Fenix (Adan “son of the director” Jodorowsky) is a lovable young scamp who performs magic tricks in his parents' traveling circus. Dressed like a pint-sized Montag the Magnificent (complete with fake mustache), little Fen performs his acts of illusion with the help of his would-be girlfriend, the facepainted deaf-mute girl Alma, as his assistant. He also has a second assistant/friend in the miniature form of the Circus's token midget Aladin, who dresses like the gay equivalent of his namesake... because every act, magical or otherwise, can only be enhanced by the inclusion of midgets dressed like gay Aladdin.

Fen's poppa is Orgo, the show's ringleader and knife thrower. He's a big, sloppy American born lump of crap and chest hair. The story goes that he somehow killed a woman in the US and as such has been hiding out south of the big river ever since. He's quite the ladies' man too, what with his fat gut, weird hypnosis powers, and penchant for gaudy sequined outfits that look like the aftermath of Evel Knievel and Liberace having a nuclear wardrobe malfunction... topped with a cowboy hat. Fen's mother is the beautiful acrobat Concha who flies through the air with the greatest of ease, attached by her hair to the flying trapeze! She also belongs to the Santa Sangre (Holy/Saint Blood) church, where she and a group of faithful worship a little girl who was raped and had her arms dismembered by a pair of attackers. In her honor they constructed a little church around what they believe to be a concrete pool of her holy blood. But, when the owner of the property on which their church stands decides he doesn't want them there anymore, riot cops and bulldozers are brought in to reduce the place to rubble. A representative of the Catholic church comes by to investigate the matter, only to claim that the so-called “holy blood” is just a big pool of red paint... though to be honest I think it looks more like fruit punch Kool-Aid, but who's counting, right? The Monsignor deigns the Santa Sangre goers as a bunch of loony heretics and gives the city the church's approval to bring the place down around their Hawaiian Punch soaked ankles. Concha stays behind, determined to die with her church, but changes her mind at the last minutes when her little boy refuses to leave her side. Aw, what a happy family.

Things are never perfect with circus life though, no matter how many clowns you may surround yourself with. The big wooden whore spoon that stirs the pot is the group's new act, the Tattooed Lady, who's also Alma's adoptive mother and whose ink looks like she had somebody Xerox a pre-schooler's jungle themed coloring book onto her body. Tats makes no bones about her bizarre attraction to Mr. Orgo, doing a sexy knife-throwing act with him for all to see before Concha breaks it up and threatens to kill both of the lusty monsters... only to be hypnotized by Big O into giving up and riding his Ballpark Frank. They plump when ya cook 'em!

Fenix's life takes a dramatic turn one day though, starting with the death of an elephant in the circus that he'd grown rather fond of as kid's often do. His little kid “magic” can't fix the ailing pachyderm though, so he feels especially wrecked inside when the behemoth croaks. The crew have a funeral procession for the magnificent beast, including a massive casket carried through town on a flatbed truck. The touching bust almost comical scene is then followed by a morbidly surreal peasant feast that will either make you laugh or wretch depending on whether or not you still cry at the end of Old Yeller. Immediately following the funeral, a simpering Fenix is brought into manhood by his father. No, not in the way that would get him on “To Catch A Predator”. Apparently in Orgo's family the path to manhood is carved into your chest in the shape of a big patriotic bald eagle tattoo, much like the one Poppa Orgo seemingly uses to hypnotize women with. A commentary on the sleazy influential powers of the US of A, or just more douche baggery from a fat white guy? It doesn't really matter either way, cuz here's when the shit hits the fan!

In the middle of her next performance, Concha catches Mr. O flagrantly fooling with Tats (and her generous portions of rump roast), she interrupts their coital exchange and treats his junk like a Pakistani woman, throwing a conveniently handy container of acid into his lap! In a fit of obese man rage from the genital vitriolage, Orgo drags Connie to his knife throwing board and lobs off both of her arms in one quick slice! Big O drags himself back to the circus tent, his meat and two veg little more than a nondescript handful of bloody pulp, and slices open his own throat in defiance of the sideshow he himself created and which in turn led to his violent destruction. While Concha laments over how she'll never be able to take those piano lessons she's always been dreaming of, little man Fenix watches as his grease painted Helen Keller is dragged off into the night by her ink skinned keeper, who doesn't want to stick around for the aftermath of what she just helped provoke.

Years later, Fenix (now grown up and played by Alejandro's other son, Axel Jodorowsky) has been raised in an institute for mentally disabled kids. He's an adult now, who sits perched naked in a tree all day like a buzzard. If he were living up to his namesake, he'd also be setting himself on fire, but they probably don't let him get near any matches or ignitables in the joint. While he and the rest of the junior retards are out on a bus trip to see a movie about Robinson Crusoe, a greasy gringo dressed like an extra from La Bamba instead gives them all a snort of coke and buys them a morbidly obese hooker to keep them busy while he gets his dirty dancin' on with someone Fenix recognizes... from the big badly drawn tattoos all over her body. The next day he escapes the commune to rejoin momma Concha and take care of some old family business... more like some Manson Family business.

Back to ol' Tats, she's set up shop as a cheap but cheery prostitute in the local ghetto while pimping out her handicapped daughter-of-sorts so guys like Richard Kiel's Mexican non-union equivalent can rape her. On the plus side though she's grown up to look like a young Nicole Kidman, so way to go deaf-mute girl! Besides, she escapes her rape scene relatively untouched and after a run-in with a one-eared pimp (possibly played by Alejandro's brother?), she hides out on top of a tractor trailer till morning, so she'll be okay. You can't say the same for her momma though, because it's not long before Tats gets her ass stabbed to death by a violent and vicious attacker who doesn't just poke her a few time, but goes all Norman Bates on her ass, hacking and butchering the old bitch like Michael J. Fox carving a Thanksgiving turkey! Oh come on, don't have a connip! It's like I wish the guy harm or anything, it's just my duty to make light out of the dark. He's welcome to make jokes at my expense if he'd like.

The next day Fenix locates his old midget buddy Aladin, who's now shining shoes for pesos in the low-rent part of town, and offers him a job as an assistant for he and his limbless mom in their new stageshow! That's right, after shaving his Jesus beard Fenix becomes his mother's arms in a surreal burlesque act where she retells the book of Genesis while her son does the Happy Hands Club interpretation. If all religion were that fun, I might not have burned down all those churches near my house as a kid... During their off time, mother and son use Fenix's ingrown talent for hypnosis, knife throwing, and taste for blindingly fruity red, white & blue costumes in her bloody vendetta against the sluts of the world, using his arms to kill for hers. And Aladin? He's just there to carry around bunny costumes until the dead girls can be transmuted into swans... just trust me on this. Fenix also seems to have hallucinations about being attacked by chickens and serpents, and in the little free time he gets to himself he likes to dress up as Claude Rains and re-enact The Invisible Man with his miniature sidekick in an effort to actually turn invisible. I can't help but wonder what his profile would look like on eHarmony. Maybe something like, “Momma's Boy Seeks Physically Challenged Woman For Love and the Secret to Transparency”?

Seemingly desperate for a pair of 'X' chromosomes to call his own (preferably some that wouldn't be a sin for him to get “bizzay” with), we find Fenix soon enamored with a female juggernaut luchadora named The Saint! When he confronts her about his passions, not only is she down with the clown , but she invites herself back to Fenix's place. Of course she requires that he keep her insides well lubricated with Vodka, but a boozed up muscle bound wrestler girlfriend is better than no girlfriend at all... then again, now that I type it out like that, I'm not so sure about that. Anyway, it turns out Fen really only wants The Saint because he figures she'll be strong enough to fight him off when mom inevitably takes control of his arms again and tries to kill her like all of his would-be gal pals. The she-Hulk is no match for Fenix's berserker fury and flying ninja attacks (?!) though and she winds up another slash and gash victim of our villainess's apparent psychokinetic influences. Just when it looks like things are hopeless for our oddball protagonist, Alma tracks down her childhood crush, paints her face up just like the old days, and she and Fenix are just about to walk off into the sunset to be happy together the rest of their lives... until Concha orders his arms to kill the little mime and... well... I won't spoil. Lemme just say that the road to the future is paved with the floppy shoes of the clowns of the past.

Santa Sangre is definitely a weird movie. Circus clowns and a marching band constantly walk around playing instruments to provide the soundtrack for the first half and that lone is enough to set the needle on the wonky meter to twitching. Everything else that happens just breaks it off and sends it flying into your brain, shorting out the part that remembers how to love. But despite being weird it's not hard to follow. By the end it all makes sense so it's not like the average viewer's head will explode along the way like watching a David Lynch movie. Of course, if you want to be one of those artsy types who feel better about them themselves by giving anything and everything on film a deeper meaning through over analysis, then you poor shlubs can still have a field day with Santa Sangre too, as I'm sure it's wrought with symbolism.

All in all, in the end, when all is said and done, when the birds have come home to roost, when the fat lady sings, when... uhm... the toilet's been unclogged... where was I going with this? Oh yeah, the movie. I gave Santa Sangre a perfect score because, much like Fido, there's just nothing I could find wrong about it! Nothing felt forced. It all went smoothly. I like the music. I like the acting. I like the story. I like the visuals. Santa Sangre is oddly serious and well done for a movie with such an obscene premise that could easily be reduced into cheesy slasher fare in the wrong hands... or the right hands if you're looking for some cheesy slasher fare. Sure, there's the occasional technical foul up here or there, but beyond that there was nothing to complain about. It made me hum. Yes, I hummed. I hummed like a cheerleader on prom night. Joy.

In this day and age of Hollywood plundering the depths of international movie making to skeev their “ideas” from, I fear that one day someone will come looking for remake rights on Santa Sangre. Though I don't foresee anyone influencing Jodorowsky to give approval on such a thing, plagiarism across national borders is a funny thing. All I ask is that if some asshole really does feel the need to do such a thing, please get Crispin Glover to play Fenix. He didn't shine as brightly in the Wizard of Gore remake as I'd hoped he would, but I think he could really give Fenix the “awkward little mental case” feeling that Anthony Perkins gave Norman Bates almost 50 years ago. And to direct? I dunno. Dario Argento's the king of color manipulation and I think he could play with Sangre's pallet effectively enough while also executing the murder and horror moments in classic Argento fashion. His blood's already mixed into the potion anyway: his younger brother Claudio's name is on the screenplay and he was also a producer! It's kismet. Makes that shit work. Sim Sim Salabim!

Santa Sangre was dropped into my lap as part of a cinematic swap meet betwixt myself and my friend (and former Tomb contributor) Dodging Grunge. I introduced him to Gogol Bordello and he hooked me into Mclusky. I'd send him a variety of pointless crap, stuff that teased the line between art and shart, and a weird German porno flick about a time-traveling female version of E.T., while he'd send me hand-picked exploitation and well-done weird shit like this. Not to disservice my friends, but it's been over a year since Santa Sangre and its garish gold bootleg DVD made itself known amidst my libraries of dull gray generic bootleg discs. No matter how much enthusiasm someone puts behind their recommendation or good will with which they gift me movies, I've gotta be in “the mood” to watch anything. Ragnarok got me the Zombie Bloodbath trilogy last year and it could be a while before I finally watch it. Don't get me wrong, the sentiment is always appreciated, so don't let my slow crawl viewing practices dissuade anyone from sending me stuff... just don't expect me to review anything with less than a 2 year buffer period...