Chris Flackett
The standard interpretation of Luis Buñuel’s 1962 surrealist masterpiece, The Exterminating Angel, is well known: a group of rich, privileged, upper-class friends attend a dinner party at the mansion of their friend Edmundo Nobile (Enrique Rambal), only to find they can not leave the party room. As tempers fray, food and drink are consumed to the point that they cannot be replenished, ablutions forced to occur in an ever-increasingly odorous cupboard, and basic hygiene and cleanliness fall to the wayside along with society manners, this bourgeois group begin to brutalise each other in spasms of resentment, paranoia and animalism.
The point is plain: deprive a ‘civilised’ society of its manners and luxuries, and it will tear itself apart. Adding to the delicious sense of attack (coming from a director who once said his Un Chien Andalou was a “call to murder”), Buñuel forces his loathed bourgeoisie into this position, thumbing his nose at the received idea that only working-class people can be animalistic—and I’m sure that Buñuel, on a righteous, visceral level, enjoyed seeing the upper class debasing themselves on screen.
One aspect of The Exterminating Angel that is more ambiguous, though, is the use of repetition that Buñuel threads throughout the film. Not only do certain moments appear to be near-identical replays of scenes, such as when Edmundo brings his guests into the hall and calls for his butler, but other moments are replays of integral narrative events, such as the replaying of the piano near the end of the film to ‘unlock’ the party guests and allow them to leave the room. But why these repetitions, and what do they signify?
The Intuition of Repetition
When asked, Luis Buñuel had this to say about the repetitions: “In life, as in film, I’ve always been fascinated by repetition. Why certain things tend to repeat themselves over and over again I have no idea, but the phenomenon intrigues me enormously. There are at least a dozen repetitions in The Exterminating Angel.“
It’s an intriguing response, one that suggests that Buñuel’s approach to repetition is one of intuition, the feeling that these moments are right, necessary even, without necessarily knowing why or what they mean (it’s an approach David Lynch would understand). However, there is something pointed about their use in The Exterminating Angel that suggests that there was a certain intent behind the use of repetitions in the film, not least because a repetition feeds directly into a pivotal moment in the narrative near the end of the film.
I believe the reason for the use of repetition within The Exterminating Angel is twofold: one, as a comment on typical narrative cinema form being a reflection of bourgeois ordliness, and a disruption of the same; and two, as a comment on how the upper classes will always revert to the status quo in times of great disorder and disarray.
Let’s look first at how this repetition comments upon cinematic form.
The Safety of the Status Quo
The Exterminating Angel appears to posit that, for an upper-class society, there is safety in playing by the rules, whether that be simple cultural/societal etiquette or wider structural issues such as class differences (it is noticeable that the bourgeois party in the film get stuck in the music room only after the majority of the working-class serving staff abandon the mansion; no longer propped up by working class labour, and forced to attend to themselves, Edmundo and his guests descend into animalism). The accepted way, therefore, is the safe way, one free of risk but perpetuating the status quo. However, that status quo is one of inertia, afraid of living beyond its self-imposed restrictions.
There is more to it, though. Buñuel was always drawn to surrealist thought and technique, and was indeed a formal member of André Breton’s Surrealist movement between 1929 and 1932/33, before Breton once more succumbed to his compulsion to expel. Coupled with his innate desire to rebel (“In a world as badly made as ours, there is only one road – rebellion.”), Buñuel’s expression of surrealism in his films naturally formed an opposition to, and a critique of, the classical Hollywood cinema form.
With its linear narratives, logical editing, comprehensible stories, and recognisable genre rules and tropes, classical Hollywood cinema offers the path of least resistance to mass engagement for its audience (to be clear, I am not criticising the classical Hollywood form at all, but teasing out its facets so as to outline how Buñuel’s surrealism functions as an opposition to it). Because of its comforting familiarity and its recognisable codes, classical Hollywood cinema offers a ‘safe’ experience of film form for its audience, and as such makes for a neat parallel with the upper-class party and their own manner of living by conventions that provide them with safety.
Buñuel, ironically, came from a bourgeois background and never forgot the fact, even as he made films that tore at bourgeoisie values and conventions, describing himself as a “bourgeois who roasted the bourgeoisie”. Considering the surrealist nature of his earliest films and, arguably, his greatest run of movies, the ones made between 1961 to 1977 at the end of his career, and considering he referred to the traditional melodramas he had to film to make ends meet in the 1950s as his “survival films” rather than artistic statements, it is not too much of a stretch to believe that Buñuel may have considered the classical Hollywood film form as bourgeois also, and that his films were not only produced as surrealistic expressions but also as assaults on what he may have considered a bourgeois film form.
Making a Grand Entrance, Twice
It could be argued, then, that in reaction to the classical Hollywood form, The Exterminating Angel was the first film of Buñuel’s post-“survival films” period to really disrupt formal conventions and strongly push surrealism and mystery back into his agenda, and the use of repetition was part of this.
Classical Hollywood was all about forward propulsion, even in films told in flashback, forever moving the narrative forward to an end that, however unlikely, was at least logical by the film’s own terms and by the conventions of narrative. Repetition was rare as a narrative device, and if it did occur, it would at least be explained in some way so that it became palatable to the audience.
The Exterminating Angel, however, does include repetition, according to Buñuel’s estimates around 20 incidents, and, equally importantly, the film never attempts to explain these repetitions or the meaning, if any, behind them. It is this lack of explanation, in combination with the repetitions, that disrupts any sense of classical filmic form because it disrupts our narrative expectations and introduces ambiguity to any meaning the narrative holds.
And so, when we witness the kitchen staff, who are hiding in the cupboard, witness Edmundo bring his party guests into the hallway and up the stairs, we think that is an end to the matter, and that we will jump to the party upstairs. We are as surprised as the kitchen staff, then, when they begin to sneak out of the cupboard, only to see the whole scene play out again, only from a slightly different camera angle: Edmundo bringing his party into the hall and up the stairs. Haven’t we just seen this? If time in the film is linear, how can Edmundo have led his party all the way back down the stairs, through the hall and outside, only to bring them back in again, in such a short time? And for what purpose?
An audience accustomed only to the classical Hollywood form of film would find no safety in their viewing at this moment, no inert, relaxed watching, but would be confronted by challenge, ambiguity, and apparent nonsensicality. Much like the upper-class party of the film, forced to fend for themselves, the audience are forced to actively participate in the film. This feeling would only grow the more that repetition is included in the film, such as when Edmundo makes the same toast twice to a party guest, as well as a couple of guests introducing themselves to each other three times, each time with a slightly different end result. We realise this is is no chance for the audience to dismiss the repetition as a mistake or the result of bad editing. We realise this is Buñuel’s assault on accepted cinematic forms.
Yet, there is another way we can look at the use of repetition in The Exterminating Angel, one which I believe is much more in service of the narrative, disrupted or not, and the points Buñuel was trying to make here about the bourgeoisie.
The Failure of Will
Once the party is cognizant of its inability to leave the music room, different characters within the film refer to the group’s ‘lethargy’ and ‘inaction’. This is before they really descend into an animalistic mess, and there is still a reasonableness of behaviour. It strikes me that this reference to the party’s lethargy and inaction is a comment from Buñuel on how he views the upper-class: inert, only able to order and talk, unable to live ‘normally’ without bodies in service beneath them to do the work. They prosper off the toil of others, but are unable to act for themselves.
It is also notable that one guest comments that “I’m sure the servants had their reasons for leaving”, to which another guest responds, “Yes, the same reasons rats flee a sinking ship”. There’s two things that can be gleaned from this: one, that there is an awareness, however small, within the party that they cannot act or live at their accepted standard without the hard graft of their working-class servants propping them up; and two, that there is a further belief that there is something inherently wrong already with the bourgeoisie, and this is why the serving staff have fled.
Ultimately, the party in the music room could leave if they chose to. They just have to act to do so—to physically move themselves out of the room. As another guest argues, “This situation can’t go on indefinitely. We’re not under some spell. This isn’t some sorcerer’s castle”. There is nothing magical about the room and the party’s inability to exit it; rather, it functions as a metaphor. Left to their own devices, without their servants to do the physical work for them, and forced to face up to their lethargy, the bourgeoisie freeze, unable to act or move in any direction, incapable of making decisions, and reacting only on the raw nerves of their primal impulses.
The filmmaker Miguel Llansó has stated, on an episode of ‘The Projection Booth Podcast‘, that for Spanish people there is an idea of “a failure of will”, the opposite of the “triumph of the will”. Llansó argues that the failure of will is a noticeable, everyday aspect of life, describing this attitude along the lines of thinking, “I really cannot do what I want, I’m always with a family that doesn’t allow me to do anything, and a society that is super politic…(that doesn’t allow me) to have any agency”. Intriguingly, he goes on to add that The Exterminating Angel represents this through “unbearable repetition of protocol, and unbearable repetition of things that I cannot do that I really had to do, because my Mother-in-Law is coming to visit me, and I really cannot escape this terrible family dinner.”
Llansó here has connected ideas relating to frustrated desire, the futility of routine and, most importantly to us, repetition. How does this relate to The Exterminating Angel?
The Crime of Removing One’s Jacket
I have already stated that the upper-class party of guests are concerned with bourgeois standards of manners, and also respectability. This is evidenced by Mrs Nobile’s disgust at (the horror!) the sight of two guests taking off their tuxedo jackets so as to relax. “Aren’t they going a bit far, taking off their tuxedo jackets?” she asks her husband Edmundo, who replies, “I’m sure they’ll feel ashamed when they look back on their behaviour…and I’d like to spare them that embarrassment. Let’s meet them on their level to make their faux pas less obvious.”
There is intentional humour here, with Buñuel playing off the absurdity inherent in the gap between the triviality of the social error and the severity of the hosts’ reaction to it. But it is this absurdity that Buñuel wanted us to recognise, this absurd gulf between action and reaction, and then apply this to the real-life bourgeois world of manners and judgement. We are to recognise the absurdity of how this experience is lived in real life also.
Llansó, on the same podcast, describes Buñuel’s treatment of the bourgeoisie in his films as a reflection of “social manners as something imposed but that we cannot escape, and it’s really like a boredom.” In what way can the guests in the music room not escape? In a literal way, they ‘cannot’ leave the music room. Yet it’s also fair to say that, in this film, the combination of a heavy reliance on the ‘correct’ way of acting, on societal manners, combined with the inertia of the party and their inability to act in a more physical, primal sense, would result in an existence that is limited by its own restrictions, in turn providing a narrowness of range of experience. The end result would be a life filled with constant moments of tedious repetition, something I believe The Exterminating Angel, in its own surreal, ambiguous way, is trying to demonstrate.
Social Networking, Again and Again
It is the second repetition of the film that first shows hints of the tiredness felt at the repetitive nature of the bourgeois life. Edmundo toasts Silvia, the singer, and he commands silence and the attention of the room as he does so. However, shortly after, he toasts Silvia again, with near enough the exact same words, only to find no one is listening, the guests chatting amongst themselves. Edmundo acts as if embarrassed, as if he has made a social faux pas or has chosen the wrong moment to speak. Alternatively, though, this moment of defeated repetition could be read as Edmundo realising, on some level, the tedious, empty repetition of his own social gestures. He has spoken, as he was supposed to at such an occasion, only to realise the truth: no one is truly listening, only paying lip service to social expectations. They do not attach any real importance to the custom, meaning it is ultimately an empty gesture.
We can see this further with the three different introductions between Cristián and Leandro. These introductions veer from a first meeting, to a suggestion of friendliness and prior knowledge of each other, to suspicion and annoyance. How can the pair go from not knowing each other to suggesting a shared history and friendship in a matter of mere moments? How can they go from being friendly to antagonistic without an apparent inciting incident? These interactions function as a symbol, a depiction of a deeper social issue. It has been heavily written about for many decades that advancement in middle and upper-class circles is not so much about what you know, but who you know. Certainly, here in England, there is much made about the public school system, where connections are made from an early age, often between children whose parents are friends and are also people who hold important positions. Privilege and position, then, are gained through the right networking.
In The Exterminating Angel, the three introductions form a representation of this. No, we don’t see anyone gain anything, either in terms of privilege or social mobility, from the encounter. What we do see, however, are contradictions. With each introduction yielding a different response, it leads one to wonder if Cristián and Leandro are both so self-absorbed that they don’t realise that they’ve already met, and in the same evening too.
The implication is that, either because people are only fundamentally interested in themselves, or because they only see people for what they can do for them in the moment, and not for who these people actually are, that connection is never made on a fundamental, humanist level, and as such, people are easily forgotten if they cannot offer anything of use. This is treated by Buñuel in an absurdist way, stretching audience creduality by having three different ‘first’ meetings between two characters in such a short period of time. There is humour here, which is also Buñuel’s intent. But there is also social comment here hidden underneath the absurdity and deepened by the use of repetition.
A short while afterwards, the party becomes trapped in the music room, a representation of how they are trapped in their own bourgeois malaise and lost without the servitude of their lower-class staff. But if it is repetition that partly traps them in that room, how is it that repetition is the thing that frees them?
The answer is that it does and it doesn’t.
From One Trap to Another
Superficially, yes, the party escapes the room through repetition. Lucía Nóbile notices (after an indeterminate amount of time in the room—weeks? Months?) that all of the guests are sat in the exact same spots that they were in originally at the point of the entrapment, with Blanca (Patricia de Morelos), most importantly, sat at the piano. On that original evening, Blanca finished playing a piano sonata and stood up to leave, announcing she was tired. Several other guests voiced a similar sentiment, but this appears to have been the point where inertia set in—no one left the room.
Now, after however much time has passed, Lucía has noticed that a recognisable order has re-established itself. In her excitement, Lucía has Blanca finish her sonata again and announce that she is tired. And as if by magic, as if the repetition of the act is like a key that can lock and unlock a door of movement, the party guests can suddenly leave the music room and go back to their lives.
I do not believe the character of Blanca is significant to this per se, and we are not really given much information about her by the film. The important point is that, after a period of having their values and social mores stripped away from them, the party guests, like people coming back in from the wilderness, rediscover their old way of living, their social order, and find it preferable to the chaos through which they have just experienced. Rather than explore what potential transformative abilities their alternative existence may have provided, the party guests see the trap and debasement of their fine living and latch back onto convention (the party ending with a piano piece) to bring them back to their genteel, civilised living. Even the servants return to the house.
This initially seems contradictory: how can re-embracing the suffocating conventions of their bourgeois existence offer the party guests freedom? Surely Buñuel has spent the majority of The Exterminating Angel demonstrating how such a lifestyle drains the vitality and agency from a person’s existence? But Buñuel has one last trick up his sleeve, and with this, he damns the bourgeois to their stifling, conventional grave.
You would possibly presume, after experiencing such a transformative event, that after escaping the music room, the guests may have taken stock of their lives, tried to take some larger meaning out of their experience. They may have re-evaluated their values and reasons for living. It could have been a pivot point for real change. But no. Instead, Buñuel shows the party attending church, standing and singing hymns as if nothing had ever happened. Whether this is out of shame, embarrassment, guilt, or a desire to return to their lives and repress the memory of recent events, it is clear that no real reflection has taken place. The party guests have decided to return to their previous respectability, with the church and the need to be seen as moral, religious people playing a large part in this.
Bunuel had no truck with the church, linking it to patriotism and violence (“God and Country are an unbeatable team; they break all records for oppression and bloodshed”), and by bringing his party guests to the church, he ultimately reveals that by choosing bourgeois respectability and conventionality, you will always be doomed to be trapped by it; there is no escape. And it is here that Bunuel unleashes arguably the most important repetition of the whole film: he reveals that the congregation, including the original party guests, cannot leave the church; they are once again trapped. We are not shown what happens next, but it is not a large leap to imagine that once again tempers will fray, manners will slip, and the animal within the human will rear its ugly head again, only for the mask of civility to be adorned once more, a vicious circle of repetition doomed to repeat, in Bunuel’s world, for ever more.
