Thank you, Luis Buñuel, for reaffirming the concept of the cinematic sublime.

Tonight we watched The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, which was a fantastic romp: a surrealistic critique of capitalism, a stick in the eye of haute culture, and a slap to the throat of petty elitism.

There's a bishop who wants to be a gardener, who is summoned to absolve the man who murdered his parents -- a crooked ambassador to the mythical land of Miranda, a place where it is reported that thirty people are murdered a day -- instructions on how to properly carve a lamb -- soldiers who smoke a lot of pot -- ghosts, plenty of ghosts -- terrorists -- torture -- and culinary event after culinary event. Not to mention the reoccurring image of the main characters walking aimlessly down the road, which I found particularly interesting to ponder (similar in abstractness to the final scene of Antonioni's Blow Up, where the main character watches the mimes play mime tennis and then fetches the imaginary tennis ball for them and throws it back onto the court).

Also, there is no music, no soundtrack. The best reason I can come up with for this exclusion is that I kinda get the impression, on a strange meta level, that the characters would've been appalled at the lowbrow inclusion of such a device.

At any rate, this film is top notch. Fun from start to finish.