a gleaming, indulgent portrait of a life reenacted through rose-colored glasses.
like the scene where he & Enrique tread forward, Jodorowsky somehow manages to live wholly unencumbered. no obstacle really inhibits the expression of his artistic desires.
disappointingly, his father is painted much more sympathetically in la danza de la realidad; here, his treatment is at most ambivalent and, as now-Alejandro forces a post-mortem embrace, is struck through with condescension.
perhaps his ability to move forward so unflinchingly, dedicated to his being as a poet/artist, lay in his disinterest (refusal? inability?) to forge a true bond with any of the people he came across. like the cardboard cutouts embraced by corpses watching his departure from the dock, Jodorowsky left everyone he…