Gaspar Noè’s Enter the Void

Watching Enter the Void was more cinematic than cinema. The film is set in a dimension that transcends form. It’s eternally ensconced in perpetual movement. It’s uncomfortable, gritty, and hallucinatory. It’s everything that ticks nerves into a cold sweat. The film is made up of many rules: elements that define a space only to see it get swallowed up. The place where this destruction all winds up is the Void. It’s bitter and incandescent.

Would I watch this film in a theatre in complete darkness in one sitting? Sure. Only because I’ve already seen it. My second experience of Enter the Void would perhaps be less disturbed and frustrated than my first. To tell the truth, I had to take a break from watching the film halfway through. It was a true test of my empathetic being. I vehemently detested and resisted watching the film after the first quantum leap into the lives of Oscar and Linda. I wound up the film after months of consciously staying away from it.

Gaspar Noe’s take on a “psychedelic tour of life” is rare. A review online critiqued it as being “neck-deep in social nihilism, drowning in the worst of human nature” and “a nearly three-hour dissociation of living, dying, and repeating, all from an atheistic view.” I’m no movie expert. So defining the grains of this film is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, for myself. Because watching the film, as a sentient and impermanent blip in a more celestial view of things, felt more than enough.

This out-of-reality experience, reincarnation, and a malignant perspective of one’s spirit feels rather positive than negative in the film. The aesthetics and sci-fi feeling is unforgettable. I close my eyes and still view the world in an epileptic and cosmic way. It’s an effect that scales life’s point of view when questioned about death.