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L'Age D'Or: A Film By Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali
L'Age D'Or: A Film By Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali
L'Age D'Or: A Film By Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali
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L'Age D'Or: A Film By Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali

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L'AGE D'OR (1929), the second film by Surrealists Luis Buuel and Salvador Dal', remains as shocking now as on its debut with its images of sexual mania, violence, cruelty, filth, and wanton destruction. It also stands as the first-ever film to reference the writings of the Marquis de Sade, including the recreation of murderous and blasphemous scenes from Sade's atrocity bible 120 Days Of Sodom. This special ebook study of L'AGE D'OR provides an in-depth analysis and history of this seminal Surrealist film, accompanied by a gallery of rare photographic illustrations.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 4, 2015
ISBN9781909923034
L'Age D'Or: A Film By Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali

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    L'Age D'Or - Robert Short

    credits

    L'AGE D'OR

    BY ROBERT SHORT

    AN EBOOK

    ISBN 978-1-909923-03-4

    PUBLISHED BY ELEKTRON EBOOKS

    COPYRIGHT 2013 ELEKTRON EBOOKS

    www.elektron-ebooks.com

    No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a database or retrieval system, posted on any internet site, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright holders. Any such copyright infringement of this publication may result in civil prosecution

    L’AGE D’OR

    The warm reception of Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí's Un Chien Andalou by ‘le tout Paris’ in 1929 was both a blessing and a curse for Surrealism. While not going as far as to court martyrdom, the movement was ambivalent about success, especially commercial success.

    The film’s long run in Montmartre was gratifying to Buñuel and Dalí, but also disquieting. Its popularity implied that it was too easily recuperable despite its authors’ best provocative efforts. And indeed its fate – among the diversity of the movement’s production – has been to suffer particularly badly from the subsequent ‘museumification’ of Surrealism. As the visual superseded the verbal in public recognition of Surrealism, and then as the moving audio-visual experience won out over the static image, so Un Chien Andalou has become the ideal ‘vade mecum’ for explaining the movement. Exemplary and entertaining, its seventeen minutes make it user-friendly in any art history/pedagogical context just as they agreeably satisfy expectations of generic avant-garde film practice. L’Age d’Or, by contrast, has proved much more resistant to recuperation. If Un Chien Andalou can be dismissed as a dream, L’Age d’Or is stubbornly unclassifiable. At just over an hour, it fits neither with the arty short nor with the conventional feature film.

    While Un Chien Andalou became part of any self-respecting film society’s annual repertoire, L’Age d’Or was banned within three months of its release. Acquiring the glamour of the forbidden, its very invisibility for half a century – until 1980 when the censors finally relented – enhanced its prestige as the ultimate weapon in Surrealism’s arsenal. Hearsay and rumour inflated its spectral menace, as did the overwrought recollections of those few who had got to see it. If Un Chien Andalou stands as the supreme record of Surrealism’s adventures into the realm of the unconscious, then L’Age d’Or is perhaps the most trenchant and implacable expression of its revolutionary intent.

    It is thus ironic that this desperate and sustained revolutionary declaration was funded by a wealthy aristocrat. The opportunity to make a second film arrived hot on the heels of the success of Un Chien Andalou. It came in the form of an invitation to Buñuel and Dalí in mid-November 1929 from the Vicomte de Noailles to make a sequel – this time a longer film, and a talkie – to commemorate the birthday of his wife, Marie-Laure. In the capital of world art that was Paris in the later Third Republic, there was nothing unusual about scions of the aristocracy, even from the most venerable families, playing Maecenas to the avant-garde. Noailles had already dipped his toe in the waters of film production, having recently commissioned Man Ray’s semi-home-movie, Le Mystère Du Château Du Dé (1929), shot at the couple’s art déco holiday residence in the Midi. In July, the Noailles had enthused over Un Chien Andalou after a private screening at their Paris mansion (they had installed their own cinema equipped for sound) on the avenue Victor Hugo.

    Marie-Laure was a modernist poet in her own right. She was also a direct descendent of the Marquis de Sade, a qualification which stood her in good stead with Buñuel who had recently been enjoying Les Cent-Vingt Jours De Sodôme in a clandestine edition lent him by Robert Desnos. While it might seem inconsistent, to put it mildly, for a surrealist, would-be Communist to accept the backing of an aristocrat, the private commission suited Buñuel very well because, as an intending professional filmmaker, he needed to build on the reputation established by Un Chien Andalou, while as a surrealist, he couldn’t make a blatantly commercial movie.

    Initially, it seems that L’Age d’Or was meant to be another short film, employing some of the ‘gags’ that had not gone into Un Chien Andalou. Its status as a sequel was signalled in its original working title, La Bête Andalouse. The novelty was to be in the soundtrack, making it, with René Clair’s Sous Les Toits De Paris, one of France’s first talkies.

    Noailles had intended to have Stravinsky compose the musical score. But the author of The Rite Of Spring was vetoed by Buñuel for being ‘Catholic’ and too aesthetic. For his lead roles, Buñuel chose Gaston Modot and Lya Lys. He had met Modot while they were both working on Feyder’s Carmen in 1924. Modot had been a friend of Picasso before the First World War. Acrobat, gag-writer, singer, Communist – Modot even directed his own

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