eunomia ♓’s review published on Letterboxd:
An Apostle is what he is by his divine authority… a man called and appointed by God, receiving a mission from him.
But now how can an Apostle prove that he has authority? If he could prove it physically, he would not be an Apostle. He has no other proof than his own statement.
As an artist, Thomas embodies the aesthetic will of his time. He finds objects that are useless to be beautiful, a propeller detached and serving no function is a fetish object to be claimed like a painting. Moving through London at a time of erotic liberation (haunted by mime spectres), an underlying sense of aimless existence pervades the drug and rock fuelled self-creators, conducting farcical protests in favour of vague slogans. Everyone is a failed genius, endlessly willing themselves as a work of art.
For Thomas, he is witness to something diabolical that he should not have seen, I am reminded of the secret society meeting in Eyes Wide Shut. This witnessing, once cognised, tears reality asunder. What he has witnessed is the repressed fact - Death, lying in front of him in all its coldness, too real - Man is dead. Suddenly art is desacralized. Fighting for part of a guitar thrown into the crowd at a concert, where the audience are seemingly zombies, he takes a second look at it, this time really seeing it – it has no value, it’s useless and its beauty is a fabrication, he tosses it onto the street. Sex takes on a disturbing air as he watches his two friends in coitus, inviting him or begging for help - he stares with a sober face and leaves. Lastly, the image of the corpse lying in the grass is compared to a conceptual art piece, life turned into a beautiful stone statue.
Now with a transcendently given mission, to tell people what he saw, what the reality is, he tries to find ears. The most reception is a suggestion he call the police. His manager, the person on earth he answers to, is deaf. He capitulates and eventually says he saw “nothing” and falls asleep, the revelation is over and his eyes have closed again. Returning to the park, the corpse is gone. The mimes return and feign a tennis game, a second capitulation occurs and he pretends to throw the ball back, but the noises of the match become real. Sinking back into the flow and ennui, Thomas then disappears completely, a failed prophet.
In order that everything should be reduced to the same level, it is first of all necessary to procure a phantom, its spirit, a monstrous abstraction, an all-embracing something which is nothing, a mirage, and that phantom is the public.