I just watched one of the most visually stunning films I have ever seen. The Color of Pomegranates by Sergei Parajanov depicts the life of Armenian poet Sayat Nova, but it is a far cry from a biopic. Rather, it is a series of rather surreal images and moments, strung together to tell his life's story. In fact, there is very little dialog at all. We are instead left with a loose yet potent sense of this man's journey. A woman pulls a piece of red lace over her eyes. A boy appears on a roof filled with dozens of open, fluttering books. A man is surrounded by a herd of ivory-colored sheep. Music, snippets of poetry, and of course an endless stream of these magically and meticulously constructed short scenes are woven together to form a true cinematic tapestry. In fact, I would argue that the "story" and the main character are almost besides the point. You don't watch a film like this for story. You watch it to become immersed in a slow, delicious swirl of sensory wonders. Call it fever dream, call it lantern show, call it what you will. I call it heavenly.