sense of equality and above all a sense of brotherhood even with mental distress. I found Abel in what might have seemed Cain and this fact so ancestral and so mythical has yielded within me and it is probably the origin of Santa Sangre because over time, I conceived a story in which even the worst demon actually can't forget he is an angel. Whoever saw Santa Sangre knows that the character I wrote together with Alejandro Jodorowsky is a serial killer, but every time he kills you feel sorry for him that is you are sorry more for him than for the victim just to completely overturn the concept of the brute, of the violent, of the monster, but returning almost to the Latin root 'monstrum', that is, something to see, a curious thing to discover. Because the human soul is an infinite gallery of typologies, it is a very deep mine in which, as the famous verses of De Andrè say: "... nothing comes from diamonds, but from the manure the flowers are born... " That is, there is in the depths of the soul, even the most horrendous soul, this incredible ability, this little spark... Over time I have developed a story that I told Claudio Argento because it was a time when we worked together. Claudio understood this story and indeed he even added to it things he thought and together we decided to present it to the director who seemed the most suitable to represent it that is Alejandro Jodorowsky. Jodorowsky for about ten years seemed to have disappeared from the international scenes, but Claudio with great diligence and a lot of skill found him and talked to his agent. Alejandro made an appointment in Paris, but he wanted to meet only me. We didn't understand why, but he said: "I want to meet who wrote this story" I went to meet Alejandro in Paris and in the entrance hall of his agent's building, while I was going to take the elevator, an elegant man has sprung from the shadows, curious, particular, completely dressed in purple: he also had purple shoes, a purple shirt, the purple tie, he was completely purple. And he said to me: "Oui, c'est moi ..." So, I saw Alejandro for the first time. He didn't want to go to the agent because it was a place of merchants, instead he told me: "Let's go to a bar, let's look at each other and talk" The first thing he asked me was: "When did you write this story?" "About a year ago ..." "When exactly?" "I do not remember..." Then, I remembered that my daughter had a fever and I was telling her stories, then I went to my study, an idea had occurred to me and I started to throw that one down which was the first nucleus of Santa Sangre. Then I said: "It should have been March 29." "What time did you write it?" "Around half past one or two in the morning ..." "I knew it... ...that night I went to sleep early and the angel of stories has passed over Paris to bring me a story, saw that I slept and continued to Rome, saw that you were awake and gave you the story. But the story was mine and you are a thief! " "But Alejandro, I invented it ..." "No, you are a thief, 'tu es un voleur' ..." And since then he called me 'ce voleur là', 'that thief there' referring to me. This is a very beautiful story because you can understand how every artist in reality has the ability, when he likes something, to take it, to feel it and to think that he really conceived it. Then, Alejandro developed this story with his imagination and his art, also telling me an episode occurred in Mexico City which in some respects had similar characteristics and together we wrote the script by which he then made the film that we all know.