Un chien andalou
is a short film written by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí and directed by the
former in 1929. Pierre Batcheff plays an
unidentified man, Simone Mareuil as an unidentified woman, Buñuel as the eye
slicer, Dalí as a priest, Marval as another priest, Robert Hommet as a man on a
beach, Jaume Miravitlles as a corpulent priest, and Fano Messan as an
androgynous hand poker in this silent film.
The music for this piece comes from a tango and Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, interpreted by Carl
Bamberger with the Frankfurt Opera Orchestra.
Buñuel played a mix of these two themes during the original release in
Paris, France. Les Grands Films
Classiques, under Buñuel’s directions, added the soundtrack to the film in
1960. Transflux Films distributes the
film in DVD format beginning in 2004.
The DVD also contains the following extra features: (1) “A Slice of
Buñuel: Exclusive interview/documentary with Juan-Luis Buñuel,” (2) “Epilogue:
Dali & Buñuel: Bonus Interview,” (3) “Audio Commentary: By Surrealism
expert Stephen Barber,” and (4) “Design: Dave McKean biography and
statement.” The DVD jacket states that
there should be one more feature entitled “Mystery of Cinema: Abridged
transcript of speech given by Luis Buñuel in 1953,” but I cannot find it
anywhere on the disc. Either the
distributors have forgotten to include this segment in the DVD or the disc I
have is another edition.
Given
the nature of the film, the surrealism prevents me from summarizing the events
of the story. Therefore, I have drafted
an incipient poem.
The
greatest classic films present…
Tristan,
Isolde, Wagner, and Bamberger in tango.
Luis
Buñuel in 1960.
Un Chien Andalou
Buñuel
places the stage.
Dalí
and Buñuel create a scene
for
Simone Mareuil
and
Pierre Batcheff.
Duverger
shoots.
“Once
upon a time…”
Buñuel
sharpens his razor diagonally.
He
smokes.
999, 1000!
I wonder if it’s sharp enough.
I’ll test it on my cuticle.
Ouch!
He
exits out the door onto the patio.
Hmm, no one’s out here.
He
looks up.
What are you looking at?
A
full moon and thin cloud stare.
He
exhales more smoke.
(There’s
a striped tie.)
Are you ready for your radial
keratotomy?
Yes dear.
I have to time this exactly with
the cloud.
He
positions the razor horizontally.
The
thin cloud slices the moon.
He
cuts the eye too deeply.
Damn it!
“Eight
years later.”
A
nun bikes down a street.
A
nun bikes up a street.
It’s
a guy!
The
street comes forward
and
he has a box hanging from his neck.
The
street likes looking at his backside.
The
nun bikes down another street.
Another
bicyclist zooms the other way.
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer,
do…
The
box is fashionably striped.
A
woman leisurely reads
in
a cozy apartment.
She
hears a sound.
Don’t tell me it’s him.
…I
can’t afford a carriage…
What is he doing here?
She
throws down the book about
Vermeer’s
The Lacemaker.
She
walks to the window and looks out.
What the…!
...But
you’d look sweet upon a seat…
Oh, that pervert!
…of a bicycle … built
for…
He
falls to the curb.
I told him to stop panty raiding the
cloister!
…two.
He can’t do anything right without
me.
She
marches out the door.
He
rests his head on the curb.
She
flies down the stairs.
I think I’ll just take
a nap.
Oh, my baby. Are you hurt?
She
smothers him with
kisses
and caresses.
She
unlocks the box.
She
takes out a striped package.
She
unwraps the packaging.
It’s
a striped necktie.
She
folds it into a collar
and
arranges the nun’s habit
on
the bed.
There. Now I’ll sit down
and watch the show.
The
tie moves.
I’m not impressed.
The
tie ties itself.
Wow, this is boring.
She
looks to her left.
I wonder what he’s watching.
The
man stares intently at the
palm
of his hand.
Ants
crawl out from a hole in the
palm
of his hand.
He
continues staring.
I wanna see.
She
approaches him.
She
stares.
More
ants crawl out from the
palm
of his hand.
You should get that checked.
You think so?
Ants
change into a hairy armpit.
The
hairy armpit changes into
a
sea urchin.
The
sea urchin changes into
a
person with a stick.
She
pokes a severed hand
with
a stick.
A
crowd of men gathers
and
circles her.
Two
policemen keep the men
away.
It’s
an androgynous woman.
C’mon, Thing, wake up!
You’re causing a scene.
Can
I get your autograph?
The
woman continues to poke.
People
wonder.
More
people wonder.
You’re embarrassing me.
Is she Thing’s
girlfriend?
The
man and woman
in
the apartment
look
down from the window.
I’ll keep poking until you move.
She’s so provocative!
A
policeman reports for duty.
Let me give you a hand.
He
picks up the hand
and
places it within the striped box.
Here you go, ma’am.
Oh, he touched my hand.
The
couple is dumbfounded.
Thank you, officer.
The
man looks touched.
Okay, break it up,
break it up.
There’s nothing else to
see.
She
stands alone in the street.
A
car rushes by.
The
man feels the suspense.
She
stands alone in the street.
I betcha 5 bucks she
gets run over.
Vroom!
C’mon, c’mon.
Vroom!
Mrs. Thing T. Thing. I like that.
Meep,
meep!
The
head ornament has her in its sights.
Oh no! I’ll never let go, Thing!
She
gets run down.
Yes! I won 5 bucks!
The
dead lady sprawls over the road.
Did you see that? She’s dead!
It’s a hit and run.
The
man turns from the window.
The
woman shrinks from the loss.
Well?
Well what?
Never mind the 5 bucks.
I have a better idea.
He
gropes her breasts.
He
leers at her.
She
backs away.
He
leers again.
She
backs up against a piece
of
furniture.
Aha!
She
goes the other way.
Aha again!
He
pounces.
Get your grubby mitts
off me!
He
pounces again.
She
reluctantly submits.
He
undresses her with his mind.
His
eyes roll back.
His
mouth drools blood.
Breasts
turn into buttocks
and
back again.
Oh, that’s kinky!
Oh no he didn’t!
She
flees.
He
pursues her
around
the apartment,
over
the bed,
and
into a corner.
She
grabs a tennis racquet.
She
brandishes it
and
guards herself
behind
a chair.
Oh shucks!
I’m no match for a tennis racquet.
I’ll bluff my way in.
She
pants.
No.
She’s too strong.
Just try and take me.
She’s caught my bluff.
Aha! You can’t touch this.
There’s gotta be something…
He
finds something on the floor.
Yeah, that’ll work.
He
picks up two ropes.
She
gets worried.
He
lunges forward
but
the ropes
pull
him back.
He
wrings the ropes
over
his shoulders
and
pulls.
Tablets
hang from the ropes.
Oh no!
He
pulls some more.
He
drags
two
cork tablets,
two
melons,
two
priests,
two
grand pianos,
and
two dead donkeys.
Blood
streams
from
enucleated
sockets.
He
gains ground.
She
trembles
and
hides
her
face.
He
pulls again.
The
priests drag like dead weight.
They
hold on.
She
looks again.
Dead
donkey!
Befuddled
priests!
Hang in there, buddy.
Just a few more feet.
He
strains.
She
sees the door.
She
makes off for it.
He
lets go
of
the ropes
to
reach
the
escaping woman.
The
door closes on the man’s
right
arm.
Pain!
She
keeps closing the door.
He
writhes in pain.
She
forces the door.
She
sees the ants in the
palm
of his hand.
Ants
crawl
on
the writhing hand.
C’mon, c’mon!
The
hand grips up.
Close you stupid door!
The
man, in the nun’s habit,
lies
in bed.
He
stares at the ceiling.
The
woman finally
closes
the door.
She
notices him.
The
man glances
awkwardly.
She
calms down.
Whoa, a woman is in my bedroom.
“About
three in the morning…”
A
man approaches the door.
He
rings the doorbell.
Two
hands
from
two holes
in
the wall
shake
a
cocktail
shaker.
Who could that be?
Shake,
shake, shake.
No thanks. I don’t drink.
I’ll get it.
The
door opens by itself.
The
man enters.
The
man gets terribly upset.
What are you doing in bed?
I’m gonna punch you!
You good-for-nothin’…
But godfather…
Get out of bed!
I don’t wanna.
Oh, you don’t wanna, eh?
Get out of the bed this instant!
You tranny!
Take those off!
He
turns to the patio door.
It’s curtains for you!
He
throws the coif
out
the window.
He
throws the striped box
out
the window.
The
man hides the strap
in
his pocket.
Hey, what do you got there?
What thing?
Okay, here.
You’re such a pansy!
Well, if you put it
that way…
The
man throws the strap
out
the window.
Now, stand in the corner.
No.
Stand in the corner!
Oh, all right.
Sheesh, I can’t believe
this.
Put your hands up.
All right, all right!
The
man takes off his fedora
and
throws it to the side.
He
starts to walk away.
“Sixteen
years before.”
The
man turns
in
slow motion.
What have I done?
A
dusty desk with
grimy
books
and
a pen.
Oh no! What have I done?
He
picks up the books.
He
holds them close.
He
speeds up.
He
returns to the man.
What now?
I apologize.
Here, take these books.
He
takes one into each hand.
He
shakes his head.
Where have I gone wrong?
I’m such a failure.
He
steps away
in
slow motion.
Now’s my chance.
He
walks to the door.
He
holds two pistols.
Freeze!
He
turns around.
Stick ‘em up!
He
holds up his hands.
I promise to pay off the loan.
He
flips him off.
Just gimme two days.
Take these, you dirty
rat!
He
pumps him full of lead.
He
reacts
in
slow motion.
Pew,
pew!
Oh, that feels strangely…
…good.
He
falls forward
in
a sylvan pasture.
He
falls upon a woman
with
a bare back
sitting
on a stump.
He
strokes her spine
with
the back of
his
left hand.
He
dies.
Thanks for the massage.
She
disappears.
Men
in suits and fedoras
congregate.
Two
undercover agents stroll
beside
a bush.
Detectives
examine
the
dead body.
The
agents stroll
closer.
No
heartbeat.
One
detective
accosts
the two agents.
He
returns.
The
two agents
supervise
the transportation
of
the body.
The
two agents stroll leisurely—
one
before, one behind
—overseeing
the four detectives
and
the body.
They
go away.
The
woman opens the door
and
enters.
She
closes the door
and
sees a moth on the wall.
The
moth wiggles gently.
She
stares.
The
moth appears bigger.
It’s
a death’s-head hawkmoth.
She
focuses on the image
of
the skull.
She
stares concernedly.
The
man stares back.
She
gets worried.
He
covers his mouth
as
though about to vomit.
Eww!
He
removes his hand.
There
is no mouth.
That’s gross! Let me put it back on.
She
takes out lipstick
from
her purse and
applies
the lipstick to her own lips
while
keeping her eye
on
the man.
The
man’s face
where
the mouth used to be
grows
armpit hair.
She
gets shocked.
She
looks under her own
armpit.
It’s
bare.
She
rubs it, but no stubble.
You sicko! You stole my
pubic hair!
She
wraps a striped scarf
around
her neck.
He
stands there.
Bleh! Hmph!
She
steps out the door.
She
opens it again and
sticks
out her tongue.
Neh! Neh!
She
slams the door.
The
wind blows.
She
sees a guy
in
a horizontally
patterned
sweater on a
rocky
beach.
He
turns around.
She
waves at him
and
runs to him.
She
flirts, but he
looks
away.
He
holds up his wrist and
shows
her the time.
She
pulls down his wrist.
She
cajoles him.
She
kisses his lips.
He
throws down his hat
and
reciprocates.
They
walk down the rocky beach
side
by side.
He
supports her
while
they stumble
on
the rocks.
They
come upon
a
soiled nun’s habit
and
a broken striped box
in
a muddy spot.
He
kicks the box away.
She
picks up the clothes
and
hands it to him.
He
examines the items
and
tosses each away.
They
continue their frolic.
They
kiss.
“In
spring…”
Both
she and he,
buried
up to their stomachs in the sand,
are
dead.
“FIN”
Un chien andalou
has the ability to shock the audience with graphic images and provocative
action. Parents should think twice
before showing young audiences this film.
I would feel comfortable showing this work only to adults and in college
classrooms. Even I have squirmed the
first time upon seeing an eye getting sliced open by a razor.
However,
the extras on the DVD provide valuable information related to this film,
to Buñuel, and to Dalí. In “A Slice of
Buñuel,” the director’s son, Juan-Luis Buñuel, recounts his father’s
experiences with the drums of Calanda, his stay at la Residencia, pranks he and Federico García Lorca would do with a
girl on a trolley, and moments with Charlie Chaplin. He also tells how ridiculous critics try to
analyze Un chien andalou, stating
that Buñuel and Dalí intended the film to have no symbolic interpretations at
all.
In
“Epilogue: Dali & Buñuel,” Buñuel’s son tells of a tragic fallout between
the two collaborators. Dali and Buñuel
try to collaborate again in L’Âge d’or,
but artistic differences prevent them from continuing their professional
relationship. According to Juan-Luis
Buñuel, Dalí changes when he meets Gala.
After that, Dalí denounces Buñuel “as a Communist and an Atheist.” Doing so causes Buñuel to seek employment
elsewhere. (I wonder if Buñuel could
have sued Dalí for libel had they lived in a later time period.) Dalí even refuses to lend fifty dollars to
Buñuel when the latter has to pay the rent.
In the end, Buñuel’s son states that “Dalí was surrounded by vultures”
on his deathbed.
Stephen
Barber’s audio commentary takes some effort to listen to. Barber’s speech is very choppy and he repeats
the title annoyingly. He rambles more on
Antonin Artaud’s The Seashell and the
Clergyman than on Un chien andalou,
even though he awards the latter as being the “culmination” of surrealist
French film experiments of the 1920s. He
then stutters about the movements obsessions with sex and death. I would have preferred Barber reading from a
script than trying to improvise his commentary of the film.
Last,
but not least, Dave McKean provides a gallery of two beautiful prints depicting
forearms in surrealist environments. I
like the one showing a hand turning on a light bulb while the forearm
transforms into moths that flitter around the light bulb. It has a magical simplicity to it.
Un chien andalou
is a quintessential example of surrealist film.
It is not for the general public, but those who study or like film will
eventually come across it. If I were to
focus on an element of the film, it would have to be the discontinuity between
the doors when the man gets his hand caught. On his side, the door closes from
behind him. On the woman’s side, the door
closes on the hand from the opposite direction.
The discontinuity actually accentuates the surrealist element in this
case. Once the woman stops trying to
shut the door, I imagine that she has closed it, severing the hand off-screen
in the process. In the surrealist
timeline, the severed hand that the androgynous woman pokes in the street may
be the same hand that the man loses after his sexual assault on the woman. But in any case, the amputation serves to
cure the man’s ant infestation in his hand.
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