Luis Buñuel (1900-1983) was a Spanish national treasure film director known as the "father of surrealist cinema". From his first surrealist film masterpiece, A Dog of Andalus, in 1928 to his last film, The Hidden Purpose of Desire, in 1977, he has directed films that have won several honors such as the Golden Lion at the Venice International Film Festival, the Palme d'Or at the Cannes International Film Festival, and the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.
Excerpts from his memoir, My Last Sigh, in which he talks about almost all of his personal preferences, books, movies, music, and attitudes to life, giving us a closer look at the director behind the film.
In the era of surrealism, there is a habit among us, that is, to ultimately judge things as good and bad, right and wrong, beautiful and ugly.
Some books must be read, while others cannot be seen; some things must be done and others cannot be done. I was inspired by these old gadgets, and I wrote this chapter as naturally as all happened by chance, in which there were things I hated and some I liked. I advise you to try it one day.
I used to love Fabre's Insects. My penchant for observation and my attachment to living things made me feel that this book was unparalleled, far beyond the Bible. For a long time I said to myself that I was only carrying this book to a desert island. But today I changed my mind: I don't bring any books with me.
I love Sade. When I first saw his book in Paris, I was only 25 years old. I was more impressed by his books than Darwin's.
Sade (1740-1814): French writer whose main works include Giustina
When The 120 Days of Sodom was first published in Berlin, it was printed very little. One day, I saw one of them at Roland Duval's house, when I was with Robert Tesnos. The book is in tatters. Marcel Proust and others had already read the intractable book, and Duvall lent it to me.
Until then, I knew nothing about THAAD. After reading the book, I was stunned.
In Madrid, in the universities, basically no one hides from me the masterpieces of world literature, from Cammons to Dante, from Homer to Cervantes. But how can I ignore the existence of this brilliant work, which analyzes society in an authoritative way, regardless of culture and the views of its own side. It shook me a lot. The university lied to me. I think that other "masterpieces" lose all their value and importance in an instant. I think that if I re-read the Divine Comedy, I would feel that this is the most poetic book in the world, even less poetic than the Bible. So what about The Song of Lusitania and The Liberated Jerusalem?
I said to myself: They should let me read Sade's book before doing everything else! Yet they made me read so many useless books!
I wanted to do everything I could to find Sade's other writings, but his books were strictly forbidden. Only a very small number of editions were published in the 18th century. The clerk of a bookstore on Bonaparte Avenue—Breton and Ellua, who had taken me there—wrote my name on the list of people who had registered to buy the book The Doom of Giustina's Chastity. But he couldn't find the book for me. Instead, I had in my hand the manuscript of 120 Days of Sodom, which I almost bought, and finally the Viscount Noeris got it, a thick bundle.
A few friends lent me my favorite "Philosophy of the Boudoir", as well as "The Dialogue between the Priest and the Dying Man", "The Doom of Giustina's Chastity", and "Juliet's Bad Luck". I particularly appreciated the story of Juliet writing in the latter book about being with the Pope, who acknowledged his atheism. In addition, I have a granddaughter also named Juliet, a name chosen by my son Jean Louis.
Breton had a copy of The Doom of Giustina's Virginity, and René Cléville also had one. When Cléville committed suicide, the first to arrive at his house was Dalí, followed by Breton. Other members of the group followed. One of Cléville's girlfriends arrived from London a few hours later by plane. It was she who discovered in the chaos after death that the book "The Doom of Giustina's Chastity" was missing. Someone must have stolen the book. Did Dalí do it? That's impossible. Suspicious of Breton? It's ridiculous. Besides, he already had the book. A member of Cléville's family, who was familiar with his library, must have stolen the book. But the thieves remain at large.
I was also deeply touched by Sade's will. In his will, he demanded that his ashes be scattered anywhere, and he asked humanity to forget his works and even his name. I would also like to make the same request as him. I think that all the memorial ceremonies, all the statues that stand for great people are hypocritical and harmful. What's the use of these? I only saw the illusory dignity, or forgot about it.
Although my interest in THAAD has changed today – but a passion for everything still emerges – I cannot forget this cultural revolution. Undoubtedly, his influence on me was profound. I did quote Sade in The Golden Age, and Maurice Heine wrote an article against me, stressing that the "Holy Marquis" would be deeply unhappy about it. In fact, THAAD launched a comprehensive and thorough attack on all denominations, and I only attacked Christianity. My reply to this is that my aim is not to respect the ideas of a late writer, but to make a film.
Marcel Proust (1871-1922): French writer, representative of which is "Remembrance of the Age of Water"
I have great respect for Wagner, and I have used his music in several films from my first film ("An Andalus Dog") to the last one ("The Hidden Purpose of Desire"). I'm fairly familiar with his music.
I like to go to bed early and get up early, and I also like to eat earlier than the normal meal time. This is a complete violation of the habits of the Spaniards.
I love the north, the cold and the rain. I'm an authentic Spaniard in this regard. I was born in an arid region and could not imagine the beauty of a foggy, wet, vast forest. As I have said, as a child I went on vacation to San Sebastian, the northernmost part of Spain. I was thrilled to see the ferns and the mosses on the trunks. I like the Scandinavian countries and Russia that I don't know much about. At the age of 7, he wrote a story that was only a few pages long, which was about crossing Siberia through the vast snowy plains.
I love the sound of the falling rain. I think it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. Now I have to bring a hearing aid to hear it, but it sounds very different from before.
Rain can moisten the earth and make a country rich and strong.
I do love the cold. Throughout my youth, I went for a walk outside in the coldest winters, wearing no coats, only a shirt and a coat. I felt the cold, but I stood firm, because the cold made me very happy. My friends call me "the one who doesn't wear a coat." One day they took a picture of me standing naked in the snow.
One winter in Paris, the Seine had begun to freeze, and I was waiting at the Orce train station for Juan Vicens, who was coming by car from Madrid. The wind was blowing, and I had to run from one end of the platform to the other to protect myself from the cold. Even so, I was unable to escape the fate of pneumonia. Just to recover as quickly as possible, I bought a cold suit, which was the first cold suit I wore in my life.
In the 1930s, I and Babin Bello and another friend, Artillery Captain Luis Sarinas, often went to Monte Guadarrama in the winter. Seriously, we're not going to do snow sports, we're just secluded in our shelters. We gathered around a roaring campfire and of course had a few bottles of wine on hand. We covered our noses with scarves and covered them tightly, standing outside from time to time for a few minutes to get some fresh air, as Fernando Rey wore in Tristanna.
Of course, mountaineers will scoff at our behavior.
I don't like tropical countries, which is the inevitable result of having these hobbies. My life in Mexico was purely accidental. I don't like desert, sand and Arab culture, I don't like India, I don't like Japan. At this point, I don't look like someone in this day and age. In fact, I only love Greco-Roman culture because I grew up in its arms.
I love the stories of travel in Spain written by British and French travelers in the 18th and 19th centuries. Since we live in Spain, I love tramp novels, especially Blind Man, Cvido's Pickpocket, and Gil Blass. The latter novel was written by the Frenchman Lesage, but was accurately translated by Father Isra in the 18th century, making it a Spanish work. Personally, I think the book faithfully represents Spain. I have read this book twelve times.
There is one person in the world who I don't like very much, and that is Jorge Luis Borges. Needless to say, he was a good writer, but there are writers everywhere in the world. Also, even though he's a good writer, I don't have to respect him. Not to mention that he lacked other qualities.
Sixty years ago, I had two or three encounters with Jorge Luis Borges, and I felt that he was rather arrogant and self-righteous. In all his statements, I found traces of his seriousness and good self-expression. I didn't like the tone of his speech, nor did I like his contempt for Spain. Like many blind men, he was able to speak the Word. When he answered reporters' questions, he always repeated his desire to win the Nobel Prize, which made it very clear that he dreamed of it.
The diametrically opposed to his attitude was Jean-Paul Sartre, who refused to accept the honor and prize when the Swedish Academy of Sciences awarded him the prize. When I learned of his behavior in the newspapers, I immediately sent a telegram to Sartre expressing my congratulations. I was deeply moved.
Of course, if I meet Borges again, maybe I'll completely abandon my original view of him.
I hate to show off my knowledge and obscure statements. Sometimes, when I see some of the articles in the Film Handbook, I laugh and burst into tears. In Mexico, I was appointed Honorary President of the "Film Training Center". This is a higher film school. One day, I was invited to visit the equipment there, and they introduced me to four or five teachers, one of whom was a well-dressed young man who blushed with shyness. I asked him what he was teaching, and he replied, "Clone the image symptom symbol." "I really wanted to kill him.
The inexplicable display of knowledge is a typical Parisian phenomenon, which has caused a sad poison to underdeveloped countries. This is clearly a phenomenon of cultural colonization through and through.
I hate damn Steinbeck, especially since he published an article in Paris. In it he solemnly stated that he saw a French boy walking through versailles with a loaf of baguette in his hand, saluting the guards with a loaf of baguette. Steinbeck said he was "deeply moved" by the sight. This article made me angry, how could he be so incorruptible!
John Steinbeck (1902-1968): American novelist, author of The Grapes of Wrath, won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962
Without American cannons, Steinbeck would be nothing. I put Dos Passos and Hemingway in the same position. If they had been born in Paraguay or Turkey, who would have read their works? It is the strength of a nation that makes these great writers. The novelist Gardos is often compared to Dostoevsky, but who knows him outside of Spain?
I love Roman and Gothic art, especially the cathedrals of Segovia, the cathedrals of Toledo and the chapels, which are vibrant worlds.
Cathedrals in France have only architectural formal beauty, which is a tone of air conditioning. I think the group paintings of Spanish expression are unparalleled, almost a picture of countless curves, imagining that you would get lost in the slender, zigzag lines of the Baroque style.
I love monasteries and I have a unique affinity for the convent of El Paular. Of all the places I know and love, it's the one I've come to the most.
I hate newspaper photographers. One day, while walking on the highway not far from El Paular, two photographers did "attack" me. They turned to me, and even though I wanted to be alone, they kept taking pictures of me. I'm too old to teach them a lesson. I regret not bringing a weapon.
I like to observe the time accurately. To be honest, this has also become my fetish. In my lifetime, I don't remember ever being late, not even once. If I arrive early, I'll take a walk in front of the door and knock on the door on time as agreed.
I love and hate spiders. This quirk is something I share with my brothers and sisters. Spiders attract us and at the same time disgust us. When the family gets together, we can spend all our time talking about spiders. Spiders are portrayed as cautious and frightening.
I love bars and have a soft drink and smoke. I've spent an entire chapter talking about this most basic aspect of my life.
I am afraid of many people. A gathering of more than six people, I call it a multitude. As for the massive crowd gathering — reminding me of The Vige's famous photograph of Sunday's Coney Island beach — it gives me a mysterious dread.
I love all kinds of gadgets such as: pliers, scissors, magnifying glass, screwdriver, etc. Like my toothbrush, they followed me everywhere. I carefully packed them in a drawer and they were useful to me.
I love the workers, respect them, envy their skills.
I love Kubrick's films The Glorious Road, Fellini's Roma, Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin, Marco Ferrelli's Gobble Of It, a hedonistic icon that reflects the tragedy of a predivore. I also love Jacques Beguel's The Red Hand, Gubi the Red Hand, rené Claire's Forbidden Game. I particularly enjoyed (and I've talked about) the early films of Fritz Lange, Boester Kiden and the Mars brothers. I also love Haas's Manuscript Found in Zaragoza, based on Potowski's novel, which I have seen three times and is groundbreaking to me. I commissioned Alatrist to exchange a copy of Simon in the Desert for Mexico.
I really liked Renoir's films from the early days until the war, and of course Bergman's Masquerade. Among the films directed by Fellini, I like "The Great Road", "The Night of Kabylia" and "La Dolce Vita". Unfortunately, I haven't seen his film "The Wanderer". But on the other hand, when I watched his Casanova, I only watched half of it and left.
I hate Rossellini's Rome, the Undefended City. In a room where a tortured priest is in the film, in the next room a German officer drinking champagne and a woman sits on her lap, I find this childish contrast an obnoxious way.
I love subtle means of expression, I love the quiet library, I love the steps that disappear into the distance, I love the hidden and ingenious safes (I have one at home, but I can't tell where it is).
I like snakes and have a preference for mice. Except for a few years, I have been with mice all my life. I domesticate them with all my might, usually cutting off a section of their tail (the rat's tail is ugly). Rats are fascinating, well-behaved animals. I had more than forty rats in Mexico, and then I took them to the mountains and released them all.
I was afraid to perform a vivisecta. When I was in college, one day I had to let the frog suffer, and I had to perform a vivisection with a shaving knife to observe the function of its heart. It was a (seriously, worthless) experience that I've had for the rest of my life, and I've had a hard time forgiving myself to this day. I enthusiastically approve of one of my nephews who stopped working on vivisection, an American neurologist who is on his way to winning the Nobel Prize.
In some cases, science should be left to hell.
Content selected from
My Last Sigh: Memoirs of Film Master Buñuel
Author: [West] Luis Buñuel
Translators: Fu Yuchen, Sun Haiqing
Publisher: The Commercial Press
Publication year: 2018-5
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