El Topo is usually celebrated as Alejandro Jodorowsky’s best work but in truth El Topo is only crude shock theatre tactics with Zen pretensions. At least by the time of The Holy Mountain, which is altogether a better (although generally regarded as a lesser) film, Jodorowsky had polished his pretensions. (With later films, Jodorowsky would abandon mysticism and learn about such things as narrative). The budget allows Jodorowsky wider scope and more lavish lunacy. What strikes about The Holy Mountain is what a versatile film it is. The first twenty minutes or so could be a reprise of El Topo. These scenes follow a man whose journey becomes a surreal picaresque – we are introduced to him as he is found covered in bees; he makes a recovery after being placed on a cross by children, is saved by a limbless dwarf and wanders through casual vignettes where birds emerge from the wounds of executed victims while the executing soldiers fuck prostitutes while posing for tourist photos; through parades carrying skinned lizards on poles and a recreation of the Spanish Conquest of Mexico with a frog circus; is used as a mold for lifelike Christ statues, which he then smashes up before carrying one through the streets accompanied by a trail of hookers and a monkey.

The hero then climbs a smokestack and arrives at The Alchemist’s inner sanctum, whereupon the film becomes something different – what might be described as a mix of Carlos Castaneda and some of Kenneth Anger’s occult film rituals. Having a budget on hand has allowed Jodorowsky to indulge himself and the sets are lush, with Jodorowsky himself parading about as The Alchemist, strikingly dressed either in all black or all white with his face hidden by a giant tall peaked sombrero, and surrounded by oxen, hippos, pelicans and a half-naked women with silver fingernail-extensions and cryptic symbols written on her body, as he dispenses Zen-like lessons in eating one’s own shit and breaking a rock by destroying its soul.

Thereafter as Jodorowsky introduces the postulants and as each gives a potted life history, The Holy Mountain becomes something different again – one where Jodorowsky reveals a heretofore unknown penchant for absurdist comedy. Any of the vignettes could easily have been transplanted into a Monty Python sketch – the blind bed manufacturer who makes business decisions by feeling whether his wife’s sex is wet or not; the weapons manufacturer who produces guns for all creeds – thus crucifix, menorah and Buddha-shaped guns, as well as psychedelic and guitar-shaped guns for youth, plus the wonderfully dotty image of product testers running to impale themselves on bayonets; the manufacturer of facemasks who creates masks that keep moving in the coffin after the wearer’s death – lips that make kissing motions, a cleric’s hand that keeps waving and a pair of rotating breasts; the sex machine – a giant mechanical computer bank that opens up and unfolds and flashes lights as it is titillated with a large rod; and some alarmingly close to the bone satire with the manufacturer of war toys who shows how children are conditioned for a coming war with Peru with war comics that portray Peruvians as villains and a nursery where they are trained to throw mud pies at a picture of a Peruvian.

The last section concerns the journey to the titular mountain with Jodorowsky lecturing the novices on their journey in sometimes striking, sometimes loopy cryptic epigrams:– “I am afraid of heights,” one woman complains to which Jodorowsky’s advice is “Rub your clitoris against the mountain.” The most fascinating aspect is the ending where they reach the top of the mountain only to find that the nine masters are stuffed dummies seated at a table. In the extraordinary final image, Jodorowsky sits laughing with the novices and then says: “Zoom back camera,” which the camera promptly does, revealing the film crew and several camera trestles. “Goodbye Holy Mountain. Real life awaits,” bids Jodorowsky. It is an ending that is both a big shaggy dog joke on the audience and an extraordinary collapsing of the figurative fourth stage wall. It is not inapt that Jodorowsky calls himself The Alchemist for that is exactly what his films are – alchemical experiences, theatres of the transcendental. They are experiences where Jodorowsky most fervently wants to upset, jolt and shake up expectations, to break down illusions and leave audiences changed. The ending of The Holy Mountain is an earnest appeal on Jodorowsky’s part for the audience to carry the experience away. Whether Jodorowsky succeeds is a matter for debate, but you cannot deny that he leaves people variously bewildered, amazed, angered, fascinated and stunned by the experience. Which is exactly what he has set out to do.

In an interesting piece of triviai, financing for the film was raised by John Lennon. Jodorowsky wanted Lennon the play the central role but Lennon was unable to due to scheduling.

Alejandro Jodorowsky’s other films include Tusk (1980), about the strange relationship between a woman and an elephant that were born on the same day, that was a financial disaster that has remained unseen outside of France; The Rainbow Thief (1990) about a prince who goes to live in the sewers, was disowned by Jodorowsky due to interference from producers; and Santa Sangre (1989), a characteristically violent, sexually contorted and over the top tale about a circus performer who acts his mother’s arms (which have been severed by her lover) in a knife-throwing act and is driven to kill women by her domineering personality. The most fascinating of Jodorowsky’s never-made productions was a planned production of Frank Herbert’s Dune (1965) that was announced around 1976. (See Dune (1984) for further details).