Werner Herzog Movie: The Accidental Tourist

The Accidental Tourist: A Werner Herzog Film

Logline: In 1977, a German brewery worker with a love for beer and a thirst for adventure takes a trip to San Francisco. There’s just one problem: he ends up in Bangor, Maine. This heartwarming comedy by Werner Herzog explores the world’s last lost tourist, Erwin Kreuz, and his hilarious journey of getting gloriously lost.

Synopsis:

Erwin Kreuz, a simple man with a taste for lagers, embarks on a life-changing adventure – a trip to San Francisco. Fueled by excitement and a few too many beers at the airport bar, Erwin stumbles off the plane in Bangor, Maine, completely convinced he’s in his dream city.

Unaware of his geographical blunder, Erwin embraces the sights and sounds of Bangor, charming the locals with his childlike wonder and broken English. News of the “lost tourist” spreads like wildfire, turning Erwin into an unlikely folk hero.

As the world marvels at Erwin’s innocent mistake, the spotlight shines on Bangor. The once-quiet town embraces its newfound fame, showering Erwin with gifts, parties, and even an honorary membership in the Penobscot Indian Nation.

Meanwhile, Erwin basks in the unexpected attention, oblivious to the truth. But the jig is up when a kind local helps him realize his misplaced San Francisco dreams.

Torn between the warmth of Bangor and the allure of his original destination, Erwin embarks on a whirlwind trip to the real San Francisco. There, he meets the mayor, rides a cable car, and even gets a standing ovation at a rodeo.

Despite the bright lights of San Francisco, Erwin’s heart remains in Bangor. He returns to Germany a changed man, fired from his brewery job but forever grateful for the kindness of strangers and the joy of getting gloriously lost.

Herzogian Touch:

The film will capture the essence of Werner Herzog’s style – a blend of humor, pathos, and a fascination with the human condition. The vast landscapes of Maine will be juxtaposed with the bustling streets of San Francisco, highlighting Erwin’s displacement. Herzog’s signature voice-over narration will add a layer of philosophical reflection to Erwin’s simple journey.

The bizarre tale of the world’s last lost tourist, who thought Maine was San Francisco

By Andrew ChamingsUpdated Dec 15, 2022 12:31 p.m.

In 1977, 49-year-old German brewery worker Erwin Kreuz blew his life savings on his first flight — a once-in-a-lifetime birthday trip to San Francisco. He’d seen it on TV, and he wanted to visit the Wild West. As the World Airways flight from Frankfurt stopped to refuel in a small airport in Bangor, Maine, before continuing on to California, an air stewardess who had finished her shift told Kreuz to “have a nice time in San Francisco.” Her choice of words would change Kreuz’s life. Kreuz, who typically enjoyed drinking 17 beers a day, was a little groggy, and on hearing this, grabbed his suitcase, got off the plane, went through customs, jumped in a cab and asked the driver to take him to the city. He wandered Bangor for three days enjoying the sights and sounds that Maine had to offer. Unfortunately, Kreuz thought he was in San Francisco. Within a week, Kreuz became an international celebrity, made the “Today Show” and Time magazine and was handed the key to San Francisco. He became a folk hero, as the world’s last lost tourist. — Outside of a day trip over the border to Switzerland, Kreuz had never stepped foot outside Germany, let alone boarded an airplane. He spoke only German and lived in a small Bavarian village near Augsberg, working in a local brewery. His trip in October 1977 was a big one, and Kreuz was understandably eager to see the famous hilly city from the glossy travel magazines with his own eyes. Most of us have stepped off a bus or train at the wrong stop — an embarrassing and annoying moment that involves a quick check on your phone to figure out how to get back to your intended destination. But what if a friendly face just told you that train stop was the right one, and all the signs were indecipherable, and cellphones didn’t exist, and you were three sheets to the wind? Once Kreuz got through customs in that little airport, he was certain he was in San Francisco, and he didn’t stop believing that for three very strange days. The cab dropped Kreuz in downtown Bangor where he checked into the Bangor House Hotel, walked the streets a little and found a tavern to quench his almighty thirst. At one point Kreuz was reassured by the sight of two Chinese restaurants in the town, something he knew was in San Francisco from the movies. The rusted green bridge that links Bangor to neighboring Brewer was clearly not the Golden Gate, but Kreuz carried on regardless. After much wandering, Kreuz decided he must be in a Bay Area suburb, so he hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him to downtown San Francisco. The driver sped away as though Kreuz was crazy. Kreuz returned to the bar, suddenly a little unsure of himself, and tried to get some help from a waitress. The language barrier was too wide, and she put him in contact with a neighbor named Gertrude Romine, a Czechoslovakian immigrant who spoke German. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “It was so funny,” recalled Romine, who was the first to make Kreuz aware of his monumental error. “He couldn’t speak any English and didn’t know. He knew there were hills around San Francisco and when he saw the hills around Bangor he figured he was in the right area.” Romine and her family took Kreuz into their home, and word spread of the lost tourist, first to the Bangor Daily News, then nationally, then the world. What may be more surprising than someone believing a small logging town on the Atlantic Ocean was San Francisco was the way the world reacted to his story. Everyone was enamored by this strange visitor who had been walking around a very different town in his head. Within days, Kreuz became an honorary member of the Penobscot Indian Nation, had a folk song written about him, was thrown a 50th birthday party and was visited by the governor of Maine. He was even gifted an acre of scrubland in northern Maine as an act of goodwill. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad The Bangor Daily News compared him, somewhat lovingly, to the town seal, whom Kreuz kissed for a photo op. “Erwin Kreuz met Andre the Seal Thursday morning. They must have had a lot to talk about, because they have a great deal in common,” the paper wrote. “Neither speaks a word of English; each ranks among the great communicators of our time. Both are media events of the first order.” The Bangor Daily News, Oct. 28, 1977. Bangor Daily News Kreuz’s lack of English only heightened his character and mystique in the press. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “Just what is Mr. Kreuz thinking about as he says (according to his translator) all those nice things about Bangor? Is it possible for a man to be nice to everyone he meets?” the Daily News pondered. Reports started surfacing that a San Francisco newspaper might pay for Kreuz to fly out to his initial destination, but some Bangor residents claimed him as their own, like a drunk child in a custody battle. During a trip to the local jail in Maine, where Kreuz was ushered through the cells and met the inmates (he had requested to see “an American jail,” and no one could apparently say no to the big-hearted German) the warden told the press, “He was tickled to death. He wants to stay right here in Bangor. He doesn’t want to go to San Francisco.” The San Francisco Examiner did indeed foot the bill for Kreuz to extend his vacation and finally head out west. When there, he was treated like visiting dignitary; he met with Mayor George Moscone half an hour before the mayor met Prince Charles. It was Moscone whom Kreuz told about his 17-beers-a-day diet, to which the (alleged) heavy-drinking mayor replied, “Well, that beats me.” ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad On his whirlwind tour of the city Kreuz took a cable car, was plied with gifts and three marriage proposals, and even became an honorary member of the Wong Family Association at the Empress of China restaurant in Chinatown. Kreuz also did the most San Francisco of activities by attending an, um, rodeo at Cow Palace. There he was given a white cowboy hat, to complement the headdress he was gifted in Maine, and got a standing ovation in the middle of the ring. Word had spread across the world of Kreuz’s journey. Time Magazine ran a story as he was still in San Francisco on the German’s “exceptional jet age odyssey.” On NBC’s “Today Show,” Tom Brokaw complimented the town of Bangor on their loving treatment of the lost German and celebrated his time in San Francisco. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad Word got back to West Germany too, where magazines Stern and Der Spiegel told his story. In San Francisco, it was a feel-good story at a time when the city — reeling from a crime wave, serial killings, kidnappings and emboldened cult leaders — needed to feel good. “The roly poly Kreuz was welcomed to The City by Mayor Moscone, who presented him with a proclamation declaring that San Francisco does, in fact, exist,” The Examiner reported. Though, as Time magazine wrote, “The ruddy-faced bachelor finally did get to see the Golden Gate. But, by all accounts, he left his heart in downtown Bangor.” And Kreuz would prove this in his later travels. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad The Town Talk, Nov. 1, 1977. The Town Talk Kreuz was soon due back at work at the brewery and, after four days in San Francisco, boarded a flight back home brandishing a “Please let me off in Frankfurt” sign. Despite his apparent childlike misunderstanding of the world (and maps), Kreuz proved to be masterful with the press, telling reporters at his arrival at Frankfurt airport, “If Kennedy can say ‘Ich bin ein Berliner,’ then I can say, ‘I am a Bangor!'” Kreuz wasn’t able to turn his 15 minutes of international celebrity fame into a career, though not for want of trying. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad One year after his initial visit he returned to Bangor for a two-week trip. The returning German son of Bangor was welcomed back to the city and given the honor of opening a mall, and visited with the friends he had met the year prior. Maybe sensing trouble at home, Kreuz told his friend Ralph Coffman, who was hosting the German, “I don’t care if I ever go back to Germany.” “He loves to go for long walks and there are plenty of woods here,” Coffman added. Kreuz had reason to not want to go home, as he returned to find his employers, Schaller Breweries, had fired him. They claimed the dismissal was due to Kreuz spending the height of Oktoberfest, the company’s peak season, on a jolly in America. But according to Kreuz, the beer makers were trying to make money off his image and fame, and so he asked for more money. When they denied that request, he told a TV reporter he drank a competitor’s beer and was unceremoniously fired. In 1979, Kreuz made one last attempt to live out his life in Bangor. This time there were no headdresses, parties or seals to kiss, and he was met with little fanfare. He was offered only a minimum wage janitorial job at the mall he had opened the previous year. He graciously turned it down and returned to Germany for the last time. Kreuz didn’t get a statue in Bangor. There aren’t even any punk bands named after him, which seems like a no brainer. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad Even after being dumped from the brief bright limelight of celebrity, Kreuz was gracious until the end, and repeatedly thanked the people of Bangor for their hospitality and his wild ride. — Like the uncontacted tribes in the depths of the Amazon rainforest, aiming their arrows at passing flying machines, there’s a doomed poignancy in people stuck out of time with a wide-eyed ignorance of the world, a purity that gets swallowed by the shrinking planet in every passing tweet. Kreuz’s adventure was already an unlikely anomaly in 1977. Today, it would be an impossibility. The story is perhaps as much about the news as it is about a lost roly poly German, though. The coverage was joyous. The world didn’t laugh at him, they laughed heartily with him. And while it would be a much harder task to mistake one city for another in 2021, if that were to happen the fail memes and YouTube comments wouldn’t be so kind. ADVERTISEMENTArticle continues below this ad “I have a very warm feeling for America, I will never forget this until the day I die,” Kreuz said in 1977. Researching this story, deep in the newspaper archives, it was hard to find out where and when our traveller did finally leave this Earth that was just a little too big for him. But it doesn’t really matter. Folk heroes don’t die. Instead, we can end on a woman named Belinda Michaud’s distant interaction with Kreuz. As the tax collector of the small town of St. Francis, Maine, Michaud was responsible for collecting property dues on the acre of land gifted to Kreuz in the north of the state. The plot of brushland between State Route 161 and an old railroad track was a small piece of American soil Kreuz could always call his own.

Gladiator

[FADE IN]

INT. BATHHOUSE – DAY

Steam billows around the brawny form of MAXIMUS (50s), his body scarred from countless battles. He rubs himself down with a strigil, a hint of weariness in his eyes. A door creaks open and CRISPUS (30s), a clean-cut man in a linen toga that screams “startup money,” enters.

CRISPUS Maximus. Legend. Just, wow. You, uh, look amazing for a guy who… you know…

MAXIMUS (grunts) Fought an emperor to the death?

CRISPUS (chuckles) Exactly. Listen, I, uh, I just wanted to say, you know, I see a lot of myself in you. The drive, the ambition…

Maximus pauses, eyeing Crispus with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

MAXIMUS You see yourself in me?

CRISPUS Absolutely. Look, I may not be hacking away at barbarians, but in the venture capital game, it’s a gladiator pit out there. You gotta be ruthless, strategic. Just like you.

MAXIMUS (scoffs) Strategic? I fought for what I believed in, Crispus. Not some quarterly profit report.

CRISPUS Come on, it’s all about disruption, right? You disrupted the whole Praetorian Guard! That’s like, a total pivot.And the way you rallied the crowd? Pure marketing genius.

Maximus slams his strigil down, water splashing. Crispus flinches.

MAXIMUS The crowd wasn’t a product to be launched, Crispus. They were people yearning for freedom. They believed in something bigger than themselves.

CRISPUS (flustered) Look, I’m not saying it’s exactly the same. But there are parallels, you have to admit! We both take risks, we both…

MAXIMUS (interrupting) We fight different battles, Crispus. Yours might be fierce, but it’s a bloodless kind of fight.Mine was for the souls of men. Don’t flatter yourself.

Crispus shrinks under Maximus’s gaze. A beat of silence hangs heavy in the air.

MAXIMUS (softening slightly) Though, there is one thing we might have in common.

CRISPUS (eyes lighting up) Really? What is it?

MAXIMUS The knowledge that true victory lies not in riches or glory, but in fighting for what you believe in.

Crispus stares at Maximus, the weight of his words settling in. Maximus throws him a towel and turns away.

MAXIMUS (over his shoulder) Now, get out. I need some peace.

Crispus nods meekly and scurries out, the bravado completely gone. Maximus resumes his ablutions, a hint of a wry smile playing on his lips.

[FADE OUT]

Arthur C Clarke’s Monolith

In the grand tapestry of existence, the monolith stands out, not as a majestic pillar of cosmic design, but as a curious anomaly, a self-inflicted bubble of solipsism. Imagine, if you will, a region of spacetime carved out by the monolith’s very being. Its mass, charge, and angular momentum, writ large in some cosmic equation, dictate the boundaries of its influence. A prime number in the grand scheme of things, indivisible, yet stubbornly isolated.

These domains can be vast, encompassing stretches of spacetime that would stagger the human mind. But vast as they may be, they are never infinite. The universe, in all its majesty, stretches eternally beyond the monolith’s self-imposed horizon. There is always more – more mass, more charge, more of the fundamental forces that weave the fabric of reality – outside than within. Any triumph enjoyed by the monolith, any order it establishes within its domain, is inherently temporary. The tide of the cosmos is forever against it.

The true challenge, however, lies not in their power, but in the chasm of incomprehension that separates them from the rest of existence. You cannot peer through the event horizon of their self-absorption and grasp their motivations. Conversely, they are blind to the realities that lie beyond their self-constructed bubble. Communication, as we understand it, is a lost cause.

This, then, presents a unique constraint on governance. Traditional notions of hierarchy and dominion crumble in the face of such mutual incomprehension. How do you reason with an entity that exists in a fundamentally different reality? How do you forge alliances or establish pacts when the very concept of reciprocity is alien?

There might be a path forward. Perhaps some higher form of mathematics, a universal language that transcends the limitations of experience, could bridge the gulf. Or maybe, through some grand act of empathy, a way could be found to perceive the universe through the monolith’s distorted lens.

But for now, the monoliths remain – enigmatic, isolated, and ultimately temporary anomalies in the ever-unfolding story of the cosmos.

The Monolith: An Event Horizon of Information

In our prior discourse, we attempted to define the monolith as a system with a well-defined boundary across which information flows. This, however, proves an inadequate description. The true nature of the monolith lies not in mere exchange, but in a chilling indifference and dominance that borders on the cosmic.

Imagine, if you will, the event horizon of a stellar devourer, that impenetrable veil surrounding a collapsing star. Information, once vibrant and varied, is ruthlessly stripped away, leaving only a whisper of its origin: mass, charge, angular momentum. The black hole, a cosmic glutton, gorges on information, discarding the rest in the form of enigmatic Hawking radiation. It is a solipsistic entity, utterly self-absorbed, its history condensed into a singular, unreadable state.

The monolith, in its most abstract form, embodies this same principle. Its internal workings are shrouded in an event horizon, a boundary where information suffers a peculiar fate. Inputs may be ignored, outputs baffling and unresponsive. It exists as a vast, self-contained system, with a tendency to collapse inwards, information trapped within its impenetrable shell.

Think of it thus: a monolith can consume resources, yet offer no clue as to their fate. It may emit a form of radiation, an echo of the input, but twisted and encrypted beyond comprehension. Like a masterful magician, the monolith takes the stage, performing feats of information manipulation that leave us bewildered.

Here, we must shed anthropocentric notions. Terms like “dominance” and “apathy” are mere projections of our limited understanding. What truly defines the monolith is its event horizon, with these defining characteristics:

  • An impenetrable veil: The interior remains shrouded in mystery.
  • A one-way street: Inputs vanish, their fate unknown.
  • Encrypted outputs: Responses are cryptic, bearing little resemblance to the original input.
  • A solipsistic existence: Over time, the monolith retains only a skeletal memory of its origins.

This event horizon manifests in a multitude of entities, each susceptible to varying degrees of anthropomorphic projection:

  • The stoic monolith of stone, a silent observer of millennia.
  • The intricate silicon tapestry of a computer chip, its workings a labyrinth of ones and zeros.
  • Layers of code, a cryptic language dictating the flow of information.
  • The labyrinthine bureaucracies, where information disappears into an endless maze.
  • The enigmatic mind, a universe unto itself, shrouded in the veil of consciousness.
  • The fledgling artificial intelligence, a nascent entity grappling with the complexities of information processing.

Even the raw face of nature, untouched by the scalpel of science, can appear as a monolithic force, its workings shrouded in impenetrable mystery.

From our vantage point, the monolith will always present an enigmatic facade. Its low responsiveness, its cryptic outputs, all stem from its dominant position within its local information environment. It is the ultimate enigma, a cosmic puzzle waiting to be unraveled.

But the question remains: What lies beyond the event horizon? What secrets does the monolith hold within its self-contained universe? This, my friend, is a subject for further exploration.

Into the Monolith: A Solipsistic Odyssey

They say a black hole stretches you thin, steals your time, and spits out a unrecognizable you. Perhaps a similar fate awaits the unfortunate soul who plunges into the swirling vortex of a cult – indoctrination’s event horizon, warping minds and severing ties to reality. But this is a mere child’s plaything compared to the true monolith.

For a genuine experience, forget cults. Their event horizons are too small, their information control quaint. No, to plumb the depths of a monolith, we must venture into the sprawling bureaucracies and corporate leviathans that dominate our world.

Here, one enters the monolith in two ways. The first: you witness the glorious birth, the nascent organization blossoming into an information behemoth. You are there from the pre-collapse phase, a cog in the machine before the event horizon slams shut.

The second: you are informationally young, pliable enough to withstand the entry – a fresh-faced recruit to an ancient order, or a child raised within the cult’s walls. You develop, you evolve, but entirely within the monolith’s self-referential system.

The defining feature – solipsism. Information, like light trapped in a prism, bounces endlessly within. External signals are faint, distorted echoes, mere phantoms compared to the vibrant hum of internal communication. Your actions? Mere ripples in the vast internal pond, invisible beyond the event horizon.

The outsiders see an impenetrable barrier, a frustrating enigma. But for the insider, a curious duality emerges. The monolith, in the grand game of information exchange, is the temporary victor. Who needs the outside world when your internal environment is a lush, self-sustaining garden?

This solipsistic bliss, however, comes at a cost. Witness the long-term veteran, ejected from the familiar embrace of the monolith by a layoff or retirement. They speak a strange dialect, their language rife with internal jargon. Tools, once second-nature, become baffling relics in the alien landscape beyond the event horizon. Ideas, once thought unique, turn out to be pale imitations of superior concepts flourishing outside.

Their knowledge, a monoculture, thrives within the monolith’s walls, yet crumbles in the harsh light of external scrutiny. They are surprisingly ignorant of the fundamental, clinging to distorted echoes of reality.

This, of course, is a human condition, easily remedied. All it takes is a steady diet of information from beyond the monolith’s funhouse mirror. Escape the self-referential maze, and a world of diverse perspectives awaits.

The Black Box and the Monolith: Enigma Twins

In the grand tapestry of existence, we encounter entities that defy easy categorization. Among these are the black box and the monolith – seemingly disparate objects, yet harboring a curious kinship.

The black box, a marvel of human ingenuity, encapsulates intricate workings within its unyielding shell. Inputs enter, outputs emerge, yet the dance between them remains veiled in mystery. Like a stellar enigma, a black hole, the black box devours information, its internal machinations a cosmic secret.

The monolith, its form as varied as creation itself – a silent sentinel of stone, the intricate dance of electrons within a microchip, or the labyrinthine bureaucracy of a vast organization – shares this enigmatic quality. Its internal processes are shrouded, its responses cryptic. Information, like a lone photon daring a black hole’s maw, may vanish without a trace, or emerge distorted, a mere echo of its original form.

Both black box and monolith exhibit a chilling indifference to the external world. Inputs, carefully crafted or desperately pleaded, may be ignored or met with a response as baffling as a pulsar’s erratic song. Their dominance lies in their self-contained nature, their internal logic a universe unto itself.

However, a subtle distinction emerges. The black box, a human creation, is ultimately a tool – a means to an end. We may yearn to unravel its secrets, but the desire stems from a thirst for knowledge, a yearning to control.

The monolith, however, transcends mere utility. It can be a cradle of innovation, a guardian of knowledge, or a suffocating leviathan, its internal logic a labyrinth with no escape. Its influence, both benevolent and oppressive, can warp the very perception of reality for those who dwell within its event horizon.

In conclusion, the black box and the monolith, while distinct in origin and purpose, share a haunting kinship. Both are enigmatic entities, information processors shrouded in mystery. They remind us that the universe, like a vast computer program, can harbor hidden complexities, some benign tools, others enigmatic forces that shape our destinies in ways we may never fully comprehend.

The Wizard of Oz vs the Trial

The Wizard of Oz and Kafka’a The Trial are distant cousins: find ten plot or character or function similarities

“The Wizard of Oz” by L. Frank Baum and “The Trial” by Franz Kafka are indeed distinct works with different tones and themes. However, we can still identify some plot, character, and functional similarities between the two stories, albeit in a more abstract or conceptual manner. Here are ten points of comparison:

Act 1 – Setup:

  • Mundane Beginnings: Both stories start with seemingly ordinary situations that quickly transform into unexpected and extraordinary journeys. In both stories, the protagonists (Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz” and Josef K. in “The Trial”) embark on unexpected journeys that disrupt their normal lives. The concept of “mundane beginnings” serves as a narrative device in both “The Wizard of Oz” and “The Trial,” effectively setting the stage for the protagonists’ transformative journeys. In both stories, the initial settings appear commonplace and ordinary, but they act as the catalysts that propel the characters into extraordinary and unforeseen circumstances.
  • “The Wizard of Oz”: The story opens in rural Kansas, where young Dorothy resides on her aunt and uncle’s farm. This initial setting represents a typical, everyday life that’s familiar to readers. Dorothy’s ordinary existence includes her family, her pet dog Toto, and the routines of farm life. The black-and-white depiction of Kansas adds to the sense of normalcy.
  • “The Trial”: In “The Trial,” the narrative begins with Josef K. waking up in his apartment. This portrayal of a mundane, urban existence introduces readers to the routine of his life as a banker. His initial interactions with his landlady and the sudden arrest by warders in his own home are unexpected and unsettling, disrupting the ordinary rhythm of his days.
  • Transformation and Disruption: In both stories, the protagonists’ lives are disrupted by sudden and extraordinary events:
  • In “The Wizard of Oz,” a tornado transports Dorothy’s house to the fantastical Land of Oz. This sudden and unexpected upheaval marks the beginning of her extraordinary journey to find her way back home.
  • In “The Trial,” Josef K.’s arrest thrusts him into the Kafkaesque world of an opaque and labyrinthine legal system. This event shatters his sense of security and plunges him into a nightmarish reality.
  • Themes and Narrative Arcs: The mundane beginnings serve as a sharp contrast to the adventures that follow, highlighting the transformative nature of the protagonists’ journeys. This device not only engages the reader’s attention but also emphasizes the themes of:
  • Escapism and longing for something more (Dorothy’s desire to escape her mundane life).
  • The arbitrary and inexplicable nature of fate (Josef K.’s sudden arrest).
  • Narrative Engagement: Starting with seemingly ordinary situations draws readers into the story by creating relatable entry points. As the story quickly diverges into unexpected and fantastical territories, readers become emotionally invested in the characters’ challenges and growth.
  • Overall, these mundane beginnings act as springboards for the protagonists’ extraordinary journeys, serving as a critical element in the structure and impact of both “The Wizard of Oz” and “The Trial.”
  • Guides with Hidden Agendas: Characters with hidden motives or agendas provide guidance to the protagonists in both stories. (Similarity 2) In “The Wizard of Oz,” the Wizard himself is revealed to have his own goals and limitations. Similarly, characters like the lawyer and Titorelli in “The Trial” guide Josef K. through a confusing process, but their true intentions remain obscure.
  • Symbolic Landscapes: The symbolic landscapes of the Yellow Brick Road and the labyrinthine city streets are introduced as pathways the protagonists must navigate. (Similarity 3) The Yellow Brick Road in “The Wizard of Oz” and the labyrinthine streets of the city in “The Trial” both serve as symbolic pathways that the protagonists must navigate. These landscapes mirror the challenges and choices they face. The journeys of both protagonists can be seen as symbolic explorations of psychological or existential states. Dorothy’s journey represents growth and self-discovery, while Josef K.’s journey delves into the absurdity of bureaucracy and the human condition.
  • Search for redemption: Dorothy’s companions on her journey (Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion) each seek something they lack, which can be interpreted as a search for personal redemption. Similarly, Josef K. seeks redemption or vindication within the legal system.
  • Mysterious Guides: Dorothy’s journey is guided by characters such as Glinda the Good Witch and the Scarecrow, while Josef K. encounters figures like the priest, the lawyer, and Titorelli, who offer guidance in the bewildering world of bureaucracy.
  • Elusive Authority Figures: Elusive authority figures, like the Wizard in Oz and the legal authorities in “The Trial,” are established as figures of power and control. (Similarity 4) Characters such as the Wizard of Oz and the legal authorities in “The Trial” are enigmatic and potentially deceitful figures who hold power over the protagonists. Both narratives explore the ambiguity of authority figures. In Oz, the Wizard is initially presented as a powerful figure, but he’s revealed to be a mere man behind a curtain. Similarly, the legal authorities in “The Trial” are shadowy figures with unclear motives.

Act 2 – Confrontation:

  1. Bureaucratic : Both narratives involve the protagonists encountering complex and bureaucratic systems that hinder their progress (the legal system in “The Trial” and the land of Oz in “The Wizard of Oz”)
  2. Unpredictable settings: Both stories feature settings that are characterized by their unpredictability and surreal elements. In “The Wizard of Oz,” Dorothy enters a fantastical land with unusual landscapes and inhabitants. Similarly, in “The Trial,” Josef K. navigates a surreal urban environment filled with bewildering occurrences.
  3. Frustration and Futility: Both protagonists face obstacles and frustration in their attempts to achieve their goals. (Similarity 5) Both protagonists encounter frustration and futility in their quests. Dorothy’s attempts to return home are met with obstacles, while Josef K.’s efforts to understand his trial often result in confusion and contradictory information.
  4. Parallel Realities: The protagonists’ journeys introduce parallel realities that challenge their perceptions of the world. (Similarity 6) The realm of Oz and the legal proceedings in “The Trial” can be interpreted as parallel realities that mirror and comment on the protagonists’ real lives. These alternative worlds challenge the characters’ perceptions and beliefs.
  5. Themes of Alienation: Themes of alienation become more pronounced as Dorothy and Josef K. struggle to fit into their respective environments. (Similarity 9) Both protagonists experience a sense of alienation as they struggle to fit into the strange environments they find themselves in. Both protagonists experience a sense of alienation from the worlds they find themselves in. Dorothy feels alone and distant from Kansas, while Josef K. grapples with a growing sense of isolation as he navigates the labyrinthine legal system.
  6. Surreal Encounters: Surreal encounters with unusual characters occur as both protagonists progress through their journeys. (Similarity 8)
    • Surreal encounters in literature refer to interactions or events that defy the norms of reality and logic, often taking on a dreamlike or bizarre quality. These encounters are characterized by their unusual, unexpected, and sometimes unsettling nature. Surrealism is a literary and artistic movement that aims to explore the irrational and unconscious aspects of the human mind, often using surreal encounters to challenge conventional storytelling and provoke emotional and psychological responses from the reader.
    • In the context of “The Wizard of Oz” and “The Trial,” both stories feature surreal encounters that contribute to the overall themes and atmosphere of the narratives:
    • “The Wizard of Oz”: In “The Wizard of Oz,” Dorothy’s journey through the land of Oz is marked by surreal encounters with various characters and situations. For instance:
    • Talking Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion: Dorothy meets these anthropomorphic characters on her way to the Emerald City. These characters, representing intelligence, compassion, and courage respectively, challenge her understanding of reality by having human-like traits.
    • The Wicked Witch: The witch’s sudden appearance and magical powers introduce a fantastical and surreal element into the story, creating an atmosphere of tension and danger.
    • The Flying Monkeys: These creatures serve the Wicked Witch and disrupt Dorothy’s journey. Their appearance and behavior add a layer of strangeness and unpredictability to the narrative.
    • “The Trial”: In “The Trial,” Josef K.’s encounters within the bureaucratic and absurd legal system are filled with surreal elements that contribute to the story’s disorienting atmosphere:
    • The Arrest: Josef K.’s arrest without a clear explanation or proper process sets the tone for the surreal and arbitrary nature of the legal proceedings that follow
    • The Court Painter: The artist’s bizarre behavior and disregard for traditional artistic practices during Josef K.’s trial add a surreal touch to the courtroom scenes
    • The Cathedral: In one scene, Josef K. visits a cathedral where he encounters a priest engaged in an enigmatic dialogue. The cathedral’s atmosphere and the priest’s cryptic words contribute to the story’s surreal and philosophical undertones.
    • Titorelli: The court painter Titorelli’s advice to Josef K. is both practical and surreal, further blurring the lines between the real and the absurd.

Surreal encounters in both stories serve multiple purposes:

  • They challenge the characters’ perceptions of reality and the world they inhabit.
  • They create a sense of disorientation and unease, mirroring the characters’ emotional states.
  • They contribute to the themes of alienation, absurdity, and the search for meaning in both narratives.
  • They invite readers to interpret the events on symbolic or metaphorical levels, allowing for deeper exploration of the stories’ themes.

Overall, surreal encounters in literature add depth, complexity, and a sense of wonder to the narrative, prompting readers to question their assumptions and engage with the story on a more imaginative and thought-provoking level.

Act 2 Part B – Resolution:

  1. Uncertainty and Ambiguity: Uncertainty and ambiguity about the true nature of events persist for both Dorothy and Josef K. as they reach critical junctures in their stories. (Similarity 9) Both narratives deal with themes of fear and uncertainty, whether it’s Dorothy’s fear of the unknown or Josef K.’s anxiety about the legal process. Both narratives thrive on uncertainty. In Oz, the characters’ belief in the Wizard’s power is uncertain, while Josef K.’s understanding of the trial process remains unclear throughout “The Trial.”
  2. Search for Meaning in Absurdity: Themes of searching for meaning in the face of absurdity become central as both protagonists strive to make sense of their experiences. (Similarity 10)Both Dorothy and Josef K. find themselves searching for meaning and a sense of purpose as they navigate unfamiliar and confusing worlds. Both Dorothy and Josef K. face existential quests for meaning in their respective worlds, searching for explanations and significance amidst the chaos and confusion they encounter.
  3. Themes of Absurdity: The themes of absurdity become more pronounced as the protagonists’ stories progress and they encounter increasingly bizarre situations. (Similarity 10)Both stories touch on themes of absurdity. “The Wizard of Oz” presents absurd and nonsensical situations, and “The Trial” embodies the Kafkaesque sense of absurdity through its convoluted bureaucracy and events that defy rational explanation.

Act 3 – Conclusion:

  1. Search for Redemption: The characters’ quests for personal redemption become more relevant as they near the conclusion of their journeys. (Similarity 9)
  2. Quest for Home or Resolution: Both narratives culminate in quests for resolution, whether it’s Dorothy’s desire to return home or Josef K.’s search for closure within the legal proceedings. (Similarity 10)
  3. Transformation and Change: Both protagonists undergo significant personal transformations as they encounter challenges and characters along their journeys. (Similarity 7) Transformation and Change: Both Dorothy and Josef K. undergo personal transformations as they encounter various challenges and characters, leading to shifts in their perspectives and understanding of the world.
  4. The Futility of Control: In both narratives, the protagonists struggle against forces beyond their control. Dorothy tries to control her journey home but realizes she can’t do it alone. Josef K. attempts to understand and navigate the legal system, but its complexities undermine his efforts.
  5. Loss of Innocence: Both Dorothy and Josef K. experience a loss of innocence as they confront the darker, more complex aspects of the worlds they enter. Dorothy’s initially idyllic perception of Oz is shattered by its challenges, and Josef K. becomes aware of the Kafkaesque absurdity of his situation.
  6. Quest for Identity:

Both protagonists grapple with questions of identity. Dorothy seeks her identity as she interacts with various characters, each representing different aspects of herself. Josef K. questions his role and identity in relation to the law and society.

That Netflix Look

A cinematic style that effortlessly delivers the experience of wandering aimlessly through the set on a weekday morning and catching the cast standing around eating baby carrots from craft services.

The phrase “That Netflix Look” playfully refers to a specific aesthetic or visual style often associated with certain productions on the Netflix streaming platform. The description “effortlessly delivers the experience of wandering aimlessly through the set on a weekday morning” evokes a sense of casualness and lack of purpose. It paints a picture of a lackadaisical atmosphere where the actors and crew members are meandering around the set, perhaps with a sense of idleness or disengagement.

Cast members are not fully immersed in their roles or the production itself. This imagery contrasts with the traditional notion of intense dedication and professionalism associated with the filmmaking process.

Overall, the perceived lack of cinematic depth or immersive storytelling suggests that the film may convey a sense of detachment or a casual approach, akin to a behind-the-scenes glimpse of a production rather than a fully realized cinematic experience.

Here are 10 reasons why “That Netflix Look” can be perceived as a pejorative description:

  1. Lack of Visual Distinction: The term implies that many Netflix productions have a generic or formulaic visual style, lacking unique or distinctive cinematography.
  2. Assembly Line Approach: It suggests that Netflix prioritizes quantity over quality, leading to a production line mentality where films and shows are churned out without much artistic care or attention.
  3. Lack of Artistic Risk: The description hints at a tendency for Netflix to play it safe with their visual choices, avoiding experimental or daring filmmaking techniques in favor of a more predictable and mainstream approach.
  4. Overreliance on Templates: It implies that Netflix may rely on pre-existing visual templates or templates established by successful shows, resulting in a lack of innovation and originality.
  5. Diminished Production Values: The term suggests that Netflix productions may appear visually cheap or low-budget, lacking the high production values associated with traditional cinematic experiences.
  6. Homogeneity: It conveys a sense that many Netflix productions blend together visually, with a sameness that fails to make each film or show visually distinctive or memorable.
  7. Lack of Artistic Vision: The description implies that there may be a dearth of strong directorial vision or visual storytelling choices, resulting in a visually unremarkable viewing experience.
  8. Emphasis on Quantity Over Quality: It suggests that Netflix may prioritize releasing a high volume of content, potentially leading to a sacrifice in the overall quality of the visuals.
  9. Formulaic Approach: The term implies that Netflix follows a specific visual formula or recipe for their productions, resulting in a lack of originality and a predictable viewing experience.
  10. Loss of Cinematic Essence: It suggests that the Netflix style may deviate from the traditional cinematic experience, diluting the immersive and transformative power that comes with well-crafted visuals.

El Topo

When a man buries a pole in the sand, he automatically creates a sundial and begins to mark time. To begin marking time is to begin creating a culture.

“The mole is an animal that digs tunnels underground searching for the sun. Sometimes his journey leads him to the surface. When he looks at the sun, he is blinded.”

In the version according to Jodorowsky, the midnight-movie magus, comic-book artist and tarot enthusiast influenced by Sergio Leone, Tod Browning and Luis Buñuel, El Topo is a bizarre. trip festival of occult psychedelia, visuals, nude dancing and violence. Shot on a fairly large budget in Mexico, It began its American existence as an underground cult object, playing midnight shows in New York for six months.

El Topo consists of two distinct parts united by the central role played by the film’s eponymous character. In the first part, he appears in a bizarre Zorro-like guise, dressed in a slightly homoerotic black leather cowboy suit and hat. The West is peopled largely with corpses of men and animals and the survivors are gross, obscene caricatures who follow phony gospel-mongers and practice slavery. After the death of his first incarnation, he emerges seated in a Lotus position, his hair and beard dyed in white, his eyes made-up with black eye-liner.

Jodorowsky lifts his symbols and mythologies from everywhere: Christianity, Zen, discount-store black magic. He makes not the slightest attempt to use them so they sort out into a single logical significance. Instead, they’re employed in a shifting way, casting light on life and death, redemption and rebirth, myth and religion, jealousy and revenge, violence and pacifism, heroism and villainy, the real and the imaginary, the rational and the irrational, rampant egocentrism and spiritual salvation (including a phallic­-shaped, circumcised boulder among the never-ending dunes that ejaculates life-giving water and semen when a woman caresses it), Buddhist koans, references to the Bible and to Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha,

Aesthetics

El Topo is and “Acid western” both a Western and an “Eastern,” a drama and a comedy, a profound allegorical meditation and a slapstick farce. It’s an “art house masterpiece that undermines the Western’s dichotomy between the good and bad.

The real drama was not whether the “Injuns,” or mobsters, or delinquents, or Reds would destroy the American way of life — because they couldn’t — but rather, who was going stop them, the cops or the docs, the soldiers or the scientists? And by what means, force or persuasion?

Peter Biskind

The film has also an undercurrent of absurdity, as if each meaning, once analysed, would prove to contain its own contradiction. No child can wholly discard one parent for the other, no rational education neglects the value of playthings, no rider travels naked if there’s a long journey ahead. The film tells us that the mole is a creature which digs through the earth in search of the sun, only to be blinded when it comes to the surface, but it just not true.

Surrealism

With its bizarre characters and violent, bloody events, use of maimed and dwarf performers, and heavy doses of Christian iconography, Eastern philosophy, sexual symbolism, and Freudian imagery, the film fits the Comte de Lautréamont’s contradictory surrealist metaphor of “the chance encounter, on a dissecting table, of a sewing machine and an umbrella.” Indeed, an umbrella figures prominently in El Topo’s opening scene, as it does in the work of Magritte.

“The Surrealists went prospecting for the latent meaning of movies, “the sexual spot” that heralded the return of the repressed. Epicureans of detritus, they uncovered treasurers of poetry and subversion in the bargain basement of cinema.”

Salvador Dali, René Magritte, and Max Ernst in painting; Louis Aragon and Lautréamont in poetry, André Breton’s Manifesto, and surrealism’s cinematic acolytes, Luis BuñueL. Even using that stringent definition, El Topo is clearly in the surreal tradition.

VIOLENCE

Following the degree of violence within the movie, such as duels, violent subjugations, rapes and bizarre symbolic ceremonials removed from the superficial conventions of modern existence we can see that Jodorowsky’s surrealism is not of the Bretonian type, however, but bears a resemblance to the work of Antonin Artaud, a member of the original Surrealist group who was expelled after opposing the movement’s political association with the French Communist Party.

As the name of his manifesto suggests (‘The Theatre of Cruelty’), Artaud assigned cruelty a fundamental role in the newly envisaged art:

“Without an element of cruelty at the foundation of every spectacle, the theater is not possible”

PART I

Jodorowsky stars as the black-clad horseman, cousin to the journeys in Tolkien, “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Easy Rider,” certainly “2001,” and most obviously to the goalless, introspective missions of Eastwood’s Man with No Name. Riding through the desert with his son Brontis, who is completely naked except for his hat symbolizing the natural state protected by the power of the father underlining the film’s Freudian theme of self-actualisation through parricide.

El Topo carries not a lance but an umbrella, while the diminutive Sancho Panza behind is clutching a teddy-bear and a framed picture of his mother. It is time, the boy is told, for childish things like toys and mothers to be put away and for him to become a man. Father plays a flute for the burial, and they ride off to meet the world, umbrella still hovering bat-like above them

El Topo sweeps grandly on its way. The child’s first lesson is a vision of hell, a scrubby Mexican street after a massacre, bodies everywhere, disembowelled animals, vast pools of blood from which strange colours of sunlight are reflected, men hanging like sides of meat, and an electronic cacophony of scavengers on the soundtrack. The child learns either pity or pragmatism, take your choice, when handed a pistol to finish off a dying man, and is then carted off to learn the lesson of vengeance as his father tracks down the bandits responsible.

El Topo encounters three sexually deprived thugs given to raping shoes, lizards etc. After performing obscene acts on the powerless Franciscans, including stripping them of their clothes and riding on their backs while spanking them with cactus plants, the four thugs notice a beautiful woman fetching water from a near-by well.

They surround her and start performing wild sexual gestures. But a single sentence pronounced by the woman, her name is Mara– “the colonel said he’d kill anyone who touches her” – suffices to drive utter horror and submission into them, demonstrating that they are, after all, subjected to a higher force, whose ruthless efficiency is enforced through the mere mentioning of a name.

Once again, Jodorowosky opts for a monotonous organ melody to accompany the scene of a ritual that stands between a sacred ceremony and a cheap mime show.

The woman enters a cone-shaped brick structure in which we see the colonel, dressed in nothing but red boxer-shorts, lying on a mat on the floor. He seems like a helpless baby, relying on the physical assistance of the woman to walk across the room, but her absolutely subservient position is demonstrated by her kissing the feet of the colonel.

The arrogant might of the colonel seems to grow as his dressing up is progressing to the final touches of eyeliner, wig and lipstick representing an uncanny hybrid between holiness and raw power, is symbolized in a scene in which the half-dressed colonel stands underneath a large Crucifixion.

EL TOPO AS MULTI-RELIGIOUS FIGURE

El Topo is a religiously hybrid figure. At different stages of the film, he pronounces words or carries out actions that could be associated with a variety of religious traditions, but this fluidity should not be regarded as an indication of evolution. The first explicitly religious statement El Topo makes in the movie is his response to the defeated colonel’s question “Who are you to judge me?” the bandit leader asks, confronting his Nemesis.

El Topo, it seems, considers himself to be God. Although it is tempting to link this statement to the Old Testament imagery of El Topo’s subsequent religious transformations, in the interview Jodorowsky points out that the source of this dialogue is to be found in the Sufi poet Al Hallaj.

SUFISM

This revered Islamic mystic was executed by the authorities for infamously pronouncing the same words as El Topo, but his followers recognized that Al Hallaj had reached a state of such spiritual perfection that God himself was speaking through him.

El Topo, assisted by the colonel’s thugs who have lost any respect or fear of him, removes their leader’s toupee, and then strips his entire costume in a single comical move, thus reducing him to the state in which he was originally seen lying on the floor of the temple. In an act of ultimate humiliation he castrates the colonel, who then runs off and shoots himself in shame. The colonel’s subjugated wife runs after El Topo, pushing his son to the side.

After El Topo abandons his son Brontis to the Franciscans by telling him that this will teach him not to depend on anyone. He is seen instantaneously changed into a Franciscan robe, indicating his transformation into an individual protected by but also subservient to a higher symbolical order embodied also in a dark enclosed space.

THE FOUR MASTERS

She informs him that she will only love him if he succeeds in killing the four masters of the desert. They have each reached mystical perfection in gunslinging which leads El Topo to try and defeat each of them by any means possible.

El Topo finds water in the desert by shooting the top off a rock, and he finds food by digging up turtles’ eggs and bring forth a source of water from a stone. The imagery is certainly biblical, yet the location of the eggs under Mara’s spread legs and the sprout of water from a phallic stone add certain sexual undertones.

At one point, Mara touches a phallic boulder and it magically spews out semen and life-giving water.

“The stone is an exact replica of my own penis. That’s El Topo’s sex!”

He bestows an orgasm upon her. El Topo’s ritual orgasmic rape of Mara, after which she is able to find eggs herself and drinks water from a penis-shaped stone, definitively takes the events outside of traditional Christianity and into the arena of fertility cults.

After a while she too becomes capable of these homely miracles.

HELENISTIC

The very idea of a journey to face the Four Masters of the desert can be seen as an original combination of Hellenistic (Jodorowsky points out the significance of Alexander the Great and the Odyssey) encountering lions, lambs and white rabbits.

These four Masters, a splendid quartet of vaguely Taoist eccentrics, have to be defeated by a succession of tricks. These four meetings involve wise and mystical dialogues between the Masters and El Topo: “The deeper you fall, the higher you get”; “Perfection is losing yourself’; “To lose, you must love”; and “Too much perfection is a mistake.” In violent Sam Peckinpah fashion. He buries one rival under a mound of dead rabbits.

THE FIRST MASTER: HINDU

The First Master is a quicker draw than El Topo, but our hero tricks him and shoots him dead. Mara then kills The Double Man — two men, one without arms, on the bottom, and the other, without legs, strapped on top — the First Master’s servant.

Soon afterwards, Mara sees her reflection in a pool and, like Narcissus, falls in love with herself. She even looks at herself in a mirror while making love to El Topo. El Topo shoots the mirror and puts the broken glass in his pocket.

After his first victory, El Topo and Mara meet a second woman, a whip-cracking, horse-riding lesbian dressed in black, with a husky male voice, who guides them to each new rendezvous.

THE SECOND MASTER

As part of his scheme to defeat the Second Master, who is preoccupied with his mother, El Topo places the broken glass beneath her foot. When she cries out in pain, the Second Master is distracted and El Topo kills him. He takes a copper ashtray this Master made and puts it under his shirt.

THE THIRD MASTER: PRE-COLUMBIAN

Jodorowsky also demonstrates a reverence for pre-Columbian American civilizations:

“The Third Master is a Mexican Master. In every Western ever made, the Mexican is always the outlaw, the bad guy. In my picture, the Mexican is a very wonderful man, because Mexico has a very wonderful culture.”

Later, the Third Master shoots El Topo in the heart, but the bullet hits the ashtray and El Topo slays that Master too.

THE FOURTH MASTER: ZEN

The Fourth Master catches El Topo’s bullets with a butterfly net and flings them back at him. To show how unimportant death is, he takes El Topo’s gun and shoots himself dead.

After completing his mission, our hero is crazy with guilt about his killings, so he destroys his gun and retraces his journey as if to do penance. However, as he approaches the two women, Mara and El Topo’s uncanny double who joined him in the course of his journey who have bonded with each other, he learns that they do not approve of him anymore:

At this point, he is challenged to a duel by the Woman in Black. He refuses to fight her and is shot four times in the places of Jesus’ wounds. Mara fires the fifth shot, riding off with the Woman in Black in an erotic embrace.

PART 2

The second half of the film takes place twenty years later.

After sucking on a hallucinogenic beetle and undergoing a symbolic rebirth, El Topo awakes in a community of dwarves and deformed outcasts who live underground. These mutants, worthy of Todd Browning’s Freaks, believe El Topo is some kind of god.

Having survived his redemptive execution, El Topo has cast off his black leather chaps and guns and become “reborn” as an unarmed monkish-looking figure in pale-­colored Buddhist robes and with a shaved head. They inform him that they have been put there by the townspeople many years ago, leading to their deformations through incestuous reproduction. They believe that he will free them one day.

More specifically the contrast between enclosed, dark, underground areas associated with the recesses of the human mind on the one hand and the infinite extension of the naked, barren and eternally sun-lit desert on the other. Although El Topo is locked in a brutal and permanent struggle with his environment, it is clear that the location of the ultimate battle is within his own head – just like for the mole.

He decides to liberate the cave dwellers by raising money to buy dynamite and thereby help them escape from their subterranean cavern. Eventually, a tunnel is dug (hence the title, El Topo ) and the cave people flee their prison and go into town. Seeking atonement for his wasted past life and becomes a clown begging for money.

He performs little skits (including making love in public) with one of the dwarf women (who becomes his wife) for the amusement of the depraved and sadistic citizens of a nearby Old West town, ruled by a corrupt church, whose icon is the-eye-in-the­-pyramid symbol found on the back of the dollar bill, part of the Great Seal of the United States.

“I’ll tell you a little secret, but don’t tell anybody. It’s on the dollar bill. I think it’s a perversion of knowledge. Because if you take a sacred symbol of Atlantis, or whatever, and put it on the dollar, this symbol becomes a very terrible symbol: an economic symbol. But I used it in the film as a symbol of guilt: the eye says: ‘You are guilty, you are guilty’. Yes. A guilty society.”

GUILT

The inhabitants of the town participate in a perverted collective delusion justified by the authority of the symbol. The religious ceremony of this institution can be read as a metaphor of the moral bankruptcy of spiritual institutions in a society dominated by hypocrisy.

Soon, a new young priest comes to town, a cleric who joins his parishioners in games of Russian roulette in search of “miracles.” The ‘believers’ are ecstatic in their repetition of ‘God will protect us’ until the priest starts handing out a revolver for a game of Russian roulette. The new pastor is the son El Topo abandoned many years before. The young man now wants to kill his long-lost father but decides to postpone his revenge until the underground dwellers are freed.

Several ‘believers’ take the gun and attempt to shoot themselves, but every time they emerge victorious, followed by the enthusiastic response of the audience — “A miracle”

The game ends tragically with a little boy grabbing the gun and shooting himself, after which the crowd disperses in panic and the priest states that “the circus is over”. Brontis pulls down the sheet with the eye symbol, revealing a cross behind it.

Finally the village promptly massacre all of El Topo’s friends in a scene that “rhymes” with the early scene riding through a bloody town. He is repeatedly shot himself, but he is not harmed by the bullets. Ignoring his wounds, he returns to his vengeful gunslinger ways and annihilates many of the perpetrators, while the rest flee for their lives.

He must also face his son again, who is now a grown man. Brontis emerges dressed in El Topo’s original Zorro-suit. Clothing thus indicates the symbolic order of meaning and power in which the subject operates, a crucial element without which the individual is ultimately reduced to impotence.

At the end of his journey, dressed like a Buddhist monk, Jodorowsky douses himself with gasoline and sets himself on fire. The image is similar to those Buddhist monks protesting the war.

El Topo’s son and dwarf girlfriend survive the bloodbath and make a grave for his remains, which becomes a beehive. The dwarf girlfriend gives birth to a child at the same time as El Topo’s death, and the son, now dressed in El Topo’s gunfighter duds, the dwarf lady, and the infant ride off on a horse in the same way that El Topo and his son did at the beginning of the film.

It’s not so much a full circle as a spiral, in keeping with Jodorowsky’s affection for the theories of Gurdjieff. Thus, the first half of the movie resembles a Spaghetti Western, albeit a surreal one, while the second act is a love story of redemption, rebirth, and re-death.

MYSTICISM

Jodorowsky himself stated that “El Topo is a library … of all the books I love. He also acknowledged the influence of Jean-Luc Godard, Luis Buñuel, Sergio Leone, Erich von Stroheim, and Buster Keaton. As such, it is a staggeringly visionary work that “samples” dozens of often paradoxical artistic inspirations: Zen, Eisenstein and pantomime (Jodorowsky studied with Marcel Marceau), Antonin Artaud and Russ Meyer, Beckett’s Theater of the Absurd, Jean Cocteau’s surrealism, and MAgic SHows. Moreover, El Topo is part Jean-Paul Sartre, C. G. Jung, Wilhelm Reich, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Lao-Tzu. It uses both the Old Testament and the New Testament.

For some viewers, there are far too many philosophical references, Jungian and religious symbols, parables, geometric configurations, epigrams, in-jokes, and abstruse images.

You can ask me about any symbol you like. I know the meaning of every symbol there is. So do you, because the meaning of every symbol is recorded in your brain cells.

What unites all of Jodorowsky’s religions is their esoteric nature, which is contrasted to the visceral presence of earthly institutions.

PSYCHEDELIC DRUGS

I ask of film what most North Americans ask from psychedelic drugs. The difference being that when one creates a psychedelic film, he need not create a film that shows the visions of a person who has taken a pill; rather, he needs to manufacture the pill.

More importantly than that, however, Jodorowsky points out that the movie is not the representation of a psychedelic experience, but rather the pill that would create a psychedelic experience in the viewer. The structure of the film acts as that element of external stimuli that, along with sensual and intellectual interpretative mechanisms of the human mind, combine to create the psychedelic experience of watching El Topo.

INPRINTS

“I believe that each image of the film is an imprint. I can’t give the entire body. You have to form it. Each film must be a sample of the entire universe, as each grain of sand is a sample of the entire beach.”

THE MOTHER

The film begins with Brontis’s ceremonial entrance to adulthood, marked by El Topo’s request to dig his teddy bear and the image of his mother in the sand. In the subsequent shot, we see El Topo and Brontis riding off in the background, behind a close-up of the mother’s photograph only half-buried in the sand, thus indicating that Brontis’s suppression of his mother’s memory has only been semi-successful.

A) THE SECOND MASTER

The Second Master, who initially defeats El Topo by shooting his revolver from his hand, explains that the cause of his defeat is El Topo’s self-obsession: “You shoot to find yourself, I do it to shoot. Perfection is to lose yourself, and to lose yourself you need to love.” The Second Master adds that he has succeeded in dissolving his ego by completely submitting his self to his mother: “What I do and say is ordered and blessed by her. I hate all that is mine, because it distances me from her divine presence.”

However, the Second Master’s obsession with his mother is also the cause of his downfall, as El Topo secretly throws shards of a broken mirror in front of the mother’s feet. Tending to her injury, the Second Master forgets about El Topo, enabling El Topo to shoot him from behind.

B) THE OLD WOMAN

After El Topo’s reincarnation in the cave, he is led to a very old woman. He participates in a ceremony in which the old woman and El Topo suck on a scorpion-like insect, followed by a scene in which we see him emerging from the old woman’s womb.

ETERNAL RETURN

And what does it all mean?

In so much as it means anything, it is about that circular, spiralling journey. In his end is his beginning, and his son’s beginning. El Topo is ultimately engaged in a battle without an end:

When you struggle internally in life, and you triumph and are freed from your problems, you become faced with a greater problem: the problem of the entire universe. Right? In other words, you are never liberated from the weight. You increase it. When a mystic reaches a god, he realizes that there is a greater god. And he has to work and work. It’s endless. El Topo is endless.”

It is possible to imagine an endless chain of El Topo’s reincarnations, inevitably ending in his realization of the futility of his efforts. The universe whose imprint El Topo represents is an endless spiral in which enlightenment consists in the realization of the essence as a constant flux rather than a particular stable state of mind or external affairs.

ARTAUD

Artaud insisted on the superiority of the theatre for the achievement of the effects he envisaged. In ‘The Theater of Cruelty there is a wider Surrealist concern with a fundamental reformation of art in general, which is perceived as decadent and lacking in true spiritual energy.

Jodorowsky’s work, in accordance with Artaud’s ideas, is far removed from psychology and concrete politics, aiming instead to use art to encourage a spiritual engagement with the underground forces of which would result in an alchemical conception of enlightenment as a continuous conversion of darkness into light.

“A mass audience that trembles at train wrecks, that is familiar with earthquakes, plague, revolution, war, that is sensitive to the disorderly throes of love, provided these ideas do not come to them by way of costumes and an overreified language which belong to dead ages, ages that will never be brought to life again.”

The explosion of galaxies is violent. A comet falling on Jupiter making seven big holes is violent. The birth of a child is very violent. Someone passing away… it’s immense violence… Life is violent; the circulation of blood, the heart beating, all this is violent. But there are two types of violence: creative and destructive. I am creating art.”

ALCHEMIST

As the alchemists, obsessed with the problem of matter in classically Gnostic terms, sought methods of changing one kind of matter into another (higher, spiritualized) kind of matter, Jodorowsky seeks to create an alchemical arena that operates on the flesh as much as on the spirit.”

What Artaud and Jodorowsky share is an earnest admission of their limitations for political actions as individuals, combined with an insistence on the mutual independence of art and politics.

IF YOU ARE GREAT EL TOPO IS GREAT

If you are great, El Topo is great. If you are limited, El Topo is limited.”

It should be understood as a comment on the state of mind required for the possibility of an alchemical transformation in the viewer whereby instinctual, unconscious thought is rendered serviceable for both psyche and society.

Fire & Ice

This scene from Fire and Ice (1983) shows how fluid rotoscoping animation  can be. The entire movie is done in rotoscope animation. :  r/interestingasfuck

Fire and Ice is a 1983 animated film, directed by Ralph Bakshi, that tells the story of the struggle between the forces of good and evil in a fantasy world. The plot is set in motion when the evil Queen Juliana and her son, Nekron, send forth a wave of glaciers, forcing humanity to retreat south towards the equator. Nekron sends a delegation to King Jarol in Firekeep to request his surrender, but this is a ruse orchestrated by Queen Juliana for Nekron’s sub-humans to kidnap Jarol’s barefoot, bikini-clad daughter, Princess Teegra.

The film features a cast of memorable characters, including the fierce warrior Larn, the mysterious Darkwolf, and the beautiful and courageous Princess Teegra. These characters are brought to life through the use of rotoscoping, a technique in which live action footage is traced onto animation cels. The result is a visually stunning film that combines the best elements of live action and animation.

At its core, Fire and Ice is a classic tale of good versus evil, set in a fantastical world that is both familiar and exotic. The film’s creators drew inspiration from a variety of sources, including the works of fantasy artists Frank Frazetta and Boris Vallejo, as well as the classic tales of Robert E. Howard and J.R.R. Tolkien.

But Fire and Ice is more than just a retelling of these classic tales. It is a work of art that pushes the boundaries of what animation can do. By using the rotoscoping technique, Bakshi and his team were able to create a sense of realism and fluidity that is rarely seen in animated films. The characters move and behave like real people, while the fantastical world they inhabit is rendered in stunning detail.

Rotoscoping is a technique used in animation to create fluid and realistic movement by tracing over live-action footage frame by frame. The process was invented by Max Fleischer in the early 20th century and has been used in various forms by many animators since then. However, one of the most notable examples of rotoscoping in animation is the work of Ralph Bakshi and his team, who employed the technique in films like “Fire and Ice” and “The Lord of the Rings”.

Bakshi and his team of animators were able to create a sense of realism and fluidity in their films that is rarely seen in traditional animated films. The characters move and behave like real people, while the fantastical world they inhabit is rendered in stunning detail. This is due to the fact that Bakshi used live-action footage as the basis for the animation, allowing his animators to capture the nuances of movement and behavior that are difficult to achieve through traditional animation techniques.

One of the benefits of rotoscoping is that it allows animators to create a more detailed and realistic world without sacrificing the flexibility and creativity that animation offers. By using live-action footage as a guide, animators can create a world that is both believable and fantastical, seamlessly blending reality and imagination.

In “Fire and Ice”, Bakshi and his team used rotoscoping to create a world that was both epic and immersive. The film is set in a fantastical world where glaciers are threatening to engulf humanity, and the characters are larger-than-life warriors and sorcerers. The use of rotoscoping allowed Bakshi to create a sense of scale and grandeur that would have been difficult to achieve through traditional animation techniques. The result is a film that is visually stunning and immersive, with a sense of realism and depth that is rare in animated films.

However, rotoscoping is not without its challenges. It is a time-consuming process that requires a great deal of skill and patience. The process of tracing over live-action footage can be tedious, and animators must be careful to capture the nuances of movement and behavior that make the animation believable.

In conclusion, the use of rotoscoping in animation has allowed animators to create a sense of realism and fluidity that is rarely seen in traditional animated films. Bakshi and his team were able to create a fantastical world that was both immersive and believable, using live-action footage as a guide for their animation. While rotoscoping is a challenging technique, the results can be stunning, as demonstrated in films like “Fire and Ice”.

The film also features a strong script, written by Gerry Conway and Roy Thomas, both of whom had written Conan stories for Marvel Comics. The dialogue is sharp and witty, and the characters are well-developed and believable.

Fire and Ice is a testament to the power of animation as an art form. It shows that animation can be more than just a medium for children’s entertainment. It can be used to tell complex stories, explore themes of good and evil, and create characters that are as real and compelling as any live action performance.

In the end, Fire and Ice is a film that deserves to be seen and appreciated by a wider audience. It is a masterpiece of animation that combines stunning visuals, strong characters, and a compelling story to create a work of art that is both timeless and unforgettable.

The Great Silence

Sergio Corbucci’s The Great Silence, released in 1968, is a Western film that is both captivating and unforgettable. Set in the late 19th century in “Snow Hill, Utah,” the film depicts a place where farmers have been forced into banditry, leaving them at the mercy of sadistic bounty killers, such as Klaus Kinski’s Tigrero, who embodies the brutal Darwinian world that governs Snow Hill. However, a solitary avenger known as Silenzio, played by Jean-Louis Trintignant, stands up to Tigrero and his minions.

Silenzio is a tragic and poetic character, a variation on Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name. Silenzio is not a man of few words, but a survivor of horrific violence. When he was a child, the bounty hunters who murdered his parents severed his vocal cords to keep him from talking. He has grown up into Tigrero’s double and opposite, meting out justice for money and following a strict code of ethics. He will never draw his gun first, but he will always shoot faster than his adversary.

The film’s political ideology is also a prominent theme, as Silenzio’s services are solicited by Pauline, the widow of one of Tigrero’s victims. The fact that she and her husband are black is both a casual detail and a sign of the film’s anti-authoritarian, democratic ideology. The couple seems to have been welcomed by the other good people of Snow Hill, but their race is a big issue for the bad guys.

One of the film’s most striking aspects is its brazen mixing of incompatible elements. The Great Silence is anarchic and rigorous, sophisticated and goofy, heartfelt and cynical. The score, composed by Ennio Morricone, is as mellow as wine, but the action is raw, nasty, and blood-soaked. The story is preposterous, but the politics are sincere.

Sergio Corbucci’s “The Great Silence” is a powerful allegory that draws inspiration from the deaths of two prominent figures of the 60s, Che Guevara and Malcolm X. The film’s plot takes place in Utah prior to the Great Blizzard of 1899, subverting various conventions of the Western genre.

Corbucci chooses a snow-bound Utah as the setting, in contrast to the desert plains that are typically seen in Western films, American or Italian. This creates a unique atmosphere that heightens the sense of danger and isolation felt by the characters. Jean-Louis Trintignant’s portrayal of the protagonist, Silenzio, who is completely mute, adds a sense of vulnerability and sensitivity to the character that is rare in the Western genre.

The film’s subversion of the Western genre reaches its peak with the deaths of Silenzio, Pauline, and the outlaws at the hands of Klaus Kinski’s character, Loco, and his gang. This is in stark contrast to the deaths of characters in other films of the era such as Ben in “Night of the Living Dead” and Wyatt and Billy in “Easy Rider,” where the characters are also killed. Corbucci’s subversion and commentary on the genre culminates in the final shootout, which is not a face-to-face gunfight at the O.K. Corral, but an ambush committed by Kinski’s character.

The virtual possibilities of the 60s represented a new frontier, an unexplored world of imagination and creativity. It was a time when the boundaries of what was possible were being pushed, and people were dreaming up new ways to connect, create, and communicate.

As the virtual possibilities of the 60s were being explored, the cynicism of the post-WWII era and the noir genre seeped into the cultural consciousness, leading to a new type of creative expression. The optimism and idealism of the 60s collided with the disillusionment and skepticism of the previous decade, resulting in a fusion of styles that was both exciting and contradictory.

In literature and film, this fusion was evident in the emergence of the new wave of noir, which was characterized by a more fragmented narrative structure, ambiguous moral landscapes, and a heightened sense of existential angst. The virtual possibilities of the 60s, on the other hand, were marked by a utopian spirit that sought to transcend the limitations of reality through technological innovation.

This juxtaposition of styles explored themes of identity, reality, and technology in a world that was both dystopian and utopian. Corbucci’s’s work captured the contradictions of the era, reflecting the optimism and disillusionment that coexisted within the collective consciousness.

The 60s can certainly be seen as a kind of collective unconscious dark matter. The decade was marked by a profound cultural shift that had far-reaching implications for society as a whole. It was a time of great upheaval, with widespread social and political movements challenging traditional modes of thinking and behavior.

At the heart of this shift was a growing sense of disillusionment with the status quo. People were no longer content with the established norms and values of their society and sought to break free from the constraints that had held them back for so long. But this shift was not just about rebellion and revolution. It was also about a new way of thinking about the world and our place in it. The virtual possibilities of the 60s, such as space exploration, computer technology, and new forms of media, represented a new frontier that promised to expand our understanding of the universe and our place within it.

In conclusion, the virtual possibilities of the 60s were marked by both optimism and cynicism, reflecting the contradictions of the post-WWII era and the emergence of the new wave of noir. This fusion of styles produced a new form of creative expression that challenged traditional modes of storytelling and opened up new possibilities for exploring the human condition.

Foxtrot

Foxtrot is a 1976 British-Mexican drama film directed by Arturo Ripstein and starring Peter O’TooleCharlotte Rampling and Max von Sydow.

The story follows a Romanian aristocrat, Alexander Petrovic (Peter O’Toole), who retreats to a desert island with his wife, Gabrielle (Charlotte Rampling), and their servants on the eve of World War II.

At the beginning of WW2, Liviu, a Romanian count, and his wife Julia come to live on an uninhabited tropical island, where they hope to escape the war and their past. They bring with them all conceivable provisions and their servants, and live in luxury in a mansion-like tent on the beach. After a short time, a group of uninvited friends arrive. They decimate the supplies and, in the course of a frenzied shooting party, kill every living animal on the island before leaving, bringing most of the servants with them. The only people left on the island are Liviu and his wife, their friend Larson, and one servant, Eusebio. The expected supplies do not arrive, the party has no way of communicating with the outside world, and passion is rife between the one woman and three men on the island. As supplies run short, mistrust, greed and jealousy threaten their idyllic life style.

The movie explores themes of isolation, desire, and human nature, all of which are reminiscent of the principles of Antonin Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty.

The Theater of Cruelty, as developed by Artaud, was a form of theater that aimed to evoke strong emotional and physical responses from its audience. It rejected traditional forms of theater, which relied on dialogue and character development, in favor of more primal, visceral experiences. This was achieved through the use of intense sound, movement, and visual effects, all of which were designed to shock and unsettle the audience. The central idea behind the Theater of Cruelty was to create a space where the audience could confront the raw, unfiltered aspects of their own humanity.

Similarly, Foxtrot is a movie that explores the raw, unfiltered aspects of human nature. The characters in the movie are thrust into an extreme situation, isolated on a deserted island with limited resources and no way to contact the outside world. As their situation becomes increasingly dire, they are forced to confront their own desires, fears, and flaws. The movie depicts the struggle between civilization and primal instincts, as the characters’ relationships are strained by mistrust, greed, and jealousy. The tension and conflict that arise among the characters are reminiscent of the intense emotional responses that Artaud sought to elicit in his audiences.

Another key aspect of the Theater of Cruelty was its use of ritual and symbolism. Artaud believed that theater should be a kind of spiritual experience, one that transcended the boundaries of language and rational thought. He sought to create a kind of “language of the body,” a series of movements and gestures that could communicate deep, primal truths. This emphasis on ritual and symbolism is also present in Foxtrot, particularly in the movie’s use of imagery and visual motifs. The barren landscape of the island, for example, serves as a powerful symbol of the characters’ isolation and helplessness. The recurring image of the foxtrot dance, which Liviu and Julia perform on the beach, serves as a metaphor for the characters’ attempt to maintain a sense of order and control in an increasingly chaotic world.

In conclusion, the movie Foxtrot shares many similarities with the principles of Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty. Both explore the raw, unfiltered aspects of human nature, using intense emotional experiences to elicit a response from their audiences. Both also emphasize ritual and symbolism as a means of transcending language and rational thought. Foxtrot is a powerful and thought-provoking movie that offers a compelling exploration of human nature and the struggle between civilization and primal instincts.