Luis Buñuel: The Discrete Charm of the Bourgeoisie

Luis Buñuel (2/22/1900-7/29/1983) had a few things under his belt by the time he was forty-six, but he really got cooking from then, when he moved to Mexico, until shortly before his death thirty-seven years later. He met Federico García Lorca and Salvador Dalí in college in Madrid, and moved to Paris during the early stages of the Surrealist "movement," picking up a day job and working as an assistant as projects became available. With Dalí, he conceived and created the infamous Un chien andalou (1929), a sixteen minute Surrealist film that has reverberated through the decades, perhaps most noticeably in the work of American filmmakers David Lynch and the Coen brothers, but influencing many others besides. Buñuel worked on a few other projects before heading back briefly to Spain, only to have to leave again in the wake of the Civil War. With Nazis and fascists roaming Europe, he headed for New York City, then Hollywood, and after the Second World War, to Mexico.

In Mexico, Buñuel’s filmmaking career began in earnest; in fact, he enjoyed his work and life there so much that he became a Mexican citizen and made nearly two dozen full-length movies while living there. I’ve only seen a handful from this period, all black and white, and all excellent, some with strong narratives (unlike his more Surrealist work, which is usually more concerned with imagery, mood, and dream states than narrative structure, though the dialogue is often witty and pointed). One of my favorites is Una mujer sin amor (A Woman Without Love, 1952), based on a French short story. The love object of said woman is a heroic Clark Gable type who does love her, too – but life’s complicated. Los Olvidados (1950) is magnificent, too, and earned him worldwide attention and respect. I’ve only seen El ángel exterminador (The Exterminating Angel, 1962) on grainy video, but loved it for its sheer bizarre take on reality – or make that surreality. A large crowd of well-to-do people are trapped at a dinner party by some mysterious force – much weirdness ensues. My favorite translated line: “The disarray becomes you.” Next, at an age when many people retire, Buñuel set off to conquer France, with a little help from Jeanne Moreau and Catherine Deneuve along the way. I’ll pick up the thread in a future post. The clock strikes, the doors of IKEA open, and the eyes have it. Surreal-ya later!