Within the wreckage doth the officer find a a strange, large book. He takes shelter in a bombed out salon, distractedly looking through the debris for things to liberate while his army races on ahead (only to surge back behind him in the other direction moments later. Confusion will be thy epitaph! Oops, I mean, she wore scarlet begonias, lapped up in her curls, or whatever?įrom the first we're put in an unsteady place, an outer-outer frame occurring on a war-torn border/front shifting like an ingoing/outgoing tide, circa mid-1800s, following a slightly aimless senior officer during a heated street-to-street battle. Far out! The movie centers around the titular book, discovered in a bombed out chateau during the outer framing device it contains many stories about storytellers whose own stories include flashbacks to other stories being told, until eventually a character may well hear about the events that involved them only a few nights ago, enabling them to finally understand what the other person was shouting at them from behind a rock or something. Singlehandedly discovering the then-emerging counterculture, it blows your mind via source material that was, so the legend goes, written on bar napkins over a period of many years by an old Polish officer of the Royal Guard who ended up shooting himself with a silver bullet to avoid becoming a werewolf. Even though its black-and-white, made behind the iron curtain, three hours long, even bedecked with the same 18th-century powdered wigs and tricornered hats most of us associate more with being bored to a caged frenzy in history class even convoluted to the point of bedevilment, The Saragossa Manuscript rocks with elaborately trippy self-reflexive moxy. You know a weird old Polish movie is worth hunting down when Jerry Garcia loves it to the point he helped fund its restoration.
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