Completely objectionable, utterly inconsistent and throughly perfect. It is performative vapidity, a film that tells you what you are as gold is just shit and then tricks you into chasing transcendence.

It touches on truths about exploitation and cults, showing its true colours whilst distracting you with pseudo-spiritual babble. In the end it was only ever a film, it couldn’t mean anything more. We can’t seek immortality and there is no salvation through these myths, theories and various cults.

We, instead, detach from reality. Art is beautiful for escape and for surrealist expression but it is not reality and it is not immortality. The Holy Mountain is a movie, literally just that: the text is the thing. It can only ever be the thing.