Un Chien Andalou (1928) dir. Luis Buñuel. France.
Abigail: So. This exists. It is. That is all.
I guess not actually, but this is my take away from the film. The image of a woman getting her eye sliced open is memorable, I suppose. My theory is Bunuel used this to launch his career, and I am going to give him great props for that, and be glad that he did. And recognize that he was the first of many white men to skyrocket from crap short film that gets buzz to major Hollywood budget. Hopefully a century later, we’ll start to see some POC and women (and women of color, come to that) do the same.
Forrest: This film, which epithet I give it only for the sake of convenience and because it was shot on celluloid, feels like it was made by a couple of kids screwing around with their parents’ video camera. As it turns out, Dalí and Buñuel were in their twenties when they made it, and it was financed by Buñuel’s mother. So that makes sense. Some of the images are striking, but it’s neither as interesting nor as inflammatory as its directors wish it to be. (They were disheartened by its positive reception.) I found it insufferable.