The protagonist alternately resembles a parasitic apostle and a self-mortifying Brando lump, he mentions “providence” and like Belmondo in Breathless locates his crucifixion in the gutter. (“There’s neither heaven nor hell,” declares Pasolini, only Dante’s purgatorio.) Asui generis cinematic language of intensely conflicting forces, rough and delicate and fully worthy of its Bach chorales, a virtual film school for Bertolucci, Parajanov, Abel Ferrara, and Gus Van Sant.
Fernando F. Croce
February 10, 2012