Film review: AN INSPECTOR CALLS (Guy Hamilton, 1954)

The Birlings, an upper-class family are celebrating the engagement of their daughter to her boyfriend. The patriarch of the Birling family owns many of the factories in their town, and the family certainly act like it. Then comes a knock at the door, with Inspector Poole interrupting their dinner party. He wishes to discuss the suicide of a local girl, Eva Smith, and the part each of the family members played in it. And their wealth isn't going to get them out of the awkward recriminations that will follow.

Film review: METROPOLIS (Fritz Lang, 1927)

The city of Metropolis is separated into the wealthy upper class, who live an opulent lifestyle above the ground. Below the ground are the impoverished labourers, who’s hard work keeps the city running so the rich can enjoy themselves.

Freder, the son of the calculating overlord who oversees Metropolis, Joh Fredersen, was living in blissful ignorance until one day, Maria, a saintly woman who instils hope in the beleaguered workmen, infiltrates his lavish habitat and implores him for his help.

Film review: MY MAN GODFREY (Gregory La Cava, 1936)

Irene Bullock, a pampered Park Avenue princess falls for her butler Godfrey and is not used to being met with resistance as said butler gives his employers some much-needed schooling in humility in La Cava’s screwball comedy that dextrously traverses themes of love, class and humanity.

Film review: LE FANTÔME DE LA LIBERTÉ (Luis Buñuel, 1974)

The third and final film of Luis Buñuel's triptych of movies which feature little plot and a lot of visual sight gags, Le Fantôme de la Liberté neatly ties off what La Voie lactée and Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie started. Like the other two films, Le Fantôme de la Liberté consists of short, surreal sketches that follows a series of peripherally connected characters are their lives are peppered with all manner of curio, and in the name of decorum, the characters are completely blasé these bizarre occurrences, which just makes them weirder.

A creepy man distributes photographs to young girls. We assume these to be seedy, as he tells them to show friends but not parents, and indeed, when the parents discover them, they are disgusted. But the pictures actually turn out to be nothing more than photos of historical landmarks. Later, another little girl, declared missing, is actually present and well, and at the police station to aid an officer as he fills in her missing person report.

A chap who kills passers-by is hailed as some kind of celebrity at his court-hearing, with adoring fans begging for his autograph. A group of monks are invited to dine with a couple, who all of a sudden strip into latex and embark on some whipping in front of them. And perhaps most startlingly, a group of bourgeois families sit together at a dinner table to go to the toilet in each other's presence, occasionally excusing themselves to go into a private room, to eat.

There’s cinematic badinage of Le Fantôme de la Liberté boasts far greater variety than the other two films in the trio. Buñuel’s ability to synthesise them all into a collective unit illustrates his adroit ability to deliver narrative, even in an oeuvre that largely lacks one. The sight gags are wittier, and the film revels in its bizarreness, which means the audience doesn’t feel any obligation to invest themselves in the plot or the characters, which I have done in previous films, only to have the rug pulled from under me, and thus, felt frustrated by the director.

Possibly an artefact of 1972’s Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie picking up the Foreign Language film Oscar, Buñuel’s follow-up is far less accessible and crowd-pleasing. But I preferred Le Fantôme de la Liberté precisely because it lacks a slightly grandstanding element that its predecessors have. Le Fantôme de la Liberté definitely feels like one of his most personal works, despite (or because?) of all the degenerates you meet in it. 

The fact that there isn’t a specific target of satire as La Voie lactée and Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie had (Christianity and the middle class, respectively), per se, rather that free will, a much more abstract idea is the object of this film, means the director has far more scope to unbridle his anarchic vision upon. The episodes he confects span humour that ranges from the bizarre to the sublime.

While the plot sprawls, there is nothing ad-hoc about Buñuel’s tight direction, with each unsettling vignette modulating into the next with such fluidity that before the audience have time to dwell too deeply on the previous story arc, they’re immersed into a new one.

The main thesis of these chaotic scenes, that humans are predominantly irrational agents, and personal autonomy is purely a hoax, is intriguing; a theory given more resonance in the wake of ongoing current affairs. 

8/10

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I've now reviewed all eight DVDs in my Buñuel box set. Read the others here.

Film review: LE CHARME DISCRET DE LA BOURGEOISIE (Luis Buñuel, 1972)

6 members of the French upper-middle class find that their best-laid plans to dine together are repeatedly and frustratingly scuppered, whether it be due to misunderstanding over the date, French army officers inviting themselves to their meal or suddenly getting arrested. Some of the most bizarre scenarios are revealed to be dream sequences in Luis Buñuel's Oscar winner of Best foreign film.

From the outset, the characters at the centre of Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie are an attractive, urbane bunch, who converse on the finer things in life are of good scruples. But the audience's perceptions are quickly shattered. One casually deals drugs whilst bedding his mate's missus. A couple, the Sénéchals, shimmy out of the window to have sex in the garden whilst ignoring their guests.

Buñuel obviously had a rollicking good time exposing the false dichotomy between the bourgeois and the proletariat that they so smugly like to compare themselves to, and for the most part, his film is enthralling to follow. A little more clarity of focus might have rendered this a more complete watch; some of the dream sequences are nested within dreams of other characters, but finding this out merely adds to the confusion rather than answering any narrative questions.

It's highly probable that the many and varied sequences in Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie wasn't supposed to make sense to the audience, and that the true interpretation of the movie is to be teased out on repeat viewings. If the watcher is to be merely amused and entertained,  then, Buñuel has certainly accomplished his goal. He sends the middle class up with far more flair and nuance than he poked fun of Christianity in La Voie lactée, not least because the vignettes in that film depicted characters that felt strawman-ish, whereas in Charme discret the funny parts are generally underscored by truth.

Surreal touches pepper the film. Fernando Rey (Tristana, That Obscure Object of Desire) is a diplomat for a fictional south American country, the Republic of Miranda, but, like the equally fabricated TV towns of Pawnee in Parks and Rec and Agrestic in Weeds, the country is evoked with such detail when characters discuss it, that the audience could easily believe it were a real place. A maid, played by an actress who couldn't be a day over 30, nonchalantly declares she's in her 50s, and no-one bats an eyelid. And, when hearing his wife is in his best friend's bedroom, the culprit coolly tells him to go wait in his car, and his missus will be out later.

In between displays of the director's signature playful dramatic irony, Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie juxtaposes some disturbing imagery. These arresting scenes of corpses haunting various people now look a tad outdated by 21st century cinema's tendency to depict gore on a hyper-realistic level, but it's because they're so out of the blue and jarring with the rest of the film's comedic tone that they manage to retain power.

Overall, Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie should be approached with caution; its wacky exposition and unconcern with tying up the plot won't be to everyone's tastes. But if you stick with it, it's a truly surprising movie, that will tickle and unnerve you in equal measure, and as a thesis on the power of dreams, it's a hell of a lot more gripping than Christopher Nolan's overrated Inception.

7.5/10

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This review marks my seventh of the eight DVDs in the Luis Buñuel boxset. Read my reviews of the other films I've seen of his here.