Dieses obskure Objekt der Begierde

The story is told by Mathieu (played by the excellent Fernando Rey) to a group of strange people in a train carriage compartment. He is a wealthy man who meets a beautiful young woman named Conchita. They begin to see each other often, and Mathieu's desire for her grows stronger. Conchita is poor and lives with her mother in a small flat. Mathieu gives them a lot of money, but mistakenly tries to buy Conchita away from her mother. Conchita is played by two beautiful actresses, but strange as it may seem, this doesn't effect the film negatively. Sometimes when one version of Conchita walks through a door the other figure enters the next room. But this unique style does work.

Conchita teases Mathieu throughout the film and comes across as a manipulative vixen. Also, there is a group of terrorists bombing buildings and cars throughout the film. A strange sack is carried around and seen several times, too. These are the mysterious things Buñuel likes to add to his films. You also get the feeling that Buñuel knew this was going to be his last film with the ending, which is perfectly abrupt.

Contrary to the initial comment on this page, the director Luis Bunuel did not use two different actresses to play the lead role as a plot device to show "One actress for her placid nature and another actress for her tempermental side."

While this is an oft-repeated misconception, it's not remotely true. In Luis Bunuel's autobiography, "My Last Sigh" (A fantastic book, still in print) the director discusses the reason for this unique directorial device, and how funny he finds it that so many "fans" assume that the choices were based on the actresses temperment or his desire to "express" something obscure. In truth, two actresses were used simply because the lead actress quit partway through production after having completed many critical scenes. Luis was beside himself over the wasted time and money in reshooting, so he hired a replacement to shoot only the missing scenes, and edited them irregardless of who was acting in a given scene. It served him well, as the end result was brilliant.

Few other directors would dare to equate the male libido with international terrorism, but the final feature by master surrealist Luis Buñuel is a dark comic web of sexual obsession (too dark to be truly funny) set against a background of random explosions and political assassinations. The always dapper Fernando Rey stars as a wealthy gentleman who develops an all-consuming infatuation for his young Spanish maid, who by turns tempts him, teases him, refuses him, and finally humiliates him. All Rey wants is to carry his passion to its logical conclusion, but her (deliberately?) unpredictable shifts in mood, from coy temptation to spiteful rejection, leave him in a state of dangerous frustration. Buñuel applies his usual sly wit to the otherwise cynical and pessimistic scenario (one man affectionately refers to women as "sacks of excrement"), going so far as to cast two completely different actresses in the title role and interchanging them at random. The film is at once perverse and disturbing, providing a suitably mordant swan song to a long and distinguished career in movie iconoclasm.

Luis Buñuel is still concerned with chastity and sexual morality. In 'obscur' he concludes a trinity in my opinion (after 'fantôme' and 'discret') and his career as a director. These three films represent roughly the films he made in b/w: 'fantôme' represents the surrealism and random dreams of his first films, 'discret' represents his critical anticlericism and anti-bourgeois denouncement and 'cet obscur objet du désir' represents a number of films in which Buñuel expresses his concerns about sexual morality (Tristana, Belle de jour, Journal d'une femme de chambre). The great Fernando Rey (French Connection, Tristana, Viridiana, Campanadas a medianoche) and the great cinematographer Edmond Richard (Campanadas a medianoche '65, le Procès '63, Fantôme liberté '74, Charme discret '72) complement Buñuel's intriguing techniques. Even the cover of the video (a stitched mouth) complements the preceding two (a statue of liberty with a limp torch, a mouth with two legs and a hat). Unfortunately 'obscur' is not as startling and inventive as many of Buñuel's other films: it's not one of his best, but still very worthy.

A man (Fernando Rey) step in a train, throws a bucket of water over a woman and tells his surrounding passengers (a professor in psychology, a judge, a child and her mother, who inquire because they're eager to hear the sordid details) about how he met Conchita (former maid, Carola Bouquet/Ángela Molina) and tried to win her by paying her's and her mother's bills. This bourgeois man thinks he can buy her love and her mother's help (like buying furniture, or like trapping a mouse with a mouse-trap). Those are the premises for a moralistic but incredibly subtle story (not a farce) about subversiveness. There is no music in the film, apart from the end scene and some flamenco source music. I do appreciate a film that doesn't need music to emphasize emotions. That was one of Buñuel's many virtues.

The mysterious actress Muni appears several times. But really strange are the two actresses playing the same woman. They probably represent the two Conchitas: one rational and very careful not to get trapped (wearing an iron maiden and a white handbag), the other with temperament, attracted to Mathieu but devious and deceitful (with a black handbag just one second after carrying the white one). In Mathieu's mind Conchita was a hypocrit (Rey: 'You will appreciate that she deserved the chastisement'). Or is it only the same woman in the mind of Mathieu? Are the two Conchitas representing Mathieu's constantly changing mind? Or did something happen to one of the actresses on the set so that Buñuel had to finish shooting with another actress? Later that day Conchita carries a brown handbag, after having thrown a bucket of water over Mathieu she must have made some message clear to him, uniting the former two handbags in one (?) and uniting the two Conchitas in one? Their relationship explodes eventually. I'm wondering how that emerged from the novel by Pierre Louÿs: writer of 'La femme et le pantin' (1958).

8/10

Depending on your point of view, this film is either a biting, insightful, timeless illumination of human dignity and indignity or a woeful commentary on how painfully slowly we evolve. The main story, humorous and poignant by turns, is punctuated by subplot bits that come right out of this week's news. Not bad for a film shot a quarter of a century ago.

Fernando Rey is simply wonderful, and Conchita are fabulous! Bunuel, as always, is once again a delight.