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Article by Enrique Diaz
Andre Breton himself communicated via cable to Buñuel, who was in the United States at the time, that L’Age d’Or had started a riot in which “property was destroyed and people were injured.” L’Age d’Or, a surrealistic anti-establishment morality play that was critically irreverent towards the church and upper classes, infuriated so many people that the scandal, or its consequences, wasn’t limited to the day of its opening. Later, when Buñuel was working as a film editor for the Museum of Modern Art in New York, he was forced to resign once the Museum authorities learned that he was the director of the film. Don Harrison writes about the incident in Episodes of Luis: “After reading Dali’s accounts of their collaborations on Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or in his book, a rabblerouser named Arbogast raised hell with the State Department over Buñuel’s position at the Museum. The nefarious Luis Buñuel (a crazed Marxist anarchist in Dali’s unyielding prattle) was living in New York City and editing documentaries for the U.S. government--the maker of the life-hating, God-loathing L’Age d'Or!” Even in Hollywood,while working at M-G-M, the scandal over the movie followed Buñuel. A visiting producer, impressed by Un Chien Andalou, had invited the 31- year-old surrealist to see firsthand the Hollywood production machine, but Buñuel was unceremoniously kicked out of the first set he visited — by Greta Garbo, no less. Insulted, Buñuel never returned to the M-G-M lot, except to pick up his paycheck and eat lunch in the studio commissary, where he visited with fellow expatriates Sergei Eisenstein and Charlie Chaplin. Unfazed by the criticism directed at his viscerally raw view of a humanity framed in surrealism, Buñuel triumphantly returned to Spain, where Las H
Just as his explosive entry into movie making was marked by Buñuel’s absorbing and then reflecting in his inimitable way the styles of the places and the era that he lived in, his Mexican period was the one that polished his cinematic style into a more mature as well as commercial form of surrealism. In Mexico, where eyebrows are hard to raise and people difficult to scandalize, Buñuel had to rely on maturity and polished cinematic intensity to attract the public’s attention, which he proceeded to do brilliantly. Later, in the final phase of his directing career, he would go back to a more esoteric, self-absorbed style, but in Mexico he was able to bring to the masses movies that were at once intellectually and artistically integrated, as well as commercially popular. One might compare Buñuel’s movies of this period to Spielberg’s earlier films (if Spielberg were tinged with
Buñuel’s Mexican movies ranged from inspired studies of the human psyche (El, Rehearsal for Murder) to pictures of epic proportions (Wuthering Heights, Crime and Punishment). Of course, he never abandoned societal commentary and criticism of the upper classes and corrupt governments (Exterminating Angel, The Young and the Damned). And he never forgot his surrealist roots. Belle de Jour, Diary of a Chambermaid and That Obscure Object of My Desire were all made towards the end of Buñuel’s career and also reflect that time and space of his life. The polished style he developed during his Mexican period is evident in these films, as is his earlier, more deeply surreal work. Indeed, not only did the times and places in which he lived influence Luis Buñuel, he himself influenced those working in cinema wherever he went. His legacy in Europe is evident in works by Pasolini, Fassbinder and many others. In Mexico, the movies of preeminent directors such as Arturo Ripstein (Deep Crimson), who started his career as an assistant director to Buñuel, Humberto Hermosillo (Mary My Love, Dona Herlinda and Her Two Sons and the currently playing Esmerelda Comes By Night), Alfonso Arau (Like Water for Chocolate) and Guillermo del Toro (Cronos, Mimic) are often thematic or stylistic progressions on Buñuel’s work. In the United States, David Lynch in particular seems to owe a great debt to Buñuel, although several films by John Sayles, particularly his recent Men With Guns, seem especially influenced by the Spanish master. A peculiarity of the film enthusiast is that his cinematic education may be anything but linear. A movie buff’s trail is often meandering—following the scents laid by good reviews, prior experience with certain actors, writers or directors, or simply from word of mouth. Anyone who is even slightly aware of foreign film will be familiar with the name of Luis Buñuel. Buñuel’s contributions to the film world are far greater than what can be examined in a couple of pages—or even in an entire magazine. Nonetheless, the goal of WORLD CINEMA is to briefly highlight those directors from other countries who have exerted profound influence on modern movies, or who are currently directing movies that demand critical attention. In this way, we hope to suggest new paths to those informal film students who might otherwise not be aware of them. Although we claim no direct connection to the subjects featured within this issue, Buñuel displayed a facility for the fractured narrative and the detached examination of human perversity. —Ed. |
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