Harry Everett Smith – often known as simply Harry Smith – was a fascinating character in the history of American pop culture, perhaps still best remembered for compiling the three-disc Anthology of American Folk Music released on Folkways in 1952, an influential album that’s been widely credited for inspiring the revival of interest in American folk music in the 50s and 60s – Bob Dylan and Jerry Garcia of The Grateful Dead were particular fans of the record. An occultist, anthropologist, beat artist and experimenter in mind-altering drugs, the wild-haired Smith was at the forefront of the 50s beat generation and then the 60s counterculture. He also dabbled in filmmaking with predictably eccentric results. He specialised in abstract animations, experiments, often made without much in the way of plot but heavy on trying out new techniques. Compiling an accurate filmography is hard work given that Smith liked to tinker with his films long after he’d “finished” them, re-editing them, adding new material and recycling footage into other productions, frequently remixing them to whatever his musical passion of the day – Numbers 1, 2, 3 and 5 were screened at the San Francisco Museum of Art in May 1950 accompanied by a live jazz band while Early Abstractions, a compilation of clips, was later recut to synchronise with the Meet the Beatles! album.

His films were frequently just given numbers rather than titles, starting with 1, Number 1 or Film 1 (it’s been referred to as all three over the years) made in 1939 when he was 16 years old. In 1962, he made the 60 plus minute oddity Heaven and Earth Magic (the title alluding to his fascination with the occult) which was actually his twelfth film, though this one went without a number (Number 13 followed the same year). A crude, bewildering but oddly compelling work, Heaven and Earth Magic is the sort of thing that one suspects the young Terry Gilliam might have come across during his student years – the film is made with a series of cut-outs primarily from a Victorian catalogue of women’s clothing, a set of elocution books and what appears to be a manual of anatomy that looks remarkably similar to the animated interludes Gilliam would later create for Monty Python’s Flying Circus (1969-1974), though lacking any of Gilliam’s oddball humour.

There seems to be little in the way of plot – it has something to do (possibly…) with a young woman who loses a valuable watermelon and goes on a decidedly odd series of misadventures to get it back, meeting a skeleton horse, going to the dentist and visiting Heaven along the way. It culminates with her being eaten by the German-born philologist and Orientalist Max Müller on the day Edward the Seventh dedicated the Great Sewer of London… Smith’s prodigious use of psychedelics probably means that the resulting kaleidoscopic barrage of images and cacophony of found sounds meant something in his head, though for the rest of us, trying to decipher exactly what that meaning is, is next to impossible.

In keeping with Smith’s tinkering tendencies, Heaven and Earth Magic is an expansion of the earlier film, Number 8, which marked the first appearance of several characters that would not only turn up again here (a cat, a dog, a statue and the Hygrometer) but in some of his other works too. It’s a purely visual experience, a mad, psychedelic experiment that you’ll either buy into or be completely put off by. What you take from it will entirely depend on your tolerance for wild, wordless, freeform visual anarchy, the product of fertile imagination and a mind fried by too many psychoactives. Lovers of unashamedly abstract and experimental meanderings are in for a treat, others perhaps less so. It’s almost impossible to capture its effect on the viewer in mere words, so visual an experience is it.

Whether you love it, loathe it or remain completely indifferent to its charms, we should all be thankful that the film exists at all. Though Smith’s filmography numbers some 18 films of various lengths, it’s believed that this is only a small percentage of the work he actually created. Her would give films away, chop up others for use elsewhere and on some occasions is known to have simply destroyed them for whatever reason. The “official” filmography derives from the cataloguing of his work by the Film-maker’s Cooperative in New York, and no-one seems to know for certain just how much film work he actually created before his death in 1991 at the age of 68. What he left behind is a fantastic catalogue of the deeply weird, the often impenetrable and sometimes even terrifying and all are recommended. Heaven and earth magic is his most ambitious work, but those wishing to dip their toes in the psychedelic waters of Smith’s out-there oeuvre might well be advised to try out the (slightly) more accessible shorter films first. If you’re ready for it, the whole of Heaven and Earth Magic is linked below.