Sun 20230120

There is something about a diffuse sun
With her yellows, blues, and grays

Just over the horizon
Hazily veiled by gentle snowflakes

Still present at a time
When she is usually absent

When one expects a shadow of a quilt
To cast a pall over her head

During dinnertime
To make me sense within her gloaming

Like I am in the middle of summer
When I am in the throes of winter

Moon 20220216

The gem exploded in cold flames,
the smoke too thin to veil it.
The ashes fled toward the right,
too weak to stay and wail it.
So quick. So fleet.
So indiscreet.
The slience froze like wisps.
The secret deeds spread like the breeze
and cracked its graying lips.

Utah Shakespeare Festival's 2012 Production of William Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor

On Saturday, 21 July 2012, I attended the Utah Shakespeare Festival’s production of William Shakespeare’s The Merry Wives of Windsor at the Auditorium Theatre in Cedar City, Utah.  Peter Amster directed the performance.  Roderick Peeples played Sir John Falstaff, Jacqueline Antaramian played Mistress Alice Ford, and Melinda Pfundstein played Mistress Margaret Page.  Rocky Mountain Power Foundation, Canyon Media, and MediaOne sponsored the season’s performance.

The play tells the story of a swindler trying to gain access to the riches of two families in Windsor by seducing the wives.  Sir John Falstaff, the rotund good-for-nothing, plans to do this by writing two identical letters: the first to Mistress Alice Ford and the second to Mistress Margaret Page.  Mistress Page receives a letter, reads it, and becomes bewildered by Falstaff’s advances.  Mistress Ford then visits Mistress Page.  Mistress Ford shows Mistress Page another letter that she has just received, an exact duplicate.  Shocked by Falstaff’s egotistical presumption and outrageous effrontery, they conspire together to get back at him.  Without telling their husbands, the wives lead Falstaff into thinking that Mistress Ford is falling for his advances.  Falstaff sets up a meeting with Mistress Ford and goes to her home.  Mistress Ford invites him in while her husband is away and pretends to be impressed by Falstaff’s seduction.  Before Falstaff gets too frisky, Mistress Page warns her friend that her husband, Francis Ford, is coming home.  In order to send Falstaff furtively away, Mistress Ford and Mistress Page tell him to hide in a laundry basket.  Falstaff hides in the basket, Ford rushes in to interrogate his wife, searches up and down the place to find the perpetrator, and the servants take the heavy basket right under Ford’s nose.  Later, the servants dump Falstaff into the river following Mistress Ford’s orders.  The story continues showing both mistresses dreaming up other pranks to play on Falstaff, wondering at Ford’s fatuous suspicion, and concluding their plans to teach Falstaff a lesson.  Other subplots occur throughout the play, but all get resolved amicably and hilariously.

There were two things I noticed about this performance: They were (1) the colors in both the scenic design and the costumes, and (2) John G. Preston’s portrayal of Francis Ford.

The scenic design of the stage imitated the Shakespearean format of the Adams Memorial Theatre.  I had seen performances before at the Adams Memorial Theatre, so I was not surprised by the setup of the scenery in the Auditorium Theatre.  The balcony of the set overlooked the actors to allow them to fill in the theatrical framing of the stage during their performances.  The colors of the wooden paneling showed deep browns and warm yellows, letting the colors of the costumes stand out with vibrant yellows, blues, reds, and purples.  In one scene, when Francis Ford, disguised as “Master Brook,” consulted Falstaff about proving Mistress Ford’s virtue, he wore a cloak that displayed a metallic, paisley pattern.  This gave off a slightly effeminate and eccentric impression of Mr. Brook, concealing his true character effectively.

John G. Preston, arguably, was the pleasant surprise of the performance.  Roderick Peeples disappointed me a bit in his portrayal of Falstaff; I expected more oomph that wasn’t there.  However, Preston brought out the humor during the Garter Inn sequences better.  While playing “Master Brook,” he talked with a funny, modern (maybe Oxford?) British accent that channeled the Mad Hatter in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland.  Preston had his character break Mr. Brook’s character by releasing brutish rage for a second upon learning about Falstaff’s first escape in the buck-basket.  The audience saw the sweat and spit fling away from Preston’s face during one of Francis Ford’s tirades.  It was very entertaining.

The Merry Wives of Windsor is not Shakespeare’s best play, but it does allow families to watch it together without parents having to worry about modern innuendo, gratuitous violence, and nudity.  I call The Merry Wives of Windsor “Shakespeare lite,” a play that introduces children to the florid language of Shakespeare without overpowering their appetite for comic frivolity.  They may not understand most of the dialogue, but they will not miss the comedy.

Carlos Saura's El amor brujo (Love, the Magician)

The third DVD in Criterion Collection’s Eclipse Series 6, entitled Carlos Saura’s Flamenco Trilogy, is El amor brujo (Love, the Magician, sometimes known as Wedded by Witchcraft).  Distributed by Janus Films and UGC D.A. International in 1986 and by Criterion and studiocanal on DVD in 2007, the film exhibits the screenplay and choreography of Carlos Saura and Antonio Gades.  Saura and Gades base the screenplay on the musical score by Manuel de Falla and the libretto by Gregorio Martínez Sierra.  Antonio Gades plays Carmelo, the forlorn and longsuffering admirer.  Cristina Hoyos acts in the role of Candela, the hapless and torn heroine.  Laura del Sol portrays Lucía, the temptress and young love interest of Candela’s husband.  Juan Antonio Jiménez performs the part of the possessive and cheating husband, José.  All together they dance fine flamenco numbers.  The last important character of the story belongs to Emma Penella, who plays Hechicera, the venerable matriarch of Candela’s family.  Saura returns as the director, and Emiliano Piedra as the producer.

In this third and last movie, we see the completion of Carlos Saura’s trilogy highlighting the art form of flamenco.  This movie differs from the previous two in that it actually has a happy ending.  This third installment relies on actors and dancers previously seen.  If anyone were to scrutinize these three movies in detail, that person would find intertextual subtleties and recognizable patterns.  (A case in point would be Antonio Gades and Cristina Hoyos’s characters leaning over each other in an intimate embrace in both Bodas de sangre and El amor brujo.)  In this present review, the topic I will discuss is how the director frames the actors within the set and scenery.

The beginning of the movie foreshadows the cinematography the director uses to convey the work as an enclosed universe.  The movie starts out in a warehouse where a large door hangs open.  It begins to close when the first orchestra piece starts to play.  Unlike the curtains of a theater that parts or raises when the show begins, the heavy door slowly closes until it hits the floor and locks into place.  This effective inversion of theatrical protocol alerts the audience that it has left the outside world behind and entered into a space where imagination and suspension of belief exist.  The camera slowly pans to the right, and we begin to see the rest of the set or soundstage.  We see the scaffolding supporting the catwalks, the sets, the backgrounds, and the lighting fixtures.  As the camera continues to pan to the right, we begin to make out edifices and a dusty square where children play.  The inhabitants of this universe “live” as though it were a normal day in a Gypsy neighborhood in our world.  The audience sees the performance being played out, but still sees the scaffolding holding up this little world.  The inhabitants of this sphere do not notice the foundations of the universe sustaining them, a structure they either ignore or cannot see, but that the audience beholds readily.  The juxtaposition of the soundstage and the shantytown connotes the universe in a microcosm.  The structure of the world or universe, as it seemingly appears to the Gypsy inhabitants, provides a foundation for an unremarkable locale.  In a phenomenological sense, the invisible becomes visible; nature’s superstructure becomes apparent alongside a poor community.  Eventually, the audience no longer sees the scaffolding and the woodwork.  We just see children playing, men socializing, and women working on chores in a settlement on the outskirts of any town in Andalusia.  Nevertheless, throughout the presentation of the musical, the audience—as a spectator—reflects upon the hidden structure behind the horizons and colored sky.  This veritable God’s eye point of view allows the spectator to have a privileged space and knowledge within this petite universe.  It makes the magical elements that follow hereafter as commonplace as physics is in our real world.

Another particular characteristic of this small universe shows up when Carmelo returns from serving his jail sentence.  By this point in the movie, Candela has lost her husband, Carmelo has been convicted of a crime he does not commit, and Candela becomes stuck in a rut by performing a nightly ritual.  The belief of an afterlife remains embedded in the consciousness of the widow and the rest of community, though in a non-conventional way.  The inability to let go of the past manifests itself in Candela’s masochistic drive to dance with her dead husband whom she evokes.  To conjure the ghost of José, Candela repeats the pleas she uttered at his death: “José, despierta.  José.  José, vuelve.  José.  Vuelve.  Vuelve.” (“José, wake up.  José.  José, come back.  José.  Come back.  Come back.”)  The specter or spirit of José comes in and dances with Candela.  We know he is dead because we can see it by the bloodstained shirt he wears.  Candela also wears a blood-stained pullover and dress corresponding to the injury José receives in the preceding death scene.  The relationship would be quite romantic, in the literary sense of the word, given that such an obstacle, which is impossible to overcome, stands between them and separates the living and the dead; except in this relationship, the husband hypocritically remains possessive of the victimized and innocent widow, and she remains deluded in the ideal of an unsullied marriage.  The trapped Candela cannot escape the clutches of a dead memory.

Yet Carmelo, having been released back into freedom, desires to rescue Candela from her psychological imprisonment.  Before Carmelo gets to that point though, Saura delineates this border between the trapped world and the open universe by the way he frames Carmelo and Candela.  In the first scene where Carmelo meets Candela for the first time after his release, Carmelo wastes no time in approaching her with romantic intentions.  Saura uses squares and rectangles to frame the actors.  When Carmelo approaches Candela’s house, we see him from the inside of the house looking out a window.  The director frames Carmelo in the window, and we see to our right Candela and her sister looking out of the window.  Candela goes to the door, and the door frames Carmelo again.  When the camera angle changes to the outside of the house, we see the doorway framing Candela and the window framing her sister.  Carmelo stands to the right prominently with his back to the audience.  In this brief moment, the characters stand in place watching each other.  In this surrealistic moment, the rectangles indicate a threshold between the trapped mind and the open universe.  Of course, Candela resists Carmelo’s subtle invitations to join him immediately, but over time we see Candela move over to Carmelo’s side.

Again, the director takes advantage of framing Carmelo and Candela in certain ways to indicate the obstacles and thresholds they must overcome.  One night, Carmelo furtively follows Candela as she goes to the place where her former husband has died.  Candela invokes José’s spirit to come dance with her.  This time, however, the audience shares the viewpoint of Carmelo.  Carmelo does not see José; he just sees Candela dancing alone.  Carmelo watches her from behind a skeletal frame of an automobile so as not to disturb Candela’s trance.  From Carmelo’s viewpoint, we see Candela cross the screen and pose in one of the openings of the jagged steel car frame.  At the same time, the lighting in the background changes hue to a pale, purplish color.  These elements show the distinct realities between the surviving lovers.  One inhabits the world of supernatural captivity while the other remains in open reality.  The threshold created by the steel framework allows Carmelo to glimpse the Candela’s actuality.

Another scene that I would like to comment upon is the musical number in which the women of the neighborhood get together to hang up clothes and bedspreads.  This sequence does not rely on rectangles and squares to frame certain characters like we see it do on Carmelo and Candela.  Actually, the bedspreads that the women hang on the lines create a sort of enclosure that only the women inhabit.  In this artificial space, the women are able to maintain a dialogue that does not go beyond the cotton barriers drying in the sun.  Here, women speech reigns under no fear of any patriarchal oversight.  They chatter and they gossip until one of the women asks Candela’s sister out loud when she is getting married.  She answers, and the song begins.  (Parents should know that the musical number deals with sexual topics and innuendo.  At the time of the movie’s release, the Spanish authorities rated this as appropriate for general admission.  Had this movie gone through the American movie rating system, this scene would have bumped up the rating to at least a PG-13.)  The discussion of the song banters back and forth interspersed with dos-à-dos steps.  The zest of the moment allows everyone to let their hair down, enjoy themselves, and take pride in their strong, feminine qualities.  After the song, Carmelo’s sister accosts Candela privately, informs her of her brother’s love for her, and attests to her former husband’s infidelity with many women, especially with Lucía.  Upon receiving this information, Candela glares at Lucía while the latter goes on with her chore.  In an act of pathetic fallacy, the wind picks up as Candela’s emotions start to boil.  Because the gusts of wind associate with José’s presence, the audience presumes the spectral presence is nearby, starting to scatter the distaff in a fit of patriarchal rage.  The wind whips the drying laundry and forces Lucía and the rest of the women to head indoors.

The last notable example of scenery framing the actors within the set happens when Carmelo and Candela take steps to obtain assistance from Hechicera.  The couple recognize that José’s influence will not go away on its own.  They pay a visit to Hechicera.  Hechicera fits the archetype of the motherly wise woman.  She straddles the border between her middle-age years and her elderly years.  She does not intrude in other people's business, but is always available when sought after.  She fulfills this availability by resting in an armchair in various places around the shantytown.  She can be seen in her armchair fanning herself from time to time during the night, and often she sees Candela go to her meeting place to perform her nightly ritual.  She knows what goes on in this neighborhood.  She gives wisdom and encouragement with a strong confidence that emanates authority.  At one point, she summarizes why a particular course of action needs to be taken.  She says to Carmelo, “Hijo, la felicidad de unos es siempre a costa de la felicidad de otros.  Así es la vida.”  (“Son, the happiness of some is always at the expense of the happiness of others.  That’s life.”)

When Carmelo and Candela approach Hechicera, they find her sitting in her armchair and framed in an alley with scaffolding behind her.  The setup looks like a cathedral.  She informs them that she has been expecting them.  The scaffolding reminds the audience about the beginning of the film with its sustaining structure of the microcosm.  In this context, the place and time insinuate that she has some spiritual power or ability to obtain answers and materials from this transcendent universe.  She knows just what they need to escape their dilemma.  She tells them the way to break the clutches of the dead husband is through fire.

For the rest of the movie, Saura takes advantage of camera angles and color saturations to progress the story, indicate mood, and complete the denouement.  In true Saura fashion, the dance and music provide the lion’s share of the entertainment.  The form in which the movie takes tells an additional story behind the apparent plot.  When placed together with Bodas de sangre and Carmen, we see a saga in which several souls pursue one another over dimensions, stories, and lifetimes until they successfully unite with their rightful partners.

Carlos Saura's Carmen

The second DVD in Criterion Collection’s Eclipse Series 6, entitled Carlos Saura’s Flamenco Trilogy, is Carmen: Inspirada en la novela de Mérimée y la opera de Bizet (Carmen: Based on the Novel by [Prosper] Mérimée and the Opera by [Georges] Bizet).  Distributed by Janus Films in 1983, and by Criterion and studiocanal on DVD in 2007, the film exhibits the screenplay and choreography of Carlos Saura and Antonio Gades.  Saura returns as the director and Emiliano Piedra as the producer.  We see familiar faces appear as well as new ones: Laura del Sol plays the self-assertive Carmen; Paco de Lucía—the world-famous flamenco guitarist—plays Paco, the musical coordinator; Pepa Flores contributes her vocal talents; Cristina Hoyos, as Cristina, coaches other dancers in preparation for an upcoming adaptation of Carmen in the flamenco style; Juan Antonio Jiménez plays Juan; José Yepes as Pepe Girón; Sebastián Moreno as the rival, Escamillo; and Antonio Gades as Antonio, the director and ill-fated lover of the play.  To complete the cast of flamenco players, we have two cantaores and three guitarristas, Gómez de Jerez, Manolo Sevilla, Antonio Solera, Manuel Rodríguez, and Lorenzo Virseda, respectively.

The opening sequence shows Antonio rehearsing flamenco steps with several women in a studio.  Each dancer performs perfectly in unison for the director, but he cannot quite put his finger on something.  He has a few dancers perform solos until he hands off the drilling practice to Cristina.  He joins Paco’s group and asks his friend for a favor.  Paco asks Antonio what he can do for him when he goes to Seville.  Antonio requests Paco to keep his eyes open for someone that can play the leading role in their adaptation of Carmen.  “Don’t you like any of these?” Paco inquires.  Antonio replies, “Some of them aren’t bad … but I just don’t see them as Carmen.”  From there, we immediately see the opening credits and a musical excerpt from the operatic version of Carmen.  Thus marks the drive for the movie.

As the movie continues, Antonio finds a young woman that practices flamenco during classes and dances at a tourist trap in the evenings.  (Her name happens to be Carmen.)  Although just an amateur, she attracts Antonio, and he offers her an audition.  She has a rough audition, but Antonio decides to star her as the popular heroine.  Cristina, the best flamenco dancer Antonio has, feels put-upon by Antonio’s caprice and by Carmen’s ineptitude.  He understands that Cristina is the best dancer he has got, but she is too old to play the part in the production.  He needs someone younger, even if it means Cristina has to help her overcome a learning curve.  Antonio pleads with Cristina to work with Carmen, Cristina swallows her pride as she goes to teach her, and Carmen struggles to become the ideal Carmen for Antonio.

As the movie progresses, we see how Antonio’s situation parallels the one experienced by Don José in the novella and opera.  As Carmen dances better, passions between Carmen and Antonio heat up.  Antonio basks in his muse’s light, but problems surface as the rehearsals continue.  Eventually, jealousy takes over the relationship to the point that tragedy ensues, thus the reality of the film mirrors the fiction of the book and opera … or does it?

Saura incorporates the intertextuality of the novella, the opera, and the adaptation seamlessly.  He continues to use lighting, mirrors, and sets naturally, creating a story that is familiar, yet original.  He again uses paralipsis to give the movie audience a privileged point of view, for Saura never tells the audience if Antonio’s production makes it to the stage.  The audience is left to figure out whether Antonio decides to end rehearsals abruptly because of a quarrel or they are just duped into thinking Antonio takes it out on Carmen, being that their fight is just part of the rehearsal.

The dance and musical numbers are the main attraction.  Paco de Lucía and Pepa Flores perform a fantastic number called “No llores más” (“Don’t Cry Anymore”).  Paco de Lucía, upon hearing the seguidilla “Près des ramparts de Séville,” transforms the operatic number into a bulería in no time at all.  An intense dance-off happens between female teams in the cigar factory scene.  Flamenco carries on the celebration for Toñito’s birthday, which turns into an impromptu bull fight among the cast and crew.  A couple of duels rounds out the performances, and a drill leaves onlookers catching their breaths.  It is a hand-clapping good time!

Parents must take notice though: There are a couple of scenes that depicts nudity in intimate and compromising situations.  The act is implied, but American audiences would rate this movie a strong R.  Excluding the scenes, the movie would be a PG.  For those that do want to watch it, they should know that the movie is in Spanish with English subtitles.

Andrew

Carlos Saura's Bodas de sangre (Blood Wedding)

In 1981, Carlos Saura directs and releases his movie Bodas de sangre (Blood Wedding) based on Federico García Lorca’s play of the same name.  He works with Antonio Artero, Antonio Gades, and Alfredo Mañas to write a screenplay adapting Lorca’s story into a ballet.  Gades choreographs the flamenco rehearsals and participates with his troupe during the filming.  The performers in this film include Antonio Gades as Leonardo, Juan Antonio Jiménez as the Groom, Carmen Villena as the Wife, Pilar Cárdenas as the Mother, and Cristina Hoyos as the Bride.  Emiliano Piedra carries out his function as producer.  Janus Films, studiocanal, and UGC D.A. International distribute the film at various times.  Bodas de sangre is the first DVD in a volume entitled Carlos Saura’s Flamenco Trilogy, released by The Criterion Collection in 2007.  The Criterion Collection places Saura’s trilogy in the Eclipse Series as volume 6.  On my sister’s book blog, I have written a review about the play itself, which you can peruse by clicking here.

The main spectacle of the movie follows the theatrical version as far as the plot is concerned.  Dancers tell the story through the use of body movements, gestures, music, and pantomime.  The attraction of the movie comes in the ubiquitous flamenco.  The players expertly execute movements that imbue the atmosphere with grace and spirit, or duende as the flamenco artists call it.  The dancers tap their heels, the guitarists strum their melismatic-sounding strings, and the palmas mark out the compás in vigorous tempos.  The sensuous, heartrending motions of the hands and bodies evoke tears within abysses of melancholy, while at other times they fan out into exultations of bliss.  The strings of the guitars never flag; they are amazingly limber and versatile.  Flamenco adds a heaping portion of sophistication and mien to an otherwise cut-and-dried drama.

Actually, the show does not begin the storyline until thirty minutes into the movie.  During the first half hour, we see the cast and crew preparing for a full dress rehearsal.  A crew member prepares the dressing room and turns on the lights of the theater makeup mirrors before the cast arrives.  When they arrive, they mingle for a little bit before preparing their stations in a leisurely manner.  We see actors ritually set up their makeup boxes, pictures, and trinkets.  After a few shots of actors applying makeup and Gypsies warming up their voices, Antonio Gades applies eyeliner and we hear his inner monologue relate the beginnings of his career.

After some time for putting on makeup and pensively smoking, Gades strolls into the dance hall to warm up until the rest of cast joins in.  Gades instructs the cast members and critiques their performances until he peps them up for a full dress rehearsal.  They break to get dressed in their costumes and then return to the dance hall so we, the movie patrons, like flies on a wall, can see their finished performance.  They begin the rehearsal, the mood changes, and the rehearsal goes through without a hitch.  The credits then immediately roll.

Like other Saura movies, Bodas de sangre depicts scenes of dancers and performers rehearsing their numbers.  In these scenes, the participants converse as though they are privately practicing.  Yet here we are, watching them through a cinematic medium.  This paralipsis produces a sensation that the patron occupies a privileged space.  In other words, the performers are speaking as though they have yet to record or perform their routines for the public.  They may likely go through with the plan, but there is a possibility that they may decide not to perform this work at all.  Under this circumstance, a moviegoer may think, “Well, did you release the film or not?”  The work does not say, but obviously the film is out for all to see.  It is like the artist saying to the moviegoer, “This is a story we decided not to release, but we are going to let you see anyway.”  Hence, the patron effectively has a privileged opportunity to see a performance, even though the whole world can come to watch the movie.  Saura is a master in the art of paralipsis.

If the idea of paralipsis still sounds perplexing, ask yourself this question: Is the performance I am seeing an example of a choreographed rehearsal or is it a rehearsed choreography?  If it is the former, then it is a performance and not a rehearsal in the true sense.  During the rehearsal scenes, the performers act as if they are in a rehearsal.  They fumble, make mistakes, and react to criticism on purpose.  If it is the latter, then it is truly a rehearsal.  The performers, almost tediously, practice routines until they get them right.  Their rehearsals are not meant for the public to see.  The director intends the audience to see the movie as though this were just one of many rehearsals before the troupe performs on some opening night.  The illusion works great, except for one part where the audience sees a microphone on a boom pole slip into the frame.

The characters that appear in the play, but not in the movie, are the Moon, Death, the Father, the Girl, and the Woodcutters (although one could argue the Moon and Death perform flamenco vigorously off camera while Leonardo and the Groom slowly collapse to the ground during their deaths).  The economy of the film strictly prohibits but a few characters to carry the majority of the story.  The surrealistic elements inextricable in the play must make an absence in the film.  The bare minimum takes front stage.

My favorite performer throughout the whole film is Carmen Villena.  She beautifully dances her heart out and acts out her character with sympathy.  Playing as the Wife, she tries everything to gain back her husband, Leonardo, and cautiously suspects the Bride as the accomplice in the affair.  Through dance, she demonstrates the announcement of the lovers’ furtive escape on horse slowly, cleverly, and gorgeously. 

All in all, this is an enjoyable movie to watch.  Some sequences may not be suitable for very young children, although I would feel comfortable showing my older nephews and nieces.  Those who show an affinity for theater, dance, song, or music will enjoy Bodas de sangre.

Second Thoughts on Luis Buñuel's Viridiana

The following review is a continuation of a previous film review, which you can read by clicking here.  One word got me ruminating on this topic for quite some time, and I wanted to jot down my incipient thoughts.  I have learned from school that there are literary movements or interpretations called “theories” that bring a sense of variety to literary discussions.  For example, literary theories can include New Criticism, Feminism, Post-colonialism, Postmodernism, and even Queer Theory, among many others.  These movements come and go like seasonal fashions.  When I think about my niche in a possible literary theory, I have the impression that academicians look for “new” and “original” ideas from prospective graduate students. That is a tall order if we really think about it.  As I develop my skills in criticism, how can I work upon established literary theories and be fresh and original, too?  One fantasy I have is that a future literary theory called “LDS Interpretation” would develop and become a sensation in the world of literary criticism (or “Mormon Theory” if the rest of the world wants a more derogatory moniker reflecting a Sartrean Other).  That would spark my motivation to blaze trails and pioneer research into unknown territory, but my idea may be wishful thinking on my part.  However, if I am to become an original and creative critic, I must take risks.  So, seeing that the following topic applies to the theme of the blog, I hereby contribute an addendum to Luis Buñuel’s Viridiana.  In this possible example of an article using Mormon Theory, I use scriptural sources from the LDS canon to unfold a likely interpretation of a cinematic text.

When I last had the DVD of Viridiana, there was an extra containing an interview with Silvia Pinal.  In one part of the interview, she retells her concern about Viridiana’s final outcome.  She does not like the thought of a traumatized girl revoking her vows as a nun and jumping into a ménage à trois with Jorge and Ramona.  She brings up this concern to Luis Buñuel and he takes the time to persuade her that the ending is necessary for Viridiana.  The director describes the charitable novitiate’s role as “useless” to society at large.  Buñuel goes on to say that after having a moment of doubt, Viridiana would have children, work the land producing food, and become a skillful contributor to the local community.  So the trauma that Viridiana experiences essentially transforms her from a “useless” virgin to a “useful” mother.

What bothers me is Buñuel’s use of the word “useless” to describe Viridiana.  Granted, her plans to set up a homeless shelter fail because of a lack of planning and a dollop of naïveté, but her efforts are not “useless.”  The word makes her out to be some kind of idler or dimwit.  Further, Buñuel implies that the Catholic religion as a whole cannot meet or support the needs of individual members on the front lines.  In other words, it is too big to waste its power over saving one nun in a predicament.  Others may say Viridiana chooses not to return to the convent out of a vainglorious need to found her own order, yet she tries to return to the convent, a decision that would have ensconced her back into the center of the fold.  Unfortunately, two people prevent her from returning: her uncle, Don Jaime, and her mother superior.  The former assaults her honor and reputation, and even if technically Viridiana still retains her virginity, the church would have balked under the slightest suspicion of impurity.  The latter insists that Viridiana puts on appearances to give gratitude for her uncle’s patronage, despite Viridiana’s pleas to the contrary.  Viridiana’s gut instinct tells her that she is not fit to leave the convent and that visiting her uncle is not a good idea.  The mother superior does not listen and neglectfully sends Viridiana on her way.  If the mother superior had reconsidered sending Viridiana to a family relative the nun hardly knew or trusted, Viridiana would have continued being a “useful” teacher at the Catholic school for children.  Further, if the mother superior and the people higher up had reconsidered sending Viridiana on a public relations errand, she would not have been lost to the world, Don Jaime would not have committed suicide, and revelries would not have ensued to injure property and people.  The problem with Viridiana is not her uselessness; it is because she is useful, a trait that others exploit for their own agendas.

The truly useless people in the film are the beggars and the needy, not Viridiana.  The beggars see her as a means to get material goods, not as a source to learn valuable skills in kindness, spirituality, responsibility, accountability, and self-sufficiency.  Had the beggars truly appreciated Viridiana’s charity, they would not have betrayed her trust and would have given restitution for their offenses.  They would have stayed and cleaned up the mess they had made.  Instead, the majority runs away while a few remain to commit crimes against their benefactress.

One of the most provocative scenes in the movie shows a beggar sexually assaulting Viridiana after knocking out Jorge with a bottle.  The polarity between good and evil contrast strongly.  In Buñuel’s limited scope of the film, the scene suggests the inability of the Catholic institution to protect its functionaries, or at least have the foresight to prevent the possibility in the first place.  It appears in this instance that the world does what it wants with good people.  This disregard to spiritual or holy law seems to go with impunity.  I want to prove otherwise.  I have looked for any doctrine or source that vindicates Viridiana as a “useful” member of society as far as a Christian Deity was concerned.  Whatever the case, Viridiana would be the means through which a universal justice condemns guilty parties.

First of all, I have looked in the scriptures to see if they could shed some light on the question of usefulness or uselessness.  But before I do, I want to clarify an element about Viridiana’s situation.  In the movie, Viridiana, after experiencing two assaults on her person, decides to abandon her goals in becoming a nun and returns to civilian life.  Buñuel would argue that Viridiana’s choice of not returning to the convent evidences doubt as the defining force driving her life.  He uses the word “doubt” to indicate actions his characters experience in life-changing moments.  I contend it is not.  Doubt is too strong a word.  I prefer “question.”  Viridiana questions her previous decisions to be a nun and follows an unknown path.  It is not doubt in the sense that she abandons her work and faith, but a readjustment that is within her power to make.  Viridiana questions her role in the religious and worldly systems, and starts on a different path than she originally anticipated.  Does she forego taking vows?  Yes, but from my LDS perspective and understanding about ecclesiastical authority, Viridiana is perfectly justified in choosing to “produce fruit and be a mother” that Buñuel sets her out to do.  In the end, I agree with Buñuel’s outcome for Viridiana, but I do not agree with his categorization of her before she leaves her post.  If doubt must come into the equation, then Viridiana’s doubt is an anti-faith that is against the institution that failed her and an exercise of free will; but anti-faith implies that Viridiana discontinues believing in God.  Hence, question is a better term.  She can still question an imperfect, man-operated organization without having to lose faith in a religion.  When she takes the time to prepare to make her vows, she rightfully expects the church to provide her with safety and security.  She performed her part of the bargain by complying with her superiors’ demands.  However, the Catholic system fails to pay her due diligence at a time she needs it most.  Viridiana fulfills her part, but the organization does not; therefore, Viridiana is under no obligation to continue upholding her vows while the church fails to uphold its promises.

Having said that, I now investigate into scriptural sources to validate Viridiana’s efforts and qualify her as useful.  I think of charity as one of Viridiana’s useful characteristics.  A number of results come back.  The first result appears relevant, because Viridiana seeks to do good works.  Her short time with the homeless people shows that she has faith in the potential good of people: “And see that ye have faith, hope, and charity, and then ye will always abound in good works” (Alma 7:24).  Abounding in good works implies that they are useful as long as faith, hope, and charity corroborate them.  Viridiana complies with these requisites and does good works to the people that surround her.

I then search for certain keywords in the scriptures.  The citations tend to condemn the beggars that disobey Viridiana’s rules.  By stealing into the main mansion, they have more to fear of becoming useless creatures than Viridiana does.  A New Testament prophet describes their shortcomings and actions succinctly: “These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear: clouds they are without water, carried about of winds; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots; Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever” (Jude 1:12-13).  This particularly labels the blind man who smashes the dishes on the table upon hearing that his girl is rolling around with a man behind the couch.  The blessing he leaves while passing Jorge during the discovery of their revelry sounds especially empty and hypocritical.

I continued looking up “useless” in my scriptural sources.  I came upon an entry in the LDS Bible Dictionary for Jeremiah.  This prophet bears the same tribulations like Viridiana.  “After Josiah’s death he tried to stem, almost alone, the tide of idolatry and immorality, of self-deception founded on superficial reforms (3:4-5; 7:8-10), and of fanatical confidence in the Lord’s protection, in which all classes were carried away” (BD Jeremiah 711).

The entry continues to discuss Jeremiah as a type of fetish for the escaping Jews.  Viridiana can be seen as a type of fetish.  Buñuel does portray her feet in that fashion.  But in the case of the rapists, she is a fetish that embodies purity and virginity.  They treat her in the same way, almost, as Jeremiah: “After the fall of Jerusalem the Jews who escaped into Egypt took Jeremiah with them as a kind of fetish (43:6), and at last, according to tradition, stoned him to death” (BD Jeremiah 711).  The beggars play along with Viridiana’s philanthropic experiment until they either abandon her or assault her.

Another attribute that vindicates Viridiana is that she truly wants to become better than she is herself.  Her actions speak from the heart whereas her followers go through just the motions.  Unfortunately, her followers, although recognizing that she has a heart of gold, uselessly ignore her admonitions and charity.  Viridiana mirrors Jeremiah again: “The prophet dwells much on the inwardness of the Lord’s relation to the mind of his servants.  External service is useless where there is no devotion of heart and life; superficial reforms were of no avail—a complete regeneration in the national life was required.  He develops the idea of individual fellowship with the Lord (5:1, 7, 26-28; 9:1-6; 18); though the Jewish state falls, the Lord remains, and religion remains in the life of the individual” (BD Jeremiah 711, emphasis in original).  The beggars do not comply with Viridiana’s regimen; therefore, their external service constitute as superficial.

I really do not find an explicit use of the word “useless” in the scriptures, but what about “useful” in the scriptures?  Unfortunately, the word acts in a completely utilitarian sense as it applies to food and beasts of burden: “Nevertheless, wheat for man, and corn for the ox, and oats for the horse, and rye for the fowls and for swine, and for all beasts of the field, and barley for all useful animals, and for mild drinks, as also other grain” (D&C 89:17).  A Book of Mormon prophet uses the word to describe the same as well: “And also all manner of cattle, of oxen, and cows, and of sheep, and of swine, and of goats, and also many other kinds of animals which were useful for the food of man” (Ether 9:18).

I decide to try a different term, because “useless” and “useful” bring back scant results.  I choose “offend,” because the rapists or assaulters offend Viridiana in the master bedroom in an injurious way.  Being an innocent and charitable hostess, she attempts to deflect the forces that take advantage of her.  Although it appears contrary, I stress that a universal justice sides on behalf of “useful” people, even in times of dire straits.  The assaulters do get their comeuppance shortly following their crime.  Jesus warns, “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matthew 18:6).  Mormon continues this line of thought in the Americas: “And it would be better for them if they had not been born.  For do ye suppose that ye can get rid of the justice of an offended God, who hath been trampled under feet of men, that thereby salvation might come?” (3 Nephi 28:35).  Viridiana faints before she gets saved, but she is saved nonetheless.  The offenders do not.

The way Viridiana gets saved after she passes out from her exertion to stop the assault is through her cousin, Jorge.  He, while tied up, bribes the disabled hobo with money.  The hobo takes his offer even though earlier he was waiting for his accomplice to give him a turn with the nun.  He kills him by smashing the offender’s head with an ash shovel.  He gets the money, but the civil guard comes upon the premises shortly after.  It does not take a lot of imagination to conclude that the hobo will be prosecuted severely after that.  (As to the ethical question of Jorge’s conduct in manipulating the hobo to murder his partner, it lies outside the scope of this article.)

Viridiana survives, but psychological wounds remain.  But wounds do not disqualify her standing as a useful person.  Her useful charity ultimately saves her from a worse destiny.  Her charity comes in her favor.  Consider the following:

“And it was the more righteous part of the people who were saved, and it was they who received the prophets and stoned them not; and it was they who had not shed the blood of the saints, who were spared—

“And they were spared and were not sunk and buried up in the earth; and they were not drowned in the depths of the sea; and they were not burned by fire, neither were they fallen upon and crushed to death; and they were not carried away in the whirlwind; neither were they overpowered by the vapor of smoke and of darkness” (3 Nephi 10:12-13).

The two miscreants suffer punishment in a less epic manner, of course, but I am thinking more along the lines like this: “But, behold, the judgments of God will overtake the wicked; and it is by the wicked that the wicked are punished; for it is the wicked that stir up the hearts of the children of men unto bloodshed” (Mormon 4:5).  Some may say that since God allows a person, in this cinematic case, to kill a rapist while in the act as punishment, then they can conclude that God is also wicked, thinking that only the wicked punish the wicked.  No, that is not the case.  It is Jorge who “stirs up the heart” of the disabled hobo to commit the murder.  Jorge certainly is wicked enough to even suggest an idea to a mentally slow creature, for why does not he suggest that he just wrangle the rapist away instead?

The abuse inflicted upon useful people by useless ones seems to indicate a pattern of closed-minded and wretched folk.  Alma, speaking about Zenock, an unknown Old Testament prophet, confirms this practice saying, “And now, my brethren, ye see that a second prophet of old has testified of the Son of God, and because the people would not understand his words they stoned him to death” (Alma 33:17).  The assaulters did not care for Viridiana’s charity and teaching.  Viridiana’s example is very useful for the betterment of the indigents’ lives and circumstances.  The useless folks just decide not the heed the wise nun.

At this point, another question comes to mind: Is Viridiana raped twice in the story or not?  The shots are ambiguous enough to suggest either.  Technically, the answer is no, because we simply do not see it portrayed and Don Jaime tells Viridiana, “I lied.”  However, surrealistically speaking—which I believe is the case in this film—Viridiana does suffer from post-traumatic stress comparable to a rape victim’s.  The Spanish sense of honor and virtue, whether or not Viridiana is at fault, dictates that her reputation, even under appearances, has been sullied.  Imagined or not, her circumstance bars her from returning to an atmosphere that requires purity in spirit and in body to serve as a nun.

Viridiana could have chosen to return to the convent and assert that she is guiltless, but she does not.  She does not, because the prying questions of worthiness from her peers and superiors would distract all of them from the spiritual work at hand.  Unity is the key in any organized religious institution, and, although innocent of any sexual wrongdoing, Viridiana understands the potential harm she could do on its reputation.  She figures the situation would be more secure to trust her capitalist cousin, who appreciates her physical beauty anyway, than it would be under the mercy of a strictly celibate atmosphere.  She fixes herself up as best she knows how and begins “shuffling the deck” with Jorge and Ramona.  Does she make a wrong decision?  Not necessarily, and I think Buñuel portrays that.

Buñuel is an atheist, but I intuit that he graciously allows others to practice their religion according to their consciences.  Buñuel, I believe, contests against the clericalism readily apparent in the culture.  He is, however, not antireligious.  It is certainly in the realm of possibilities that, as a professed atheist, he still holds some religious beliefs.  Father Valentín Arteta Luzuriaga, S.J., plays on this idea in another extra entitled Cinéastes de notre temps on the DVD.  As to what they are or which ones, I do not know.  Buñuel says one thing at one moment and says something else the next.  I do have an idea of one possibility: Buñuel is a cultural Catholic and that can explain a lot of motifs in his films.

When I look at the cinematic and literary clues, I wonder if Buñuel had in mind the last chapter of Proverbs.  Before writing the screenplay Viridiana, does Buñuel consciously or subconsciously envision Viridiana as a modern mother of King Lemuel?  Could it be that Viridiana is just a story a mother tells her son about how she met his father?  The idea is plausible.

Imagine Viridiana telling her experiences to her son and the wisdom she has gained from those experiences:

“The words of king Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him.

“What, my son? and what, the son of my womb? and what, the son of my vows?

“Give not thy strength unto women, nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings.

“It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor the princes strong drink:

“Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.

“Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.

“Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.

“Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.

“Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.

“Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.

“The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.

“She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.

“She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.

“She is like the merchants’ ships; she bringeth her food from afar.

“She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.

“She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.

“She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.

“She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night.

“She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.

“She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.

“She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.

“She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple.

“Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land.

“She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant.

“Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.

“She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.

“She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

“Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.

“Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.

“Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.

“Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates” (Proverbs 31:1-31).

Viridiana has always been a useful member of society.  She is a good person that has had her share of disappointments and setbacks.  She questions her place in the grand scheme of things, but she does not doubt.  Answers and justice may not come when she wants, but they do come.  She needs to be given the compassion that she has sought to give, but which her congregation and her supervisors failed to reciprocate.  Her followers and her superiors are the true useless people.