Near the start of Jodorowsky's Dune, Frank Pavich’s new documentary on the unmade movie version of novel Dune, its primary subject—auteur filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowksy —tells the audience he wanted his version of to make people feel like they were tripping on LSD. In Jodorowsky's Dune, the powerful self-appointed messiah isn’t a prescient hero named Paul Atreides—it’s Jodorowksy himself. He speaks to his cat in the middle of interviews, rants like a child throwing a temper-tantrum, and grins, Cheshire-like, before declaring “I rape the Frank Herbert. BUT with love!” Is this guy for real? No! But that’s sort of the point.
In 1996, I decided to teach myself to use my parents’ turntable. They weren’t home; I was sixteen years old. I really, really wanted to listen to The White Album on vinyl. I had a version of it on cassette, but I craved the authentic experience. At the time, I believed that I related more to The White Album than my parents did. I always loved The Beatles when I was young, maybe because digging something “vintage” is part of the same emotional gymnastics involved with reading and loving science fiction.