Popular reviews

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  Review by Jerry ★★★★½ 1

  I float
  through the burgundy
  while my soul
  unburdens that
  for which my mind
  can testify

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  Review by edreese ★★★★★ 7

  du sang, de la volupté et de la mort
  
  arrow’s bow has no archer,
  icarus still soars above the ground
  we are forever lost, 
  would you not be gentle in your examination,
  your divine consideration;

  a grasp for sense where there is none
  sense is a cross-armed glance,
  and silent nod between us
  both shackled,

  this intimate marriage of sensation, of response,
  an exchange of jargon from one orifice to the next
  all my thoughts are colorless; markopoulos at his most divine.

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  Review by lee ⚢ 3

  open pit
  closed doors
  i have been wandering around
  for the longest time now
  my soul so full
  i seem to have gotten lost
  through shifting colors 
  wind walking right through me
  consuming my whole
  endured by each movement
  careful expression
  yet stunning
  light sees through me
  what gentle enlightenment 
  meeting me without even asking
  confirming 
  final galactic oneness
  tied by the universal pink sky 
  transcending beautifully
  all in one place 
  ethereal passages seeked
  rather than The End 
  The Beginning of Mortality
  leading to spiritual guidance 
  this shall not be a tragedy 
  effective transformation 
  — mythic cycles of release —

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  Review by PsychoLad ★★★★★ 1

  Gotta tell u summ about this markopolous guy, he sure got huge ballz to fourkay expose himself in his on film although intentional. Perfect example of the ancient saying ; " Bro called the feds on himself 😭".

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  Review by az ★★★★★

  Flesh bruised by moonlight, fingers pressed against the rib cage as if searching for something caged inside.
  What is it that rattles in the bones?
  A name whispered through a fogged mirror, a reflection half-formed and slipping away. But no street leads home. No shadow fits the skin. The soul staggers—barefoot, lost, exiled within its own body.

  Desire twists like a knife in the gut, sharp with hunger, dull with longing. Lips part but do not speak. There is no language for this—this fracture, this drift, this weight of being and not being, of slipping between the cracks of existence where even the wind forgets to whisper back.

  He moves through the ruins of himself, collecting echoes. A hand once…

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  Review by crushedopinions

  this hit like REM sleep, no🧢also, Markopoulos isa foot guy

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  Review by MLP ★★★★ 2

  There's a really neat effect here where an actor 'jumps' up in front of the camera in order to walk away from it, back toward us. He really just pops up in front of the lens in a sort of medium close-up of his back, shoulders and head. Somehow very funny, baffling and impressive all at once.

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  Review by Luke Robinson

  Pinpricks of culture, sheltered against the outside world. The lace, the porcelain; delicate, domestic and feminine hides from the industry, the sludge, which looms phallic above the massive world outside. Nature echoes both, trees also tower, the patterns of embroidery found also in the woods. The film, an aged print, itself culture pinpricked by time and missing the music track, echoes these elements too; all of them bound to and suffering through time.

  The second reel, which introduces humanity and sexuality, is more immediate in its way, but harder also to parse. Gender, Grecian myth and queerdom, also foot stuff. Perhaps it speaks for itself?

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  Review by Andrew ★★★★ 1

  The proto-Parajanov focus on artistic texture and the tender eroticism made this my favorite of the trilogy. Great soundtrack, too. Hope there’s a non-faded print out there…