Have you ever caught up with a movie you had meant to see for years (maybe even. . .gulp. . .decades) and realized, watching, it was the missing link to an entire sub-genre of movies you HAD seen?
Such was the case for this writer after finally watching Armenian director Sergei Parajanov’s 1969 cinematic frontier crossing The Color of Pomegranates.
A movie “about” 18th century Armenian poet Sayat-Nova, it really is more like an epic poetic ode. Busting at the seams with mind-exploding, eye melting, irreducible imagery, The Color of Pomegranates defies easy explanation. The experience of watching it is really what it’s about. Not the story. Not the content. Not the message.
The disorientation it creates puts you into a kind of fugue state. And that seems to be the point.
Once you see The Color of Pomegranates, you understand where movies like…
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