A group of talking heads sit down to chat about the "most ambitious sci-fi epic never made." Which, I realize, sounds like some rather exaggerated, overplayed hyperbole. Thing is, between the director's intense dedication to the project and remarkable eye for talent, it quickly seems like a pretty reasonable statement.

Alejandro Jodorowsky, who single-handedly provides much of the documentary's narration, is both the best and the worst thing to happen to this launchpad-implosion of a film. His confidence can often come off as egotism, and his absurd track record quickly turned off any potential Hollywood suitors (ultimately damning the picture) but in retrospect there's no arguing with the impact his hand-picked team made on the world of science fiction at large. Then-unknowns like HR Giger and Mœbius would go on to enormous careers, both in the cinema and art scenes, while many of their collaborators found themselves poached for future hits like Star Wars and Alien.

There's a certain irrational appeal to the man himself, which immediately comes through in his speech and mannerisms. It's no wonder major celebrities like Pink Floyd and David Carradine would attach themselves to the project, mingling with brow-furrowing supporting acts like Orson Welles and Salvador Dali.

The big question of how the film could make the translation from eccentric paper-bound concept to vivid on-screen special effect (in a pre-Lucasfilm world, no less) is never adequately answered, and that hurts in the long run, but as an exercise in unbridled, unhinged creative discharge it's fascinating. Utterly tripped-out, surreal and nonsensical at times, but fascinating.