Bardo

I thought I heard Bardo was supposed to be bloated and pretentious? I didn't read much; I'll have to circle back.

I've also heard Synecdoche and Malick movies are bloated and pretentious, but I never felt that, even when they were egocentric or incoherent. I must be sympathetic, or akin.

Bardo looks a lot like Malick: drunken and dreamy, in a way I can't connect. So what do I get from such an experience?

I can't connect with it, yet I feel it. As for ideas, it's reflective, not like a mirror, but like the surface of a pond, transient and bent. I glimpse my own reality in its glinting, though I can't stare it down, nor fix it for a moment. If I want its treasure, I must endure its shifting.

I wish I knew more about Mexico. That ignorance is one reason I couldn't connect.

Another is how abstract and personal it is. I wonder how autobiographical? Many artists do abstract personal pieces. Maybe this is his. Certainly his others I've seen were easier to digest.

Did I enjoy it? It was abstract and alien. Sometimes beautiful. Ultimately felt. I liked it.