Taylor Smith

Professor Carstens

ARTH-260

10.17.14

An Andalusian Dog

Luis Buñuel’s An Andalusian Dog is set in the past, present, and future. It plays

like a dream and feels like a nightmare. There is no plot and the characters are only

vaguely defined. While it sounds like a weak concept, devoid of plot or even the essence

of a story, the film is anything but shallow. Every second of the fifteen-minute

masterpiece is completely engrossing. Buñuel, along with Salvador Dali, created a film

based almost completely on imagery. It treats the human mind like a test subject,

throwing bizarre images at the audience without warning or reason. An Andalusian Dog

utilizes innovative editing techniques with bizarre imagery to create a powerful and

unforgettable cinematic experience.

The effect of Buñuel’s film relies almost entirely on it’s editing. There are a

number of strange images in An Andalusian Dog, from the man with a sharp razor to the

androgynous woman with a mysterious box. When singled out, these individual

characters and scenes are somewhat eerie. However, when they are sewn together, they

become even more strange and bizarre. Each scene plays off of another as if they are

battling for the spotlight. The first scene ends with a man slicing open a woman’s eye,

which cuts to a man dressed like a nun riding a bicycle. It’s a strange juxtaposition,

jumping from something horrific to something absurdly comical. A man forces himself

on a woman and then becomes weighted down by two pianos and a couple of priests. A

woman’s armpit hair fades into an image of a sea urchin. The cuts and images shift so

impulsively that the audience can help but stare and wait for what might come next.

It’s easy to say that An Andalusian Dog makes no sense. There is no coherent plot

or transforming characters, and no coherent reality for the film to take place it. It jumps

years ahead but doesn’t move anywhere. The images and ideas that make up the film

don’t mean much on paper. However, the film is significant in the way it takes these

nonsensical ideas and attempts to make sense of them. For how absurd Buñuel’s film is,

there is something strangely comforting in its ability to mesh unrelated, surreal images

into a vivid dream. Everything seems out of place, yet each image fits perfectly like a

piece in a puzzle. The man holds a razor to the woman’s eye and then a cloud passes over

the moon. Two completely unrelated images suddenly have meaning. In the final scene, a

man and woman are seen buried in sand. It’s not clear why this is, but it feels like it has

some kind of purpose. The film forces the audience to ask why these images have

meaning. What was the purpose of the dream? Why the sea urchin? Why the pianos?

There is mystery behind An Andalusian that is both intriguing and revolting, and over

fifteen minutes it’s impossible to look away. Nothing makes sense, yet everything makes

sense. Overall, the film is in striking in its use of impulsive editing and bizarre imagery,

making it an unforgettable experience.