Alejandro Jodorowsky was born in 1929 in Tocopilla, a coastal town on the edge of the Chilean desert where this film was shot. It was there that Jodorowsky underwent an unhappy and ... See full summary »
A former circus artist escapes from a mental hospital to rejoin his armless mother - the leader of a strange religious cult -, and is forced to enact brutal murders in her name as he becomes "her arms".
Through Alejandro Jodorowsky's autobiographical lens, Endless Poetry narrates the years of the Chilean artist's youth during which he liberated himself from all of his former limitations, from his family, and was introduced into the foremost bohemian artistic circle of 1940s Chile where he met Enrique Lihn, Stella Díaz Varín, Nicanor Parra... at the time promising young but unknown artists who would later become the titans of twentieth-century Hispanic literature. He grew inspired by the beauty of existence alongside these beings, exploring life together, authentically and freely. A tribute to Chile's artistic heritage, Endless Poetry is also an ode to the quest for beauty and inner truth, as a universal force capable of changing one's life forever, written by a man who has dedicated his life and career to creating spiritual and artistic awareness across the globe. Written by
Le Soleil Films
Alejandro leaves his parents and moves in with the two girls in the 1940's. You can see a Terracotta Army sculpture in the corner of his room, but the Terracotta Army was only discovered on 29 March 1974. See more »
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.
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