Luis Buñuel understands the significance of supper. This evening meal, when family and/or friends gather to share the stories of the day, when time can stretch out, ideas discussed, philosophies debated, and ties renewed, it's an event where the bodily necessity of consuming nourishment becomes a focal point and can lead to momentous outcomes, both good and bad. Well, with Buñuel, it's usually the latter.
Viridiana marked his return to Spain, after long exile in the United States and Mexico. It was also his first feature length film made in his homeland, and he pulled no proverbial punches in exploring what he saw as the hypocrisy of life under Francosim. The film was the co-winner of the Palme d'or, banned in Spain for its 'blasphemy', and has long been considered one of Buñuel's, and Spain's, best. Being #332 in the Criterion collection, it's now received a restoration for a 4K/Blu-ray combo release.
Loosely based on the novel Halma by Benito Pérez Galdos from 1895, Viridiana tells the story of life-altering months for its titular character. About to take her holy orders, Viridiana is pushed by her Mother Superior to visit her uncle Don Jaime, whom she barely knows but has been her benefactor for most of her life. Since the death of Viridiana's aunt. Don Jaime has been lonely. And it seems her presence, and the fact that she looks like his late wife, is doing him a little too much good. Between his lust for his niece, and the needs of the beggars that she takes in, in her effort to remain pious and charitable, Viridiana will find her life going in a completely different direction than she had decided for herself.
This is the Spain of the mid-20th century; 20 years after the Civil War, most people had resigned themselves to life under a Fascist government, where the Catholic Church claimed power over education and morals, women were expected to either be nuns or perfectly pious wives and mothers, and the government would have the populace believe that everyone was happy. But this was also a tipping point both for the country and Spanish cinema. The country was about to open its border to tourism and investment, which would bring bikinis, international co-productions, and a new era of Spanish cinema. Buñuel, and Viridiana, straddles the line of the old and new in Spanish cinema, in story and characters.
The story seems to begin in a simple way: a young woman is sent to visit a relative to whom she should be showing deference and kindness. And she does; he, at least at first, seems to treat her with respect. But always underneath, there is something sinister. Don Jaime spies on Viridiana as she takes off her stockings: not only would this be scandalous to the censors, this epitome of the male gaze also reveals that any claim Francoism might have to virtue and sanctity of family and conduct are a lie. And this is only the first of Don Jaime's many steps towards an attempt to ruin his niece's future vows. One of the two important evening meals in the film has Viridiana reluctantly wearing her aunt's bridal gown, making her look much like her aunt, as well as the bride of Christ that she hoped to be. But all this does is fuel Don Jaime's lust. Though he does not, in the end, rape her, he still drugs her and makes an attempt, and that is enough to force her onto a different path.
It is as if Viridiana, a sheltered woman who followed the Catholic path, is now being exposed to several lies of Francoism. Don Jaime has a large estate for farming, the supposed heart of Spanish life, but he has let it go to waste. He has only one son, and that son is illegitimate. Once he is gone, Viridiana feels she cannot return to her former life, but still opens up her heart and home to those less fortunate, who in Franco's world should not exist (since there is supposed to be plenty for all), and they represent that part of Spain who might be just as selfish and crude as the wealthy, but at least are honest about it.
Buñuel keeps the story moving at a steady pace, almost as if Viridiana's path is inevitable. The delight he seems to take in the antics of the beggars, particularly their great 'Last Supper' feast, might seem on the surface to be him looking down his nose at those in such situations. But it's deceptively clever, in that he's showing how those who have been so trod upon, perhaps deserve to feast just as much as the rich. The composition is the mirror image of a renaissance painting: absurd and yet completely true to life. Those beggars who attack Viridiana are not necessarily any worse than her uncle; they just are treated worse by society.
And Buñuel certainly has no qualms about the overt symbolism, of Viridiana's crown of thorns burning on a pyre, the mess of the beggars' supper and the attack on the young woman little different that the last final supper she had with her uncle, both with the intention of flagrant disregard for any propriety or respect. Buñuel is very clear, as to who his true targets are in this story.
More than 60 years on, Viridiana has stood the test of time in story, performance, and quality. Its both subtle and definitely not-so-subtle themes and symbolisms around the failures of Francoism, the irrepresible spirit of the ordinary folk, the egotistical whims of those with power, and the woman who must navigate all of this, still make for an extraordinary film.
Taken from the original 35 mm camera negative, the restoration done by Mercury Films is stunning, It maintains the richness of the black and white while still keeping as a much of the warmth of print film as possible. The textures of the clothing can almost be felt, the flavours of the wine and food tasted, the tears running down Viridiana's cheeks and the smoke rising from cigarettes filling the atmosphere.
There is a great interview with the film's star, Silvia Pinal, from 2006. She recounts her history in Mexican cinema previous to the film (which she made when she was 30), how she met Buñuel, the production experience in Franco's Spain, hilarious stories from the shoot, and how Buñuel tricked the censors. Film scholar Richard Porton discusses the film's international prestige, and how the film fits with a (perhaps intentional, perhaps not) trilogy with idealistic Christian protagonists who must come to terms with the failings of their religion and their saintly masochism. But arguably the best of the special features is taken from the television program Cinéastes du notre temps, from 1964. Featuring a long interview with Buñuel, as well as short ones with collaborators, a film critic, and even the director's sister, it takes us to Buñuel's Spain, around Andalou, and has the auteur talking about his life, his film philosophy, and his thoughts on many subjects (including why American bathrooms are superior) over glasses of wine.
The booklet has a great essay by scholar Michael Wood, giving a good overview of the film, its place in Spanish cinema and Buñuel's filmography, as well as the difficulties the film had with the censors, and how the charge of blasphemy helped to propel the film to success. There is also included, another great interview with Buñuel, this time with two Mexican film critics, which gives his own background on the film's beginnings and intentions.
Viridiana is now available at The Criterion Collection