The Color of Pomegranates is a movie that will be in strict defiance of full comprehension for mostly everyone in the world; I would imagine that one would need a vast and intricate knowledge of both Christian symbolism and Armenian culture to get everything out of this film that the artists intended, neither of which I possess. For the first while viewing the movie I was appreciative but reserved in my actual enjoyment of it: I kept feeling as though there was a core meaning to the film that I didn’t have the education or insight to understand and as a result it retained a somewhat hollow feeling to me. Then about two thirds of the way through something clicked; I was able to find the heart in the movie and move with its rhythm, allowing the wonder of the film’s sensory aspects to engulf me as I believe the filmmakers intended.

The Color of Pomegranates is totally unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The closest comparison I can make would be to Dali and Bunuel’s collaborations but this movie makes something like The Golden Age look downright pedestrian by comparison. There is no real point to attempting to find the movie’s meaning, or even attempting to create your own meaning from the film’s composite parts. It is a movie, I believe, that is meant to be experienced entirely as color, movement and sound that form a tapestry which has hints of the divine but is thoroughly inscrutable in nature. Turn off the lights and clear out your mind: You’re about to embark on one of cinema’s most beguiling, intoxicating enigmas.