Un Chien Andalou/An Andalusian Dog (1929)

Country: France

Released: June 6th, 1929

Genre: Horror, Surrealism

Directed by: Luis Buñuel

Produced by: Luis Buñuel & Pierre Braunberger

Written by:  Luis Buñuel & Salvador Dalí

Alright boys and girls, put on your berets, close that Faulkner book you’re reading and take a big puff on that blunt, because we’re going to stick our heads firmly up our own rectums and look at Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel’s Un Chien Andalou.

The plot is that a bunch of stuff happens. That’s it. If you are at all familiar with the works of Salvador Dali or the surrealist movement that emerged in Europe during the 1920s you’ve probably already figured out that “plot” is being rather generous. The purpose of surrealism is, according to Andre Breton at least, to manifest thought. Or, more poetically, to shatter the barriers between dream and real to create a kind of “super-reality,” meshing the two into what can be called ‘ultimate reality.’

How Buddhist. I tell you, Nagarjuna would be proud. And weirded out probably.

I’m honestly hesitant to say anything more about the movie. This really is a film that needs to be experienced cold turkey, and I encourage my readers (all three of you) to watch it before continuing the review. It’s only twenty minutes long, so don’t give the excuse that you don’t have time. That’s B.S. Go watch it, now. I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Seriously, watch it. Then come back.

Have you watched it? No. Whatever, you’re loss.

Where was I? Oh right, serialism. As you can imagine from a movement that seeks to mash dreams and reality, Un Chien Andalou is rather purposefully devoid of plot or traditional narrative. Thus, in lieu of summarizing what happens, instead I’m going to try and analyze the films symbolic minutia and mes-en-scene in some vain attempt to make sense of the madness. Here we go!

Buñuel stated that he made Un Chien with the intent of offending the sensibilities of the traditional bourgeois literati, which he held in utter contempt for their self-aggrandized artistic tastes. Boy was he surprised when said literati turned the tables on him and ended up absolutely loving the movie. I guess that just goes to show that French intellectuals would love anything if it’s labeled “avant garde.”

Shock, however, is right. Buñuel spares no time bringing out the big guns, as the film opens with probably its most famous shot wherein a man slits a woman’s eyeball with a razor in an effect that would make Rob Bottin proud.

Now because this is the film’s most iconic moment, the shock factor was a bit lost on me. But I can imagine that at the time it must have been quite scandalous, especially considering that Buñuel used a calf’s eye to create the effect, giving it a very visceral, life-like quality.

"Whoops"

What follows from there is a meditation on sex, violence, and our innate animalism. We are but beasts, drawn to the grotesque, the film says, driven by lust and violence. Our feeble attempts to smother these baser instincts through a civilization that is no less grotesque is for naught.

How cheerful.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the interwar period was a time of cultural rebellion. Not surprising since most artists at this time viewed established social mores as having directly led Europe to cull itself in the Great War. Dali and Buñuel seize this sentiment wholeheartedly; the film really has an axe to grind against the bourgeois, which Buñuel posits as deeply corrupt. A scene wherein a woman in poking at a severed hand while a crowd of suited gentlemen clamor to get a look really exemplifies this sentiment. The police try to keep the crowd at bay but it is no use, the savage suited men all push and shove at each other for a chance to gawk at the gore, turning the violence into a spectacle for their own amusement. After the hand is put away they leave, only to return after the woman gets run over by a car and a new, equally sadistic show is offered.

This violence in turn triggers our ‘protagonist’ (Pierre Batcheff) into a frenzied lust. He throws himself on his young companion (Simone Mareuil), who can naught by stand helplessly as she is groped, leaving the young man a drooling, bestial mess.

She flees, and he tries to chase after her but is held down by a series of weights that materialize suddenly.

These weights go as follows:

-Two slabs of stone, which I interpreted as evoking the ten commandments as presented by Moses.

-Two priests. Like really, two dudes just lying there, tied to this raving sex fiend. It was actually pretty funny.

-Two pianos with dead mules in them.

Feeling pretentious yet? Don’t worry, I’m not done.

First off, they used real mule carcasses, which is disturbing and in violation of current animal cruelty laws, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it breathtaking. Second, the pianos seem to represent modern society and its cultural landscapes, while the mule carcasses imply an inherent perverseness to said culture. Our protagonist’s lust is weighted down by religion and ‘cultured’ society, but these are no less grotesque than his base desires. The tango Buñuel plays throughout really hammers this point home. Tango is a very modern genre, and, despite being associated with the sophistication and culture of Buenos Aires, is also regarded as decadent in its hypersexualization and violence. It is a very animalistic dance that hinges on aggressive sexuality. So much so that it is often described as a “vertical rape,” thus making it the perfect choice for exploring the themes of the perverseness and suppressed violence of the bourgeois.

Am I being a downer? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be. It’s just so rare that I get to flex my literature and film study muscles outside of serving people at a drive-through, and I deeply enjoyed the overt symbolism. I’ve often complained that some films beat you over the head with their themes but Un Chien doesn’t have that problem because it doesn’t pretend to be anything other than a bunch of symbols. My disdain for weak story is subsumed in the film’s irreverence for nonsense. Which is not to say that the film doesn’t make sense. While lacking a clear-cut story, Un Chieni’s continuity (or lack thereof) is laced through its themes, which is why I wasn’t left scratching my head. Well I was, but not because I didn’t understand what was happening. I knew exactly what was happening, it was just my job to figure out why it was happening.

And you know what? That’s fine sometimes. I can handle nonsense if it’s at least interesting and doesn’t trying to pretend it isn’t nonsense. Buñuel and Dali set out to show us nonsense and say something with it, which I appreciate. To this end, the film’s length is an absolute boon. Twenty minutes is just right for nonsense. I never once felt tired or bored, and it did not overstay its welcome. Furthermore, it allowed the film to be consistently gross without leaving me desensitized. Kudos for Buñuel and Dali for knowing not to not linger once it’s all said in done.

Let me offer some last few thoughts before wrapping up.

As I mentioned I wasn’t too shocked by most of the film, mostly because I was familiar with many of its scenes. That being said, the final shot of two carcasses half buried in sand with the caption “Springtime” was genuinely disturbing. Their inky eyes and still, broken bodies really left an impression, and my having never seen that still only made it all the more graphic.

Lastly, the special effects are absolutely stunning. Seriously, that these hold up today is a testament to how good they are, and that they make most CGI-choked blockbusters look fake as hell is shameful for modern filmmakers. I actually gasped “oh cool” on one occasion, and the film gets a recommendation on the effects alone. That scene with the ants crawling out of the dude’s palm? Fucking chills, man.

To conclude, I thoroughly enjoyed Un Chien Andalou. As far as classics go, it’s up there so far with Caligari, and I recommend it to…well just about everyone. Just be prepared to feel squeamish at times.