Luis BuÃ±uel PortolÃ©s (Spanish pronunciation:Â [Ëlwiz Î²uËÉ²wel portoËles]; 22 February 1900 â" 29 July 1983) was a Spanish filmmaker who worked in Spain, Mexico and France.
When Luis BuÃ±uel died at age 83, his obituary in the New York Times called him "an iconoclast, moralist, and revolutionary who was a leader of avant-garde surrealism in his youth and a dominant international movie director half a century later". His first pictureâ"made in the silent eraâ"was called "the most famous short film ever made" by critic Roger Ebert, and his last filmâ"made 48 years laterâ"won him Best Director awards from the National Board of Review and the National Society of Film Critics. Writer Octavio Paz called BuÃ±uel's work "the marriage of the film image to the poetic image, creating a new reality...scandalous and subversive".
Often associated with the surrealist movement of the 1920s, BuÃ±uel created films from the 1920s through the 1970s. His work spans two continents, three languages, and nearly every film genre, including experimental film, documentary, melodrama, satire, musical, erotica, comedy, mockumentary, romance, costume dramas, fantasy, crime film, adventure, and western. Despite this variety, filmmaker John Huston believed that, regardless of genre, a BuÃ±uel film is so distinctive as to be instantly recognizable, or, as Ingmar Bergman put it, "BuÃ±uel nearly always made BuÃ±uel films".
Six of BuÃ±uel's films are included in Sight & Sound's 2012 critics' poll of the top 250 films of all time. Fifteen of his films are included in the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They? list of the 1,000 greatest films of all time, which is tied with John Ford for second most, and he ranks number 14 on their list of the top 250 directors.
Early years (1900â"1924)
BuÃ±uel was born in Calanda, a small town in the province of Teruel, in the Aragon region of Spain, to Leonardo BuÃ±uel, the cultivated scion of an established Aragonese family, and MarÃa PortolÃ©s, many years younger than her husband, with wealth and family connections of her own. He would later describe his birthplace by saying that in Calanda, "the Middle Ages lasted until World WarÂ I". The oldest of seven children, Luis had two brothers, Alfonso and Leonardo, and four sisters: Alicia, ConcepciÃ³n, Margarita and MarÃa.
When BuÃ±uel was just four and a half months old, the family moved to Zaragoza, where they were one of the wealthiest families in town. In Zaragoza, BuÃ±uel received a strict Jesuit education at the private Colegio del Salvador. After being kicked and insulted by the study hall proctor before a final exam, BuÃ±uel refused to return to the school. He told his mother he had been expelled, which was not true; in fact, he had received the highest marks on his world history exam. BuÃ±uel finished the last two years of his high school education at the local public school. Even as a child, BuÃ±uel was something of a cinematic showman; friends from that period described productions in which BuÃ±uel would project shadows on a screen using a magic lantern and a bedsheet. He also excelled at boxing and playing the violin.
In his youth, BuÃ±uel was deeply religious, serving at Mass and taking Communion every day, until, at age 16, he grew disgusted with what he perceived as the illogicality of the Church, along with its power and wealth.
In 1917 he went to university at the University of Madrid, first studying agronomy then industrial engineering and finally switching to philosophy. He developed very close relationships with painter Salvador DalÃ and poet Federico GarcÃa Lorca, among other important Spanish creative artists living in the Residencia de Estudiantes, with the three friends forming the nucleus of the Spanish Surrealist avant-garde, and becoming known as members of "La GeneraciÃ³n del 27". BuÃ±uel was especially taken with Lorca, later writing in his autobiography: "We liked each other instantly. Although we seemed to have little in commonâ"I was a redneck from Aragon, and he an elegant Andalusianâ"we spent most of our time together... We used to sit on the grass in the evenings behind the Residencia (at that time, there were vast open spaces reaching to the horizon), and he would read me his poems. He read slowly and beautifully, and through him I began to discover a wholly new world." BuÃ±uel's relationship with DalÃ was somewhat more troubled, being tinged with jealousy over the growing intimacy between DalÃ and Lorca and resentment over DalÃ's early success as an artist.
Starting when he was 17, he steadily dated the future poet and dramatist Concha MÃ©ndez, with whom he vacationed every summer at San SebastiÃ¡n, introducing her as his fiancÃ©e to his friends at the Residencia. After five years, she broke off the relationship, citing BuÃ±uel's "insufferable character".
During his student years, BuÃ±uel became an accomplished hypnotist. He claimed that once, while calming a hysterical prostitute through hypnotic suggestion, he inadvertently put one of the several bystanders into a trance as well. He was often to insist that watching movies was a form of hypnosis: "This kind of cinematographic hypnosis is no doubt due to the darkness of the theatre and to the rapidly changing scenes, lights, and camera movements, which weaken the spectator's critical intelligence and exercise over him a kind of fascination."
BuÃ±uel's interest in films was intensified by a viewing of Fritz Lang's Der mÃ¼de Tod: "I came out of the Vieux Colombier [theater] completely transformed. Images could and did become for me the true means of expression. I decided to devote myself to the cinema". At age 72, BuÃ±uel had not lost his enthusiasm for this film, asking the octogenarian Lang for his autograph.
Early French period (1925â"1931)
In 1925 BuÃ±uel moved to Paris, where he began work as a secretary in an organization called the International Society of Intellectual Cooperation. He also became actively involved in cinema and theater, going to the movies as often as three times a day. Through these interests, he met a number of influential people, including the pianist Ricardo ViÃ±es, who was instrumental in securing BuÃ±uel's selection as artistic director of the Dutch premiere of Manuel de Falla's puppet-opera El retablo de maese Pedro in 1926.
He decided to enter the film industry and enrolled in a private film school run by Jean Epstein and some associates. At that time, Epstein was one of the most celebrated commercial directors working in France, his films being hailed as "the triumph of impressionism in motion, but also the triumph of the modern spirit". Before long, BuÃ±uel was working for Epstein as an assistant director on Mauprat (1926) and La chute de la maison Usher (1928), and also for Mario Nalpas on La SirÃ¨ne des Tropiques (1927), starring Josephine Baker. He appeared on screen in a small part as a smuggler in Jacques Feyder's Carmen (1926).
When BuÃ±uel somewhat derisively refused to acquiesce to Epstein's demand that he assist Epstein's mentor, Abel Gance, who was at the time working on the film NapolÃ©on, Epstein dismissed him angrily, saying "How can a little asshole like you dare to talk that way about a great director like Gance?" then added "You seem rather surrealist. Beware of surrealists, they are crazy people."
After parting with Epstein, BuÃ±uel worked as film critic for La Gaceta Literaria (1927) and Les Cahiers d'Art (1928). In the periodicals L'Amic de les Arts and La gaseta de les Arts, he and DalÃ carried on a series of "call and response" essays on cinema and theater, debating such technical issues as segmentation, dÃ©coupage, "photogenia" (founded on the insert shot) and rhythmic editing. He also collaborated with the celebrated writer RamÃ³n GÃ³mez de la Serna on the script for what he hoped would be his first film, "a story in six scenes" called Los caprichos. Through his involvement with Gaceta Literaria, he helped establish Madridâs first cine-club and served as its inaugural chairman.
It was during this time that he met his future wife, Jeanne Rucar Lefebvre, a gymnastics teacher who had won an Olympic bronze medal. BuÃ±uel courted her in a formal Aragonese manner, complete with a chaperone, and they married in 1934 despite a warning by Jean Epstein when BuÃ±uel first proposed in 1930: "Jeanne, you are making a mistake... It's not right for you, don't marry him." The two remained married throughout his life and had two sons, Juan-Luis and Rafael. Diego BuÃ±uel, filmmaker and host of the National Geographic Channel's Don't Tell My Mother series, is their grandson.
Un Chien Andalou (1929)
After this apprenticeship, BuÃ±uel co-wrote and directed a 16-minute short, Un Chien Andalou, with Salvador DalÃ. The film, financed by BuÃ±uel's mother, consists of a series of startling images of a Freudian nature, starting with a woman's eyeball being sliced open with a razor blade. Un Chien Andalou was enthusiastically received by the burgeoning French surrealist movement of the time and continues to be shown regularly in film societies to this day.
The script was written in six days at DalÃ's home in CadaquÃ©s. In a letter to a friend written in February 1929, BuÃ±uel described the writing process: "We had to look for the plot line. DalÃ said to me, 'I dreamed last night of ants swarming around in my hands', and I said, 'Good Lord, and I dreamed that I had sliced somebody or other's eye. There's the film, let's go and make it.'" In deliberate contrast to the approach taken by Jean Epstein and his peers, which was to never leave anything in their work to chance, with every aesthetic decision having a rational explanation and fitting clearly into the whole, BuÃ±uel and DalÃ made a cardinal point of eliminating all logical associations. In BuÃ±uel's words: "Our only rule was very simple: no idea or image that might lend itself to a rational explanation of any kind would be accepted. We had to open all doors to the irrational and keep only those images that surprised us, without trying to explain why".
It was BuÃ±uel's intention to shock and insult the intellectual bourgeoisie of his youth, later saying: "Historically the film represents a violent reaction against what in those days was called âavant-garde,â which was aimed exclusively at artistic sensibility and the audienceâs reason.â Against his hopes and expectations, the film was a huge success amongst the French bourgeoisie, leading BuÃ±uel to exclaim in exasperation, "What can I do about the people who adore all that is new, even when it goes against their deepest convictions, or about the insincere, corrupt press, and the inane herd that saw beauty or poetry in something which was basically no more than a desperate impassioned call for murder?"
Although Un Chien Andalou is a silent film, during the original screening (attended by the elite of the Parisian art world), BuÃ±uel played a sequence of phonograph records which he switched manually while keeping his pockets full of stones with which to pelt anticipated hecklers. After the premiere, BuÃ±uel and DalÃ were granted formal admittance to the tight-knit community of Surrealists, led by poet AndrÃ© Breton.
L'Age d'Or (1930)
Late in 1929, on the strength of Un Chien Andalou, BuÃ±uel and DalÃ were commissioned to make another short film by Marie-Laurie and Charles de Noailles, owners of a private cinema on the Place des Ãtats-Unis and financial supporters of productions by Jacques Manuel, Man Ray and Pierre Chenal. At first, the intent was that the new film be around the same length as Un Chien, only this time with sound. But by mid-1930, the film had grown segmentally to an hour's duration. Anxious that it was over twice as long as planned and at double the budget, BuÃ±uel offered to trim the film and cease production, but Noailles gave him the go-ahead to continue the project.
The film, entitled L'Age d'Or, was begun as a second collaboration with DalÃ, but, while working on the scenario, the two had a falling out; BuÃ±uel, who at the time had strong leftist sympathies, desired a deliberate undermining of all bourgeois institutions, while DalÃ, who eventually supported the Spanish nationalist dictator Francisco Franco and various figures of the European aristocracy, wanted merely to cause a scandal through the use of various scatological and anti-Catholic images. The friction between them was exacerbated when, at a dinner party in CadaquÃ©s, BuÃ±uel tried to throttle DalÃ's girlfriend, Gala, the wife of Surrealist poet Paul Ãluard. In consequence, DalÃ had nothing to do with the actual shooting of the film. During the course of production, BuÃ±uel worked around his technical ignorance by filming mostly in sequence and using nearly every foot of film that he shot. BuÃ±uel invited friends and acquaintances to appear, gratis, in the film; for example, anyone who owned a tuxedo or a party frock got a part in the salon scene.
L'Age d'Or was publicly proclaimed by DalÃ as a deliberate attack on Catholicism, and this precipitated a much larger scandal than Un Chien Andalou. One early screening was taken over by members of the fascist League of Patriots and the Anti-Jewish Youth Group, who hurled purple ink at the screen and then vandalised the adjacent art gallery, destroying a number of valuable surrealist paintings. The film was banned by the Parisian police "in the name of public order". The de Noailles, both Catholics, were threatened with excommunication by The Vatican because of the filmâs blasphemous final scene (which visually links Jesus Christ with the writings of the Marquis de Sade), so they made the decision in 1934 to withdraw all prints from circulation, and L'Age d'Or was not seen again until 1979, after their deaths, although a print was smuggled to England for private viewing. The furor was so great that the premiere of another film financed by the de Noailles, Jean Cocteau's The Blood of a Poet, had to be delayed for over two years until outrage over L'Age d'Or had died down. To make matters worse, Charles de Noailles was forced to withdraw his membership from the Jockey Club.
Concurrent with the succÃ¨s de scandale, both BuÃ±uel and the film's leading lady, Lya Lys, received offers of interest from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and traveled to Hollywood at the studio's expense. While in the United States, BuÃ±uel associated with other celebrity expatriates including Sergei Eisenstein, Josef Von Sternberg, Jacques Feyder, Charles Chaplin and Bertolt Brecht. All that was required of BuÃ±uel by his loose-ended contract with MGM was that he "learn some good American technical skills", but, after being ushered off the first set he visited because the star, Greta Garbo, did not welcome intruders, he decided to stay at home most of the time and only show up to collect his paycheck. His only enduring contribution to MGM came when he served as an extra in La Fruta Amarga, a Spanish-language remake of Min and Bill. When, after a few months at the studio, he was asked to watch rushes of Lili Damita to gauge her Spanish accent, he refused and sent a message to studio boss Irving Thalberg stating that he was there as a Frenchman, not a Spaniard, and he "didn't have time to waste listening to one of the whores". He was back in Spain shortly thereafter.
Spain in the early 1930s was a time of political and social turbulence, a period of intense and bloody upheaval. Anarchists and Radical Socialists sacked monarchist headquarters in Madrid and proceeded to set afire or otherwise wreck more than a dozen churches in the capital while similar revolutionary acts occurred in a score of other cities in southern and eastern Spain, in most cases with the acquiescence and occasionally with the assistance of the official Republican authorities.
BuÃ±uel's future wife, Jeanne Rucar, recalled that during that period, "he got very excited about politics and the ideas that were everywhere in pre-Civil War Spain". In the first flush of his enthusiasm, BuÃ±uel joined the Communist Party of Spain (PCE) in 1931 though later in life he denied becoming a Communist.
In 1932, BuÃ±uel was invited to serve as film documentarian for the celebrated Mission Dakar-Djibouti, the first large-scale French anthropological field expedition, which, led by Marcel Griaule, unearthed some 3,500 African artifacts for the new MusÃ©e de l'Homme. Although he declined, the project piqued his interest in ethnography. After reading the academic study, Las Jurdes: Ã©tude de gÃ©ographie humaine (1927) by Maurice Legendre, he decided to make a film focused on peasant life in Extremadura, one of Spain's poorest states. The film, called Las Hurdes: Tierra Sin Pan (1933), was financed on a budget of 20,000 pesetas donated by a working-class anarchist friend named RamÃ³n AcÃn, who had won the money in a lottery. In the film, BuÃ±uel matches scenes of deplorable social conditions with narration that resembles travelogue commentary delivered by a detached-sounding announcer, while the soundtrack thunders inappropriate music by Brahms.
Las Hurdes was banned by three successive Republican governments, definitively by Franco when he came to power. It is film which continues to perplex viewers and resists easy categorization by film historians. Las Hurdes has been called one of the first examples of mockumentary, and has been labeled a "surrealist documentary", a term defined by critic MercÃ¨ Ibarz as "A multi-layered and unnerving use of sound, the juxtaposition of narrative forms already learnt from the written press, travelogues and new pedagogic methods, as well as a subversive use of photographed and filmed documents understood as a basis for contemporary propaganda for the masses". Catherine Russell has stated that in Las Hurdes, BuÃ±uel was able to reconcile his political philosophy with his surrealist aesthetic, with surrealism becoming, "a means of awakening a marxist materialism in danger of becoming a stale orthodoxy."
After Las Hurdes, BuÃ±uel worked in Paris in the dubbing department of Paramount Pictures, but following his marriage in 1934, he switched to Warner Brothers because they operated dubbing studios in Madrid. A friend, Ricardo Urgoiti, who owned the commercial film company FilmÃ³fono, invited BuÃ±uel to produce films for a mass audience. He accepted the offer, viewing it as an "experiment" as he knew the film industry in Spain was still far behind the technical level of Hollywood or Paris. According to film historian Manuel Rotellarâs interviews with members of the cast and crew of the FilmÃ³fono studios, BuÃ±uelâs only condition was that his involvement with these pictures be completely anonymous, apparently for fear of damaging his reputation as a surrealist. Rotellar insists, however, "the truth is that it was Luis BuÃ±uel who directed the FilmÃ³fono productions". JosÃ© Luis SÃ¡enz de Heredia, the titular director of two of the films created during BuÃ±uel's years as "executive producer" at FilmÃ³fono, recounted that it was BuÃ±uel who "explained to me every morning what he wanted...We looked at the takes together and it was BuÃ±uel who chose the shots, and in editing, I wasnât even allowed to be present." Of the 18 films produced by BuÃ±uel during his years at FilmÃ³fono, the four that are believed by critical consensus to have been directed by him are:
- Don QuintÃn el amargao (Don Quintin the Sourpuss), 1935 â" a musical based on a play by Carlos Arniches, the first zarzuela (a type of Spanish opera) filmed in sound.
- La hija de Juan SimÃ³n (Juan SimÃ³n's Daughter), 1935 â" another musical and a major commercial success
- Â¿QuiÃ©n me quiere a mÃ? (Who Loves Me?), 1936 â" a sentimental comedy that BuÃ±uel called "my only commercial failure, and a pretty dismal one at that."
- Â¡Centinela, alerta!, (Sentry, Keep Watch!), 1937 â" a comedy and FilmÃ³fono's biggest box-office hit.
During the Spanish Civil War (1936â"1939), BuÃ±uel placed himself at the disposal of the Republican government. The minister for foreign affairs sent him first to Geneva and then to Paris for two years, with official responsibility for cataloging Republican propaganda films. But BuÃ±uel didn't limit his efforts to this alone; some of his other activities included taking left-wing tracts to Spain, occasionally doing some spying, acting as a bodyguard, and supervising the making of a documentary, titled EspaÃ±a 1936 in France and Espana leal, Â¡en armas! in Spain, that covered the elections, the parades, the riots, and the war. In August 1936, Federico GarcÃa Lorca was shot and killed by Nationalist militia. According to his son, Juan Luis, BuÃ±uel rarely talked about Lorca but mourned the poetâs untimely death throughout his life.
BuÃ±uel essentially functioned as the coordinator of film propaganda for the Republic, which meant that he was in a position to examine all film shot in the country and decide what sequences could be developed and distributed abroad. The Spanish Ambassador suggested that BuÃ±uel revisit Hollywood where he could give technical advice on films being made there about the Spanish Civil War, so he and his family traveled to the United States using funds obtained from his old patrons, the Noailles. Almost immediately upon his arrival in America, however, the war ended and the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association of America discontinued making films on the Spanish conflict. According to BuÃ±uel's wife, returning to Spain was impossible since the Fascists had seized power, so BuÃ±uel decided to stay in the U.S. indefinitely, stating that he was "immensely attracted by the American naturalness and sociability."
United States (1938â"1945)
Returning to Hollywood in 1938, he was befriended by Frank Davis, an MGM producer and member of the Communist Party USA, who placed BuÃ±uel on the payroll of Cargo of Innocence, a film about Spanish refugee mothers and children fleeing from Bilbao to the USSR. The project was shelved precipitately when another Hollywood film about the Spanish Civil War, Blockade, was met with disfavor by the Catholic League of Decency. In the words of biographer Ruth Brandon, BuÃ±uel and his family "lived from one unsatisfactory crumb of work to another" because he "had none of the arrogance and pushiness essential for survival in Hollywood." He just wasn't flamboyant enough to capture the attention of Hollywood decision makers, in the opinion of film composer George Antheil: "Inasmuch as [BuÃ±uel], his wife and his little boy seemed to be such absolutely normal, solid persons, as totally un-Surrealist in the DalÃ tradition as one could possibly imagine." For the most part, he was snubbed by many of the people in the film community whom he met during his first trip to America, although he was able to sell some gags to Chaplin for his film The Great Dictator.
In desperation, to market himself to independent producers, he composed a 21-page autobiography, a section of which, headed "My Present Plans", outlined proposals for two documentary films:
- "The Primitive Man", which would depict "the terrible struggle of primitive man against a hostile universe, how the world appeared, how they saw it, what ideas they had on love, on death, on fraternity, how and why religion is born", [italics in original]
- "Psycho-Pathology", which would "expose the origin and development of different psychopathic diseases... Such a documental film, apart from its great scientific interest, could depict on screen a New Form of Terror or its synonym Humour." [italics in original]
Nobody showed any interest and BuÃ±uel realized that staying in Los Angeles was futile, so he traveled to New York to see if he could change his fortunes.
In New York, Antheil introduced BuÃ±uel to Iris Barry, chief curator of film at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). Barry talked BuÃ±uel into joining a committee formed to help educate those within the U.S. government who might not have appreciated fully the effectiveness of film as a medium of propaganda. BuÃ±uel was hired to produce a shortened version of Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will (1935) as a demonstration project. The finished product was a compilation of scenes from Riefenstahl's Nazi epic with Hans Bertram's Feuertaufe. BuÃ±uel stayed at MoMA to work for the Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs (OCIAA) as part of a production team that would gather, review and edit films intended as anti-fascist propaganda to be distributed in Latin America by American embassies. While being vetted for the job at the OCIAA, upon being asked if he was a Communist, he replied: "I am a Republican," and, apparently, the interviewer didn't realize that BuÃ±uel was referring to the Spanish socialist coalition government, not the American political party. Describing BuÃ±uel's work at MoMA, his friend, composer Gustavo Pittaluga, stated: "Luis created maybe 2,000 remarkable works. We were sent anodyne documentaries, often extremely feeble primary materials, which the Museum team turned into marvellous films. And not just Spanish versions, but also Portuguese, French and English... He would create a good documentary through editing." [italics in original]
In 1942, BuÃ±uel applied for American citizenship, because he anticipated that MoMA would soon be put under federal control. But that same year, DalÃ published his autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador DalÃ, in which he made it clear that he had split with BuÃ±uel because the latter was a Communist and an atheist. News of this reached Archbishop Spellman, who angrily confronted Barry with the question: "Are you aware that you are harbouring in this Museum the Antichrist, the man who made a blasphemous film L'Age d'Or?" At the same time, a campaign on the part of Hollywood, through its industry trade paper, the Motion Picture Herald, to undermine the MoMA film unit resulted in a 66% reduction in the department's budget and BuÃ±uel felt himself compelled to resign. In 1944, he returned to Hollywood for the third time, this time as Spanish Dubbing Producer for Warner Brothers. Before leaving New York, he confronted DalÃ at his hotel, the Sherry Netherland, to tell the painter about the damage his book had done and then shoot him in the knee. BuÃ±uel did not carry out the violent part of his plan. DalÃ explained himself by saying: "I did not write my book to put YOU on a pedestal. I wrote it to put ME on a pedestal".
BuÃ±uel's first dubbing assignment on returning to Hollywood was My Reputation, a Barbara Stanwyck picture which became El Que Diran in BuÃ±uel's hands. In addition to his dubbing work, BuÃ±uel attempted to develop a number of independent projects:
- In collaboration with an old friend from his Surrealist days, Man Ray, he worked on a scenario called The Sewers of Los Angeles, which took place on a mountain of excrement close to a highway and a dust basin.
- With his friend, JosÃ© Rubia Barcia, he co-wrote a screenplay called La novia de medianoche (The Midnight Bride), a gothic thriller, which lay dormant until it was filmed by Antonio SimÃ³n in 1997.
- He continued working on a screenplay called "Goya and the Duchess of Alba", a treatment he had started as early as 1927, with the actor/producer FloriÃ¡n Rey and cameraman JosÃ© MarÃa BeltrÃ¡n, and then resuscitated in 1937 as a project for Paramount.
- In his 1982 autobiography Mon Dernier soupir (My Last Sigh, 1983), BuÃ±uel wrote that at the request of director Robert Florey, he submitted a treatment of a scene about a disembodied hand, which was later included in the movie The Beast with Five Fingers (1946), starring Peter Lorre, without acknowledgement of BuÃ±uel's contribution or payment of any compensation. However, Brian Taves, film scholar and archivist with the Library of Congress, has challenged the truth of this claim.
In 1945, BuÃ±uel's contract with Warner Brothers expired, and he decided not to renew it in order, as he put it: "to realize my life's ambition for a year: to do nothing". While his family enjoyed themselves at the beach, BuÃ±uel spent much of his time in Antelope Valley with new acquaintances writer Aldous Huxley and sculptor Alexander Calder, from whom he rented a house.
In his autobiography, in a chapter about his second spell in America, BuÃ±uel states that "[o]n several occasions, both American and European producers have suggested that I tackle a film version of Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano". He says that he read the book many times as well as eight different screenplays but was unable to come up with a solution for the cinema. The movie was eventually made in 1984 by John Huston.
Mexican period (1946â"1953)
The following year, an old friend, producer Denise Tual, the widow of Pierre Batcheff, the leading man in Un Chien Andalou, proposed that she and BuÃ±uel adapt Lorcaâs play, La casa de Bernarda Alba, for production in Paris. As it turned out, though, before they could both make their way to Europe, they encountered problems in securing the rights from Lorca's family. While in Mexico City, on a stopover, they had asked Ã"scar Dancigers, a Russian Ã©migrÃ© producer active in Mexico, for financing. Dancigers ran an independent production company that specialized in assisting U.S. film studios with on-location shooting in Mexico, but following World WarÂ II, he had lost his connection with Hollywood due to his being blacklisted as a Communist. Although Dancigers wasn't enthusiastic about the Lorca project, he did want to work with BuÃ±uel and persuaded the Spanish director to make a film for him.
The so-called "Golden Age" of Mexican cinema, was climaxing in the mid-to-late 1940s, at just the time BuÃ±uel was connecting with Dancigers. Movies represented Mexicoâs third largest industry by 1947, employing 32,000 workers, with 72 film producers who invested 66 million pesos (approximately U.S. $13 million) per year, four active studios with 40 million pesos of invested capital, and approximately 1,500 theaters throughout the nation, with about 200 in Mexico City alone. For their first project, the two men selected what seemed like a sure-fire success, Gran Casino, a musical period piece set in Tampico during the boom years of oil exploitation, starring two of the most popular entertainers in Latin America: Libertad Lamarque, an Argentine actress and singer, and Jorge Negrete, a Mexican singer and leading man in "charro" films. BuÃ±uel recalled: "I kept them singing all the timeâ"a competition, a championship".
The film was not successful at the box office, with some even calling it a fiasco. Different reasons have been given for its failure with the public; for some, BuÃ±uel was forced to make concessions to the bad taste of his stars, particularly Negrete, others cite BuÃ±uel's rusty technical skills and lack of confidence after so many years out of the director's chair, while still others speculate that Mexican audiences were tiring of genre movies, called "churros", that were perceived as being cheaply and hastily made.
The failure of Gran Casino sidelined BuÃ±uel, and it was over two years before he had the chance to direct another picture. According to BuÃ±uel, he spent this time "scratching my nose, watching flies and living off my mother's money", but he was actually somewhat more industrious than that may sound. With the husband/wife team of Janet and Luis Alcoriza, he wrote the scenario for Si usted no puede, yo sÃ, which was filmed in 1950 by JuliÃ¡n Soler. He also continued developing the idea for a surrealistic film called Ilegible, hijo de flauta, with the poet Juan Larrea. Dancigers pointed out to him that there was currently a vogue for films about street urchins, so BuÃ±uel scoured the back streets and slums of Mexico City in search of material, interviewing social workers about street gang warfare and murdered children.
During this period, Dancigers was busy producing films for the actor/director Fernando Soler, one of the most durable of Mexican film personalities, having been referred to as the "national paterfamilias". Although Soler typically preferred to direct his own films, for their latest collaboration, El Gran Calavera, based on a play by Adolfo Torrado, he decided that doing both jobs would be too much trouble, so he asked Dancigers to find someone who could be trusted to handle the technical aspects of the directorial duties. BuÃ±uel welcomed the opportunity, stating that: "I amused myself with the montage, the constructions, the angles... All of that interested me because I was still an apprentice in so-called 'normal' cinema." As a result of his work on this film, he developed a technique for making films cheaply and quickly by limiting them to 125 shots. El Gran Calavera was completed in 16 days at a cost of 400,000 pesos (approximately $46,000 US at 1948 exchange rates). The picture has been described as "a hilarious screwball send-up of the Mexican nouveau riche... a wild roller coaster of mistaken identity, sham marriages and misfired suicides", and it was a big hit at the box office in Mexico. In 2013, the picture was re-made by Mexican director Gary Alazraki under the title The Noble Family. In 1949, BuÃ±uel renounced his Spanish citizenship to become a nationalized Mexican.
The commercial success of El Gran Calavera enabled BuÃ±uel to redeem a promise he had extracted from Dancigers, which was that if BuÃ±uel could deliver a money-maker, Dancigers would guarantee "a degree of freedom" on the next film project. Knowing that Dancigers was uncomfortable with experimentalism, especially when it might affect the bottom line, BuÃ±uel proposed a commercial project titled Â¡Mi huerfanito jefe!, about a juvenile street vendor who can't sell his final lottery ticket, which ends up being the winner and making him rich. Dancigers was open to the idea, but instead of a "feuilleton", he suggested making "something rather more serious". During his recent researches through the slums of Mexico City, BuÃ±uel had read a newspaper account of a twelve-year-old boy's body being found on a garbage dump, and this became the inspiration, and final scene, for the film, called Los olvidados.
The film tells the story of a street gang of children who terrorize their impoverished neighborhood, at one point brutalizing a blind man and at another assaulting a legless man who moves around on a dolly, which they toss down a hill. Film historian Carl J. Mora has said of Los olvidados that the director: "visualized poverty in a radically different way from the traditional forms of Mexican melodrama. BuÃ±uel's street children are not 'ennobled' by their desperate struggle for survival; they are in fact ruthless predators who are not better than their equally unromanticized victims". The film was made quickly (18 days) and cheaply (450,000 pesos), with BuÃ±uel's fee being the equivalent of $2,000. During filming, a number of members of the crew resisted the production in a variety of ways: one technician confronted BuÃ±uel and asked why he didn't make a "real" Mexican movie "rather than a miserable picture like this one", the film's hairdresser quit on the spot over a scene in which the protagonist's mother refuses to give him food ("In Mexico, no mother would say that to her son."), another staff member urged BuÃ±uel to abandon shooting on a "garbage heap", noting that there were many "lovely residential neighborhoods like Las Lomas" that were available, while Pedro de Urdimalas, one of the scriptwriters, refused to allow his name in the credits.
This hostility was also felt by those who attended the movieâs premiÃ¨re in Mexico City on 9 November 1950, when Los olvidados was taken by many as an insult to Mexican sensibilities and to the Mexican nation. At one point, the audience shrieked in shock as one of the characters looked straight into the camera and hurled a rotten egg at it, leaving a gelatinous, opaque ooze on the lens for a few moments. In his memoir, BuÃ±uel recalled that after the initial screening, painter Diego Rivera's wife refused to speak to him, while poet LeÃ³n Felipe's wife had to be restrained physically from attacking him. There were even calls to have BuÃ±uel's Mexican citizenship revoked. Dancigers, panicked by what he feared would be a complete debacle, quickly commissioned an alternate "happy" ending to the film, and also tacked on a preface showing stock footage of the skylines of New York, London and Paris with voice-over commentary to the effect that behind the wealth of all the great cities of the world can be found poverty and malnourished children, and that Mexico City "that large modern city, is no exception". Regardless, attendance was so poor that Dancigers withdrew the film after only three days in theaters.
Through the determined efforts of future Nobel Prize winner for Literature Octavio Paz, who at the time was in Mexico's diplomatic service, Los olvidados was chosen to represent Mexico at the Cannes Film Festival of 1951, and Paz promoted the film assiduously by distributing a supportive manifesto and parading outside the cinema with a placard. Opinion in general was enthusiastic, with the Surrealists (Breton and poet Jacques Prevert) and other artistic intellectuals (painter Marc Chagall and poet/dramatist/filmmaker Jean Cocteau) laudatory, but the communists objected to what they saw as the film's "bourgeois morality" for containing a scene in which the police stop a pederast from assaulting a child. BuÃ±uel won the Best Director prize that year at Cannes, and also won the FIPRESCI International Critics' Award. After receiving these accolades, the film was reissued in Mexico where it ran for two months to much greater acceptance and profit. Los olvidados and its triumph at Cannes made BuÃ±uel an instant world celebrity and the most important Spanish-speaking film director in the world. In 2003, Los olvidados was recommended by UNESCO for inclusion in the Memory of the World Register, calling it: "the most important document in Spanish about the marginal lives of children in contemporary large cities".
BuÃ±uel remained in Mexico for the rest of his life, although he spent periods of time filming in France and Spain. In Mexico, he filmed 21 films during an 18-year period. For many critics, although there were occasional widely-acknowledged masterpieces like Los olvidados and Ãl (1953), the majority of his output consisted of generic fare which was adapted to the norms of the national film industry, frequently adopting melodramatic conventions that appealed to local tastes. Other commentators, however, have written of the deceptive complexity and intensity of many of these films, arguing that, collectively, they, "bring a philosophical depth and power to his cinema, together offering a sustained meditation on ideas of religion, class inequity, violence and desire." Although BuÃ±uel usually had little choice regarding the selection of these projects, they often deal with themes that were central to his lifelong concerns:
- sexual pathology: Ãl (1953), Ensayo de un crimen (1955), and Abismos de pasiÃ³n (1954)
- the destructive effects of rampant machismo: El Bruto, (1953), El rÃo y la muerte, (1955);
- the blurring of fantasy and reality: Subida al cielo (1952), La ilusiÃ³n viaja en tranvÃa (1954);
- the disruptive status of women in a male-dominated culture: Susana (1951), La hija del engaÃ±o (1951â"a remake of the FilmÃ³fono production Don QuintÃn el amargao of 16 years earlier), Una mujer sin amor (1952); and
- the absurdity of the religious life: NazarÃn (1959) and SimÃ³n del desierto (1965).
As busy as he was during the 1950s and early 1960s, there were still many film projects that BuÃ±uel had to abandon due to lack of financing or studio support, including a cherished plan to film Mexican novelist Juan Rulfo's Pedro PÃ¡ramo, of which he said how much he enjoyed "the crossing from the mysterious to the real, almost without transition. I really like this mixture of reality and fantasy, but I don't know how to bring it to the screen." Other unrealized projects included adaptations of AndrÃ© Gide's Les caves du Vatican; Benito PÃ©rez GaldÃ³s's Fortunata y Jacinta, DoÃ±a Perfecta, and Ãngel Guerra; Evelyn Waugh's The Loved One; William Golding's Lord of the Flies; Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun; J. K. Huysmans' LÃ -Bas; Matthew Lewis's The Monk; JosÃ© Donoso's Lugar sin lÃmites; a film of four stories based on Carlos Fuentes's Aura; and Julio CortÃ¡zar's Las mÃ©nades.
Mexico and beyond: Return to international filmmaking (1954â"1960)
As much as he welcomed steady employment in the Mexican film industry, BuÃ±uel was quick to seize opportunities to re-emerge onto the international film scene and to engage with themes that were not necessarily focused on Mexican preoccupations. His first chance came in 1954, when Dancigers partnered with Henry F. Ehrlich, of United Artists, to co-produce a film version of Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, using a script developed by the Canadian writer Hugo Butler, another emigre from Hollywood who had run afoul of authorities seeking out communists. The result, Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, was BuÃ±uel's first color film. BuÃ±uel was given much more time than usual for the filming (three months), which was accomplished on location in Manzanillo, a Pacific seaport with a lush jungle interior, and was shot simultaneously in English and Spanish. When the film was released in the United States, its young star Dan O'Herlihy used his own money to fund a Los Angeles run for the film and gave free admission to all members of the Screen Actors Guild, who in turn rewarded the little-known actor with his only Oscar nomination.
In the mid-1950s, BuÃ±uel got the chance to work again in France on international co-productions. The result was what critic Raymond Durgnat has called the director's "revolutionary triptych", in that each of the three films is "openly, or by implication, a study in the morality and tactics of armed revolution against a right-wing dictatorship." The first, Cela s'appelle l'aurore (Franco-Italian, 1956) required BuÃ±uel and the "pataphysical" writer Jean Ferry to adapt a novel by Emmanuel RoblÃ¨s after the celebrated writer Jean Genet failed to deliver a script after having been paid in full. The second film was La mort en ce jardin (Franco-Mexican, 1956), which was adapted by BuÃ±uel and his frequent collaborator Luis Alcoriza from a novel by the Belgian writer JosÃ©-AndrÃ© Lacour. The final part of the "triptych" was La FiÃ¨vre Monte Ã El Pao (Franco-Mexican, 1959), the last film of the popular French star GÃ©rard Philipe, who died in the final stages of the production. BuÃ±uel was later to explain that he was so strapped for cash that he, "took everything that was offered to me, as long as it wasnât humiliating."
In 1960, BuÃ±uel re-teamed with scenarist Hugo Butler to make his second English-language film, a US/Mexico co-production called The Young One, based on a short story by writer and former CIA-agent Peter Matthiessen. This film has been called "a surprisingly uncompromising study of racism and sexual desire, set on a remote island in the Deep South" and has been described by critic Ed Gonzalez as, "salacious enough to make Elia Kazan's Baby Doll and Luis Malle's Pretty Baby blush." Although the film won a special award at the Cannes Film Festival for its treatment of racial discrimination, the US critics were so hostile upon its release that BuÃ±uel was later to say that, "a Harlem newspaper even wrote that I should be hung upside down from a lamppost on Fifth Avenueâ¦.I made this film with love, but it never had a chance." In the words of film historian Peter Harcourt: "if The Young One must still be considered a 'bad' film by conventional standards, then it is one of the most subtle, most challenging and most distinguished bad films ever made."
Late international period (1961-1977)
At the 1960 Cannes Festival, BuÃ±uel was approached by the young director Carlos Saura, whose film Los Golfos had been entered officially to represent Spain. Two years earlier, Saura had partnered with Juan Antonio Bardem and Luis GarcÃa Berlanga to form a production company called UNINCI, and the group was keen to get BuÃ±uel to make a new film in his native country as part of their overall goal of creating a uniquely Spanish brand of cinema. At the same time, Mexican actress Silvia Pinal was eager to work with BuÃ±uel and talked her producer-husband Gustavo Alatriste into providing additional funding for the project with the understanding that the director, who Pinal described as "a man worshiped and idolized", would be given "absolute freedom" in carrying out the work. Finally, BuÃ±uel agreed to work again in Spain when further support was provided by producer Pere Portabella's company Film 59.
BuÃ±uel and his co-scenarist Julio Alejandro drafted a preliminary screenplay for Viridiana, which critic Andrew Sarris has described as incorporating "a plot which is almost too lurid to synopsize even in these enlightened times", dealing with rape, incest, hints of necrophilia, animal cruelty and sacrilege, and dutifully submitted it to the Spanish censor, who, to the surprise of nearly everyone, approved it after requesting only minor modifications and one significant change to the ending. Although BuÃ±uel accommodated the censor's demands, he came up with a final scene that was even more provocative than the scene it replaced: "even more immoral", as BuÃ±uel was later to observe. Since BuÃ±uel had more than adequate resources, top-flight technical and artistic crews, and experienced actors, filming of Viridiana (which took place on location and at Bardem's studios in Madrid) went smoothly and quickly.
BuÃ±uel submitted a cutting copy to the censors and then arranged for his son, Juan-Luis, to smuggle the negatives to Paris for the final editing and mixing, ensuring that the authorities would not have an opportunity to view the finished product before its planned submission as Spain's official entry to the 1961 Cannes Festival. Spain's director general of cinematography JosÃ© Munoz-Fontan presented the film on the last day of the festival and then, on the urging of Portabella and Bardem, appeared in person to accept the top prize, the Palme d'Or, which the film shared with the French entry Une aussi longue absence, directed by Henri Colpi. Within days, l'Osservatore Romano, the Vatican's official organ, denounced the film as an insult not only to Catholicism but to Christianity in general. Consequences to nearly all concerned were swift: Munoz-Fontan was cashiered from his government post, the film was banned in Spain for the next 17 years, all mention of it in the press was prohibited, and the two Spanish production companies UNINCI and Film 59 were disbanded.
BuÃ±uel went on to make two more films in Mexico with Pinal and Alatriste, El Ã¡ngel exterminador (1962) and SimÃ³n del desierto (1965)â" along with Viridiana, they form the so-called "BuÃ±uelian trilogy" â" and was later to say that Alatriste had been the one producer who gave him the most freedom in creative expression. Pinal was keenly interested in continuing to work with BuÃ±uel, trusting him completely and frequently stating that he brought out the best in her. In 1963, actor Fernando Rey, one of the stars of Viridiana, introduced BuÃ±uel to producer Serge Silberman, a Polish entrepreneur who had fled to Paris when his family died in the Holocaust and had worked with several renowned French directors, including Jean-Pierre Melville, Jacques Becker, Marcel Camus and Christian-Jaque. Silberman proposed that the two make an adaptation of Octave Mirbeau's Journal d'une femme de chambre, which BuÃ±uel had read several times. BuÃ±uel wanted to do the filming in Mexico with Pinal, but Silberman insisted it be done in France.
Pinal was so determined to work again with BuÃ±uel that she was ready to move to France, learn the language and even work for nothing in order to get the part of CÃ©lestine, the title character. Silberman, however, wanted French actress Jeanne Moreau to play the role, so he put Pinal off by telling her that Moreau, too, was willing to act with no fee. Ultimately, Silberman got his way, leaving Pinal so disappointed that she was later to claim that Alatriste's failure to help her secure this part led to the breakup of their marriage. When BuÃ±uel requested a French-speaking writer with whom to collaborate on the screenplay, Silberman suggested the 32-year-old Jean-Claude CarriÃ¨re, an actor whose previous screenwriting credits included only a few films for the comic star/director Pierre Etaix, but once BuÃ±uel learned that CarriÃ¨re was the scion of a wine-growing family, the newcomer was hired on the spot. At first, CarriÃ¨re found it difficult to work with BuÃ±uel, because the young man was so deferential to the famous director that he never challenged any of BuÃ±uel's ideas, until, at BuÃ±uel's covert insistence, Silberman told CarriÃ¨re to stand up to BuÃ±uel now and then; as CarriÃ¨re was later to say: "In a way, BuÃ±uel needed an opponent. He didn't need a secretary -- he needed someone to contradict him and oppose him and to make suggestions." The finished film, Diary of a Chambermaid, became the first of several to be made by the team of BuÃ±uel, CarriÃ¨re and Silberman. CarriÃ¨re was later to say: "Without me and without Serge Silberman, the producer, perhaps BuÃ±uel would not have made so many films after he was 65. We really encouraged him to work. That's for sure." This was the second attempt to film Mirbeau's novel, the first being a 1946 Hollywood production directed by Jean Renoir, which BuÃ±uel refused to view for fear of being influenced by the famous French director, whom he venerated. BuÃ±uel's version, while admired by many, has often been compared unfavorably to Renoir's, with a number of critics claiming that Renoir's Diary fits better in Renoir's overall oeuvre, while BuÃ±uel's Diary is not sufficiently "BuÃ±uelian".
After the release of Diary, BuÃ±uel again tried to make a film of Matthew Lewis' The Monk, a project on which he had worked, on and off, since 1938, according to producer Pierre Braunberger. He and CarriÃ¨re wrote a screenplay, but were unable to obtain funding for the project, which would be finally realized in 1973 under the direction of BuÃ±uel devotee Ado Kyrou, with considerable assistance from both BuÃ±uel and CarriÃ¨re. However, shortly afterward, in 1965, he would manage to work again with Sylvia Pinal in what would turn out to be his last Mexican feature, co-starring Claudio Brook, SimÃ³n del desierto. Pinal was keenly interested in continuing to work with BuÃ±uel, trusting him completely and frequently stating that he brought out the best in her, however, this would be their last collaboration.
In 1966, BuÃ±uel was approached by the Hakim brothers, Robert and Raymond, Egyptian-French producers who specialized in sexy films directed by star filmmakers, who offered him the opportunity to direct a film version of Joseph Kessel's novel Belle de Jour, a book about an affluent young woman who leads a double life as a prostitute, and that had caused a scandal upon its first publication in 1928. BuÃ±uel did not like Kessel's novel, considering it "a bit of a soap opera", but he took on the challenge because: "I found it interesting to try to turn something I didnât like into something I did." So he and CarriÃ¨re set out enthusiastically to interview women in the brothels of Madrid to learn about their sexual fantasies. BuÃ±uel also was not happy about the choice of the 22-year old Catherine Deneuve for the title role, feeling that she had been foisted upon him by the Hakim brothers and Deneuve's lover at the time, director FranÃ§ois Truffaut. As a result, both actress and director found working together difficult, with Deneuve claiming, âI felt they showed more of me than theyâd said they were going to. There were moments when I felt totally used. I was very unhappy,â and BuÃ±uel deriding her prudery on the set and complaining that the hairdresser had to bind her breasts in order to assure her that they would not show on screen. The resulting film has been described by film critic Roger Ebert as "possibly the best-known erotic film of modern times, perhaps the best", even though, as another critic has written, "in terms of explicit sexual activity, there is little in Belle de jour we might not see in a Doris Day comedy from the same year". It was BuÃ±uel's most successful film at the box office.
Critics have noted BuÃ±uel's habit of following up a commercial or critical success with a more personal, idiosyncratic film that might have less chance of popular esteem. For years, BuÃ±uel had wanted to make a film about Catholic heresies, and after the world-wide success of Belle de jour, and upon viewing Jean-Luc Godard's film La Chinoise, he told CarriÃ¨re: "If that is what todayâs cinema is like, then we can make a film about heresies.â The two spent months researching Catholic history and created The Milky Way, a "picaresque road film" that tells the story of two vagabonds on pilgrimage to the tomb of the Apostle James at Santiago de Compostela, during which they travel through time and space to take part in situations illustrating heresies that arose from the six major Catholic dogmas. Vincent Canby, reviewing the film in the New York Times, compared it to George Stevens' blockbuster The Greatest Story Ever Told, in that BuÃ±uel had made a film about Jesus casting nearly all the famous French performers of the time in cameo roles. The Milky Way was banned in Italy, only to have the Catholic Church intervene on its behalf.
After finishing Viridiana, BuÃ±uel had wanted to make a film of Benito PÃ©rez GaldÃ³s' novel Tristana, a project he had envisioned as early as 1952, even though he considered GaldÃ³s' book the author's weakest, in BuÃ±uel's words: "of the 'I love you, my little pigeon' genre, very kitsch". In 1962, the Spanish censor flatly turned down this project, in the wake of the scandal caused by the release of Viridiana, and BuÃ±uel had to wait for 10 years before he could receive backing from the Spanish production company Epoca Films. The censors had threatened to deny permission for the film on the grounds that it encouraged duelling, so BuÃ±uel had to approach the subject matter very gingerly, in addition to making concessions to his French/Italian/Spanish producers, who insisted on casting two of the three primary roles with actors not of BuÃ±uel's choosing: Franco Nero and Catherine Deneuve. On this occasion, however, Deneuve and BuÃ±uel had a more mutually satisfactory working relationship, with Deneuve telling an interviewer, "but in the end, you know, it was actually rather a wonderful shoot. Tristana is one of my favorite films. Personally, as an actress, I prefer Tristana to Belle de Jour." Tristana is a film about a young woman who is seduced and manipulated by her guardian, who attempts to thwart her romance with a young artist and eventually induces her to marry him after she loses one of her legs due to a tumor. It has been considered by scholar Beth Miller the least understood of BuÃ±uel's films, and consequently one of the most underrated, due to a "consistent failure to apprehend its political and, especially, its socialist-feminist statement".
One evening, BuÃ±uel and Serge Silberman were discussing uncanny repetition in everyday life when Silberman told an anecdote about how he had invited some friends for dinner at his house, only to forget about it, so that, on the night of the dinner party, he was absent and his wife was in her nightclothes. This became the germ of the idea for their next film together, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, which tells of a group of affluent friends who are continually stymied in their attempts to eat a meal together, a situation that a number of critics have contrasted to the opposite dilemma of the characters in The Exterminating Angel, where guests of a dinner party are mysteriously unable to leave after having completed their meal. For this film, BuÃ±uel, Silberman and CarriÃ¨re assembled a top-flight cast of European performers, "a veritable rogues' gallery of French art-house cinema", according to one critic. For the first time, BuÃ±uel made use of a video-playback monitor, which allowed him to make much more extensive use of crane shots and elaborate tracking shots, and enabled him to cut the film in the camera and eliminate the need for reshoots. Filming required only two months and BuÃ±uel claimed that editing took only one day. When the film was released, Silberman decided to skip the Cannes Festival in order to concentrate on getting it nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, which it won, leading BuÃ±uel to express his contempt for a process that relied on the judgment of, â2500 idiots, including for example the assistant dress designer of the studio.â
As was his habit, BuÃ±uel took advantage of the popular success of Discreet Charm to make one of the "puzzling, idiosyncratic films he really wanted to make". In 1973, at the Monastery of Paular in the Spanish Somosierra, he wrote the screenplay for The Phantom of Liberty with CarriÃ¨re for production by Silberman and his Hollywood partners. The resulting film is a series of 12 distinctive episodes with separate protagonists, linked together only by following a character from one episode to another in a relay-race manner. BuÃ±uel has stated that he made the film as a tribute to poet Benjamin PÃ©ret, a founding member of French Surrealism, and called it his "most Surrealist film".
BuÃ±uel's final film was That Obscure Object of Desire (1977), adapted by BuÃ±uel and CarriÃ¨re from an 1898 novel by Pierre LouÃ¿s called La Femme et le pantin, which had already been used as the basis of films directed by Josef von Sternberg (The Devil is a Woman, 1935) and Julien Duvivier (La Femme et le Pantin, 1959). The film, which tells the story of an older man who is obsessed by a young woman who continually evades his attempts to consummate a sexual relationship, starred the Spanish actor Fernando Rey, appearing in his fourth BuÃ±uel film. Initially, the part of the young woman was to be played by Maria Schneider, who had achieved international fame for her roles in Last Tango in Paris and The Passenger, but once shooting started, according to CarriÃ¨re, her drug usage resulted in a "lackluster and dull" performance that caused tempestuous arguments with BuÃ±uel on the set and her eventual dismissal. Serge Silberman, the producer, decided to abandon the project at that point, but was convinced by BuÃ±uel to continue shooting with two different actresses, Angela Molina and Carole Bouquet playing the same role in alternating sequences throughout the film. In his autobiography, BuÃ±uel claimed that this unusual casting decision was his own idea after drinking two dry martinis, saying: "If I had to list all the benefits derived from alcohol, it would be endless". Others, however, have reported that CarriÃ¨re had first broached the idea while developing the film's scenario, but had been brushed off by BuÃ±uel as "the whim of a rainy day."
Last years (1978â"1983)
After the release of That Obscure Object of Desire, BuÃ±uel retired from filmmaking. In 1982, he wrote (along with CarriÃ¨re) his autobiography, Mon Dernier Soupir (My Last Sigh), which provides an account of his life, friends, and family as well as a representation of his eccentric personality. In it, he recounts dreams, encounters with many well-known writers, actors, and artists such as Pablo Picasso and Charlie Chaplin as well as antics, like dressing up as a nun and walking around town.
In his 70's, BuÃ±uel once told his friend, novelist Carlos Fuentes: âIâm not afraid of death. Iâm afraid of dying alone in a hotel room, with my bags open and a shooting script on the night table. I must know whose fingers will close my eyes.â BuÃ±uel died in Mexico City in 1983. Fuentes has recounted that BuÃ±uel spent his last week in hospital discussing theology with the Jesuit brother Julian Pablo, a long time friend. His funeral was very private. There were about 50 people at the most, among them Octavio Paz, JosÃ© Luis Cuevas, Miguel Littin, his wife and two sons.
When his first film was released, BuÃ±uel became the first filmmaker to be officially welcomed into the ranks of the Surrealists by the movement's leader AndrÃ© Breton, an event recalled by film historian Georges Sadoul: "Breton had convoked the creators to our usual venue [the CafÃ© Radio]... one summer's evening. DalÃ had the large eyes, grace, and timidity of a gazelle. To us, BuÃ±uel, big and athletic, his black eyes protruding a little, seemed exactly like he always is in Un Chien Andalou, meticulously honing the razor that will slice the open eye in two." After he joined the Communist Party in Spain, however, it was quickly made clear to him that he could not be both a Communist and a Surrealist; his artistic collaborator Pierre Unik recounted in a letter of 30 January 1932 that "a comrade from Agit-Prop" called BuÃ±uel and others together to tell them that, "Surrealism was a movement of bourgeois degeneration", continuing, "What will the rank-and-file comrades say the day I have to announce to them, 'Comrades, I no longer have the right to militate amongst you...because I'm a degenerate bourgeois?'" In consequence, on 6 May 1932, BuÃ±uel wrote a letter to AndrÃ© Breton renouncing his membership in the Surrealist group: "Given the current state of things there could be no question for a Communist of doubting for an instant between the choice of his party and any other sort of activity or discipline". He even went so far as to try to re-issue a drastically cut version of L'Age d'Or (over two-thirds of the original were eliminated) in response to complaints that the full 60-minute original was formally too difficult for the proletariat. Nonetheless, he retained a lifelong affinity with the Surrealist movement and longstanding friendships with many of the most prominent Surrealists.
BuÃ±uel's films were famous for their surreal imagery, including scenes in which chickens populate nightmares, women grow beards, and aspiring saints are desired by lascivious women. Even in the many movies he made for hire (rather than for his own creative reasons), such as Susana and The Great Madcap, he usually added his trademark of disturbing and surreal images. Some critics have pointed out that one reason why BuÃ±uel found working in Mexico so congenial was that what might seem unusual or even outlandish in Europe or the United States fit comfortably with elements of Mexican culture and the audience's expectations of national melodrama. As filmmaker TomÃ¡s PÃ©rez Turrent has commented, when referring to the apparently incredible features that many critics find in BuÃ±uel's films: "In Mexico, it's believable", while one of the founders of Surrealism, AndrÃ© Breton, called Mexico, âthe most surrealist country in the world.â Certainly, running through the more personal films of BuÃ±uel's early and late years is a backbone of surrealism; BuÃ±uel's world is one in which an entire dinner party suddenly finds itself inexplicably unable to leave the room and go home, a bad dream hands a man a letter which he brings to the doctor the next day, and where the devil, if unable to tempt a saint with a pretty girl, will fly him to a disco. An example of a more Dada influence can be found in Cet obscur objet du dÃ©sir, when Mathieu closes his eyes and has his valet spin him around and direct him to a map on the wall.
BuÃ±uel never explained or promoted his work, remaining true to his and DalÃ's early insistence on the completely irrational and defying symbolic interpretation. On one occasion, when his son was interviewed about The Exterminating Angel, BuÃ±uel instructed him to give facetious answers. As examples, when asked about the presence of a bear in the socialites' house, BuÃ±uel fils claimed it was because his father liked bears, and, similarly, the several repeated scenes in the film were explained as having been put there to increase the running time.
As a university student, BuÃ±uel had studied entomology at the Museum of Natural History under the famous naturalist Ignacio BolÃvar, and he had an early and lasting interest in the scientific documentaries of Jean PainlevÃ©, which he tried to screen at the Residencia de Estudiantes. Numerous critics have commented on the number of sequences in his films involving insects, from the death's head moth in Un chien andalou and the extended scorpion scenes in L'Age d'or to the framed tarantula in Le FantÃ´me de la libertÃ©. Others have commented on the dispassionate nature of BuÃ±uel's treatment of his characters, likening it to the stance of the entomological researcher, and BuÃ±uel himself once said that he had an "entomological" interest in the protagonist of his film El. The writer Henry Miller observed: âBuÃ±uel, like an entomologist, has studied what we call love in order to expose beneath the ideology, mythology, platitudes and phraseologies the complete and bloody machinery of sex.â
Religion and atheism
Many of his films were openly critical of bourgeois morals and organized religion, mocking the Roman Catholic Church in particular but religion in general, for its hypocrisy. When asked if it was intention to blaspheme in his films, BuÃ±uel responded, âI didnât deliberately set out to be blasphemous, but then Pope John XXIII is a better judge of such things than I am.â Many of his most famous films demonstrate this irreverent spirit:
- Un chien andalou (1929)Â â" A man drags pianos, upon which are piled two dead donkeys, two priests, and the tablets of The Ten Commandments.
- L'Ãge d'Or (1930)Â â" A bishop is thrown out a window, and in the final scene one of the culprits of the 120 days of Sodom is portrayed by an actor dressed in a way that he would be recognized as Jesus.
- El Gran Calavera (1949)Â â" During the final scenes of the wedding, the priest continuously reminds the bride of her obligations under marriage. Then the movie changes and the bride runs chasing her true love.
- Ensayo de un crimen (1955)Â â" A man dreams of murdering his wife while she's praying in bed dressed all in white.
- Nazarin (1959)Â â" The pious lead character wreaks ruin through his attempts at charity.
- Viridiana (1961)Â â" A well-meaning young nun tries unsuccessfully to help the poor. One scene in the film parodies The Last Supper.
- El Ã¡ngel exterminador (1962)Â â" The final scene is of sheep entering a church, mirroring the entrance of the parishioners.
- SimÃ³n del desierto (1965)Â â" The devil tempts a saint by taking the form of a bare-breasted girl singing and showing off her legs. At the end of the film, the saint abandons his ascetic life to hang out in a jazz club.
- La Voie LactÃ©e (1969)Â â" Two men travel the ancient pilgrimage road to Santiago de Compostela and meet embodiments of various heresies along the way. One dreams of anarchists shooting the Pope.
BuÃ±uel is often cited as one of the world's most prominent atheists. In a 1960 interview, he was asked about his attitude toward religion, and his response has become one of his most celebrated quotes: âIâm still an atheist, thank God.â But his entire answer to the question was somewhat more nuanced: "I have no attitude. I was raised in it. I could answer âIâm still an atheist, thank God.â I believe we must seek God within man himself. This is a very simple attitude." Critics have pointed out that BuÃ±uel's atheism was closely connected to his surrealism, in that he considered chance and mystery, and not providence, to be at the heart of all reality.
Seventeen years later, in an interview with the New Yorker, BuÃ±uel expressed a somewhat different opinion about religion and atheism: "Iâm not a Christian, but Iâm not an atheist either, ... I'm weary of hearing that accidental old aphorism of mine, 'I'm not an atheist, thank God.' Itâs outworn. Dead leaves. In 1951, I made a small film called 'Mexican Bus Ride', about a village too poor to support a church and a priest. The place was serene, because no one suffered from guilt. Itâs guilt we must escape, not God." However in 1982, BuÃ±uel had reaffirmed his atheism in his autobiography. Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes has commented that BuÃ±uel represents one of the most compelling intellectual tendencies of the twentieth century: "religious temperament without religious faith."
BuÃ±uel's style of directing was extremely economical; he shot films in a few weeks, rarely deviating from his script (the scene in Tristana where Catherine Deneuve exposes her breasts to Saturno â" but not the audience â" being a noted exception) and shooting in order as much as possible to minimize editing time. He remained true throughout his working life to an operating philosophy that he articulated at the beginning of his career in 1928: "The guiding idea, the silent procession of images that are concrete, decisive, measured in space and timeâ"in a word, the filmâ"was first projected inside the brain of the filmmaker". In this, BuÃ±uel has been compared with Alfred Hitchcock, another director famous for precision, efficiency and preplanning, for whom actually shooting the film was an anticlimax, since each man would know, in BuÃ±uel's words, "exactly how each scene will be shot and what the final montage will be". According to actress Jeanne Moreau: "He was the only director I know who never threw away a shot. He had the film in his mind. When he said 'action' and 'cut,' you knew that what was in between the two would be printed."
As much as possible, BuÃ±uel preferred to work with actors and crew members with whom he had worked before and whom he trusted, leading some critics to refer to these people as a "stock company", including such performers as: Fernando Rey, Francisco Rabal, Pierre Clementi, Julien Bertheau, Michel Piccoli, Claudio Brook, Silvia Pinal, Paul Frankeur and Georges Marchal. In his final film, That Obscure Object of Desire, the central character was played by Rey, but voiced by the French-speaking Piccoli. He told actors as little as possible, and limited his directions mostly to physical movements ("move to the right", "walk down the hall and go through that door", etc.), arguing that he had a better chance of capturing reality with inexperienced players who projected a desired sense of awkwardness. He often refused to answer actors' questions and was known to simply turn off his hearing aid on the set. One of his stars, Catherine Deneuve, has stated: "I've always thought that he likes actors, up to a point. I think he likes very much the idea of the film, and to write it. But I had the impression that the film-making was not what he preferred to do. He had to go through actors, and he liked them if they were easy, simple, not too much fuss." Though they found it difficult at the time, many actors who worked with him acknowledged later that his approach made for fresh and excellent performances.
BuÃ±uel preferred scenes that could simply be pieced together end-to-end in the editing room, resulting in long, mobile, wide shots which followed the action of the scene. Filmmaker Patricia Gruben has attributed this procedure to a long-standing strategy on BuÃ±uel's part intended to thwart external interference: "he would make the whole scene in long four-minute dolly shots so the producers couldnât cut it". Examples are especially present in his French films. For example, at the ski resort's restaurant in Belle de jour, SÃ©verin, Pierre, and Henri converse at a table. BuÃ±uel cuts away from their conversation to two young women, who walk down a few steps and proceed through the restaurant, passing behind SÃ©verin, Pierre, and Henri, at which point the camera stops and the young women walk out of frame. Henri then comments on the women and the conversation at the table progresses from there.
Critics have remarked on BuÃ±uel's predilection for developing a surrealist mise-en-scÃ¨ne through use of a deceptively sparse naturalism, as Michael Atkinson has put it: "visually Spartan and yet spasming with bouts of the irrational." BuÃ±uel's visual style has been generally characterized as highly functional and uncluttered, with extraneous detail eliminated on sets to focus on character-defining elements.
As an example, BuÃ±uel has told about one of his experiences with cameraman Gabriel Figueroa, a veteran who had become famous in cinematography circles by making a specialty of illuminating the beauty of the Mexican landscape using photographic chiaroscuro (stark contrast between illuminated space and dark shadows). Figueroa had set up a shot for NazarÃn near the valley of the PopocatÃ©petl: "It was during this shoot that I scandalized Gabriel Figueroa, who had prepared for me an aesthetically irreproachable framing, with the PopocatÃ©petl in the background and the inevitable white clouds. I simply turned the camera to frame a banal scene that seemed to me more real, more proximate. I have never liked refabricated cinematographic beauty, which very often makes one forget what the film wants to tell, and which personally, does not move me."
Actress Catherine Deneuve has provided another anecdote illustrating this aspect of BuÃ±uel's style: while shooting Tristana, he had told her frequently of the distaste he felt for the "touristy" side of Toledo, where the film was made, so she teased him about one crane shot that brought out the beauty of the surrounding landscape, to which BuÃ±uel responded by re-shooting the entire scene from a dolly with no background whatsoever, all the while inveighing against the "obviously" beautiful.
BuÃ±uel has been hailed as a pioneer of the sound film, with L'Age d'Or being cited as one of the first innovative uses of sound in French film. Film scholar Linda Williams has pointed out that BuÃ±uel used sounds, including music, as nonsynchronous counterpoint to the visual image, rather than redundant accompaniment, in accordance with theories that had been advanced by Sergei Eisenstein and others in a 1928 manifesto on the sound film. Critic Marsha Kinder has posited that BuÃ±uel's years as a film dubber in Europe and Hollywood put him in the position of âmastering the conventions of film sound, to subvert them more effectivelyâ. In his later years, BuÃ±uel was almost completely deaf, but he continued to assert control over the sound effects in his films, such as The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, in which seemingly important speech, especially political discourse, is often drowned out by the noise of urban life, in such a systematic manner that Kinder has identified BuÃ±uel as one of the first professional sound designers in cinema. As further illustration of this, scholar Sally Faulkner has described the means by which, in his film Tristana, BuÃ±uel "engineers a kind of figurative deafness, or disability, in the spectator" in scenes which involve deaf characters, by, for example, combining the sound of gushing water with an image of a stagnant pool, or exaggerating the volume level of chiming bells.
Music is an important part of BuÃ±uel's early films, to such an extent that, for his one silent film Un Chien Andalou, in his sixties, he took the trouble to create a sonorised version, based on the music (Wagner, a South American tango) played at its original screening. One critic has noted that, in L'Age d'Or, BuÃ±uel employed the music of Beethoven, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Debussy and Wagner "as a kind of connective tissue for, and aural commentary on, the unnerving visuals." As regards Las Hurdes, critics have often remarked on the "nagging inappropriateness" of the score, the fourth movement of Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, a practice called by James Clifford "fortuitous or ironic collage." Although BuÃ±uel's use of this technique declined in frequency over the years, he still occasionally employed incongruous musical juxtaposition for ironic effect, notably during the opening and the climactic scenes of Viridiana, which take place to the strains of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus, in pointed contrast to the jazz music played during the film's final scene of the card game.
Late in life, BuÃ±uel claimed to dislike non-diegetic music (music not intrinsic to the scene itself) and avoided its use, stating: âIn my last films I rarely use music. If I do, it has to be justified, so the viewer can see its source: a gramophone or a piano." One consistent exception, however, is the use of the traditional drums from his birthplace Calanda, which are heard in most of his films, with such regularity that the repetition has been described as a âbiofilmographic signatureâ. BuÃ±uel's explanation of his use of these drums was the statement: "Nowhere are they beaten with such mysterious power as in Calanda...in recognition of the shadows that covered the earth at the moment Christ died."
The films of his second French era were not scored and some (Belle de jour, Diary of a Chambermaid) are without music entirely. Belle de jour does, however, feature non-diegetic sound effects, "to unify spatially incongruous shots or symbolize [the protagonist's] dream world."
- In 1994, a retrospective of BuÃ±uel's works was organized by the Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle in Bonn, as homage to one of the most internationally revered figures in world cinema. This was followed in the summer of 1996 by a commemoration of the centenary of the birth of cinema held by the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina SofÃa in Madrid, which included a unique retrospective, jointly sponsored by the King of Spain and the President of Mexico, called Â¿BuÃ±uel!. La mirada del siglo, honoring his special status as Spanish cinema's most emblematic figure.
- A secondary school in Zaragoza, Spain has been named for BuÃ±uel: Instituto de EducaciÃ³n Secundaria Ies Luis BuÃ±uel.
- In Calanda, Spain a bust of the head of Luis BuÃ±uel is on display at the Centro BuÃ±uel Calanda (CBC), a museum devoted to the director. The mission of the CBC is to serve as a reference center both for connoisseurs of BuÃ±uel and for anyone interested in the arts of Aragon.
- One of the main theatres at the Palais des Festivals et des CongrÃ¨s, where the Cannes Film Festival is held, is named after him: Salle BuÃ±uel.
- To mark the centenary of his birth, in 2000 the Cannes festival partnered with the Spanish film industry, to pay tribute to Luis BuÃ±uel. This tribute consisted of three events: (1) the inauguration, for Cannes 2000, of the Palace's new Luis BuÃ±uel room, (2) an original exhibition organized by L'Instituto de la CinematografÃa y de las Artes Audiovisuales entitled "The Secret World of BuÃ±uel", and (3) an exceptional projection of Viridiana, the Palme d'Or winner in 1961, in the presence of specially invited artists.
- The Luis BuÃ±uel Film Institute (LBFI) is housed in the Downtown Independent Theatre, Los Angeles, and has as its mission: "to form the vital and innovative arena for the promotion of the work of Luis BuÃ±uel, and a seminal resource for the development of new research, knowledge and scholarship on his life and work, extending across his body of films and writings."
BuÃ±uel has been portrayed as a character in many films and television productions. A portion of the television mini-series Lorca, muerte de un poeta (1987â"1988), directed by Juan Antonio Bardem recreates the student years of BuÃ±uel, Lorca and DalÃ, with Fernando Valverde portraying BuÃ±uel in two episodes. He was played by Dimiter Guerasimof in the 1991 biopic DalÃ, directed by Antoni Ribas, despite the fact that DalÃ and his attorney had written to Ribas objecting to the project in its early stages in 1985. BuÃ±uel appeared as a character in Alejandro Pelayo's 1993 film Miroslava, based on the life of actress Miroslava Stern, who committed suicide after appearing in Ensayo de un crimen (1955). BuÃ±uel was played by three actors, El Gran Wyoming (old age), Pere ArquilluÃ© (young adult) and Juan Carlos JimÃ©nez MarÃn (child), in Carlos Saura's 2001 fantasy, BuÃ±uel y la mesa del rey SalomÃ³n, which tells of BuÃ±uel, Lorca and DalÃ setting out in search of the mythical table of King SalomÃ³n, which is thought to have the power to see into the past, the present and the future. BuÃ±uel was a character in a 2001 television miniseries Severo Ochoa: La conquista de un Nobel, on the life of the Spanish Ã©migrÃ© and Nobel Prize winner in medicine, who was also at the Residencia de Estudiantes during BuÃ±uel's time there. Matt Lucas portrayed BuÃ±uel in Richard Curson Smith's 2002 TV movie Surrealissimo: The Scandalous Success of Salvador DalÃ, a comedy depicting DalÃ's "trial" by the Surrealists in 1934 for his pro-Hitler sympathies. A 2005 short called The Death of Salvador Dali, directed by Delaney Bishop, contains sequences in which BuÃ±uel appears, played by Alejandro Cardenas. Paul Morrison's Little Ashes hypothesizes a love affair between DalÃ and Lorca, with BuÃ±uel (played by Matthew McNulty) looking on suspiciously. BuÃ±uel, played by Adrien de Van, is one of many notable personalities encountered by Woody Allen's protagonist in Midnight in Paris (2011).
Luis BuÃ±uel was given the Career Golden Lion in 1982 by the Venice Film Festival and the FIPRESCI Prize â" Honorable Mention in 1969 by the Berlin Film Festival. In 1977, he received the National Prize for Arts and Sciences for Fine Arts. At the 11th Moscow International Film Festival in 1979, he was awarded with the Honorable Prize for the contribution to cinema.
See also, Luis BuÃ±uel bibliography
- Luis BuÃ±uel: Biografia Critica (Spanish Edition) [Paperback] by J. Francisco Aranda (Author) Paperback: 479 pages. Publisher: Lumen; Nueva ed. rev. y aumentada edition (1975) . Language: Spanish . ISBN 8426410553. ISBN 978-8426410559.
- Luis BuÃ±uel, Mi Ultimo Suspiro (English translation My Last Sigh Alfred A. Knopf, 1983).
- Luis BuÃ±uel: The Red Years, 1929â"1939 (Wisconsin Film Studies). 
- Froylan Enciso, "En defensa del poeta BuÃ±uel", en Andar fronteras. El servicio diplomÃ¡tico de Octavio Paz en Francia (1946â"1951), Siglo XXI, 2008, pp.Â 130â"134 y 353â"357.
- Michael Koller "Un Chien Andalou", Senses of Cinema January 2001 Retrieved on 26 July 2006.
- Ignacio Javier LÃ³pez, The Old Age of William Tell: A Study of BuÃ±uel's '"Tristana", MLN 116 (2001): 295â"314.
- Ignacio Javier LÃ³pez, "Film, Freud and Paranoia: DalÃ and the Representation of Male Desire in An Andalusian Dog", "'Diacritics'" 31,2 (2003): 35â"48.
- Javier Espada y Elena Cervera, MÃ©xico fotografiado por Luis BuÃ±uel.
- Javier Espada y Elena Cervera, BuÃ±uel. Entre 2 Mundos.
- Javier Espada y Asier Mensuro, Album fotografico de la familia BuÃ±uel.
- Luis BuÃ±uel at the Internet Movie Database
- Senses of Cinema: Great Directors Critical Database
- They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?
- Interview with Jean-Claude Carriere â" Bunuel's screenwriter and friend
- The Religious Affiliation of Luis BuÃ±uel
- The Luis BuÃ±uel Film Institute
- Luis BuÃ±uel at Find a Grave
- La furia umana, nÂ°6, multilanguage dossier (texts by Gilberto Perez, Adrian Martin, Toni D'Angela, Alberto Abruzzese and others) 
- Bunuel Bibliography (via UC Berkeley)
- BuÃ±uel biography