As one of the very shortest films that Criterion ever deemed worthy of having its own spine number, Luis Bunuel's Simon of the Desert is the kind of film that could quite justifiably be served a brief presumptive knock-off of a review. Just bang out a few paragraphs, summarize the simple one-note thrust of the film (about a religious fanatic who torments himself in an ascetic pursuit of holiness, only to finally yield to worldly enticements), explain the circumstances that led to it being released in almost fragmentary form and be done with it. After all, I'm getting to the end of 1965, just one more title to review after this one, then I can mark another peg of progress in my seemingly interminable quest ("yes, I'm down to only 48 years to get caught up to the present day!")
It's a tempting thought, to make quick work of this apparently minor effort of Bunuel's... but no, I must follow Simon's example, and resist temptation! At least for awhile - make a valiant effort, even if resistance ultimately proves to be futile, as was also the case with that poor self-abnegating disciple. After I've fought the good fight long enough, then I will be done with this review, feeling no shame, knowing that I've run the race and paid my penance. I'll hit the publish button and then be ready to look at a little piece of work by Stan Brakhage before I put '65 behind me on this blog, once and for all. And I won't even have the tangible reward of being able to party and dance (if I so choose) with Silvia Pinal at the end of it all. I'm beginning to feel quite impressed with my humility in all this.
So sometime during the year in 1965, Luis Bunuel set aside a few weeks to create a film based loosely on the historical account of Symeon the Stylite, a monk who lived in 5th century Syria and became something of a legend due to his odd piety that compelled him to live for nearly four decades on top of a succession of pillars that ranged from nine to almost fifty feet high off the ground. Such a perverse insistence on demonstrating his devotion to God by renouncing all comforts and chastising himself so severely had, and still has, an awe-inspiring effect on many of Symeon's fellow believers, who found plenty to admire in his single-minded focus, though it set him up for plenty of ridicule as well, again both then and now.
Symeon's seemingly bizarre behavior, and his determination to persist for so long in a practice that yielded no tangible benefit to the poor, the suffering and the outcast, also made him an object of fascination for Bunuel. The director was an affably outspoken atheist (really, more of a lapsed and cynical Christian than the kind of hyper-rational scientific materialist as we might think of when we hear the term "atheist" used nowadays) whose films had long been famous from his earliest efforts (Un Chien Andalou, L'age d'Or) for their satirical and occasionally blasphemous skewering of religious orthodoxy. So with what seems to have been a fairly loose outline of a script in mind, a meager budget and a lack of clarity as to what the final film would even look like when they were done, Bunuel and his small but dedicated cast and crew set out into the Mexican desert, determined to capture and perhaps make intelligible the enigmatic mystery that drove this venerable old saint to such extremes of personal denial.
Well, let me be clear, so as to not mislead anyone. I don't think that Bunuel really sought to explore in much depth the circumstances or interior drives that shaped the young Simon, nor is there anything quite resembling the reverent neorealist solemnity that Roberto Rossellini maintained in The Flowers of Saint Francis, his study of the life of Francis of Assisi. Still, I don't consider Simon of the Desert to be quite as overt a spoof of religious practice (in either real life, or the movies) as something like Monty Python's The Life of Brian or even the more farcical moments in Bunuel's subsequent treatment of Christian faith in The Milky Way.
As I see it, we're never led to view Simon through lenses of scorn or mockery or smug condescension, even though those who do take a derisive stance toward religion will probably find their opinions comfortably affirmed here. We all tend to see what we want to see when setting out to interpret art. As strangely irrational as his devotion might be, Simon remains a character I can empathize with all throughout the film. It's a given that, for reasons never made clear to us, his path of hardship, sacrifice and withdrawal was necessary and based on some kind of rigorous adherence to principle. In the case of the real-life Symeon, his perch atop the pillar was a way of getting away from the crowds, and maybe getting just a few yards closer to heaven. At some point, living atop the elevated platform became so distinctive and emblematic of his ministry that he couldn't come down without calling his vows entirely into question. In a way, I'm reminded of Meher Baba's vow of silence that he maintained for several decades to the day he died, after promising his followers that when he did utter a sound once again, it would mark a definitive new epoch in the spiritual evolution of humanity. Of course, he died without ever speaking that fateful Word, leading to all sorts of rationalizations and re-interpretations of what the great master must have meant by those earlier signals.
But back to our movie version of Simon. Here we're shown an earnest and disciplined man who is now about the business of maintaining the promises he made some six years, six weeks and six days earlier (at the beginning of the film) to live atop a stone column, subsisting on a meager diet and edifying those who come to hear him preach from his harsh, sun-baked pulpit. His reluctant acceptance of an honor bestowed upon him by a wealthy patron to relocate to a taller, grander and more classically beautiful pillar turns out to be a moment of significant disruption to him. The ominous symbolism of that 6-6-6 anniversary should have been clear enough, it seems, to alert him to the danger... but once he ascends his new perch, the devil, in the form of a beautiful, tauntingly playful woman, begins to sow mischief, with the sole intention of luring Simon to a point of doubt as to the legitimacy of his original calling.
So that's the set-up... I'm going to publish this for starters, but I have more thoughts on the film that are still in process. Comments are welcome if you have any. Otherwise, check back soon, I'll have an updated and finished review posted by the end of this week.
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Let's get into the theology of Simon of the Desert. Several of the movie's earlier scenes show him in varying degrees of tension with both the clergy and laity with whom he shares his faith. As is most often the case with prophetic figures all through the ages, Simon's conflicts are more acute with the ecclesiastical authorities, in whom he detects fatal strains of sanctimony, pride and vanity, and shows no reluctance to call out in plain terms when given the opportunity. He chastises them bluntly and urges them to maintain a strident fidelity to their vows of poverty and simplicity, secure in the assurance that hypocrites and liars will ultimately be exposed to divine judgement, regardless of their rank in the church or the splendor of their robes and raiment. Simon's confidence and singleness of purpose allows him to not only remain steadfast when accused of self-indulgence by a jealous detractor among the monks who gather at the base of his pillar, but to actively welcome the opportunity to suffer slander for the sake of righteousness.
As for the common salt of the earth folks, living a life of distraction torn between their mundane worldly endeavors and responding as best they can to God's upward calling, Simon is a bit more benevolent and understanding. His desire for them is that they simply not become too comfortable with their lot in life and forget to give thanks to the Lord for the meager provisions portioned out to them each day. Beyond that, Simon understands that his mission is to serve as a model of faithfulness and dedication for the simple souls whom he literally looks down upon each day.
But somewhere along the way, despite his nearly constant preoccupation with seeking to do the will of God and fixing his mind always on divine things, Simon drops his guard. Some two and a half years (or a half-hour, in movie time) after we're first introduced to him, Simon has another encounter with the devil that, though seemingly successfully resisted when he recognizes her disguise as a Christ-like shepherd, signals his inevitable, nay, predestined fall from grace. Satan's full-fledged attack is brought on by Simon's presumption to know the mind of his adversary. He rejects her flattering words when she praises the purity of his asceticism, and he returns her mockery by declaring that even if she were to repent for her sins, God would still condemn her to an eternity stuck in her present misery. Of course, that incurs the devil's wrath. Once that line is crossed, Simon will prove to be no match for a diabolical woman scorned.
Recognizing his peril, Simon makes a new declaration, self-righteously arming his soul with the weapons of self-restraint, prayer, charity and humility. On top of all that, he adds another layer of deprivation on to his bitter diet of tears and sorrow, sentencing himself to stand on one scabby and withered leg in order to intensify his penance. But rather than leading him to clarity and wisdom, his renewed zeal for holiness only leads to confusion. His pronouncements, once regarded as oracles of prophetic wisdom, are now simply a source of confusion for both him and his listeners. Its like the facade has fallen, the veil of mystery has been torn away. Simon can no longer persist in the delusions under which he has labored for so long, and with such apparently edifying effect. It's time for his faith to be put to the test, and in the process, bring about a transformation as painful, shocking and unexpected as it is vitally necessary for the redemption of his long-suffering soul: shedding the husk of a tired, wounded, withered and sun-baked corpus for the fearful revelation, yet to be fully understood, of a new body: a resurrection for the atomic age, the Radioactive Flesh.
P.S. One other thing I forgot to mention until I remembered it just now: On the short interview supplement with Silvia Pinal, she reveals that one of the reasons that Simon of the Desert was so short was that she herself thwarted the plan to make it part of an anthology film that might have included contributions from Federico Fellini and Jules Dassin, with each of them directing short segments featuring their wives (Giulietta Masina and Melina Mercouri, respectively.) Pinal was adamant that she not be supplanted or rivaled by any other leading women in this film, so her stubbornness basically chased Fellini and Dassin away from any collaboration with Bunuel. That's really a shame because, wow, what a thing that would have been to see those three directors on the same bill. But I love Pinal's performance here, and the abrupt brevity and randomness of this film in general, to harbor any resentment toward her for being so insistent. I suppose that her performance as the devil in this film was quite in character for her at this time! But if you want to imagine what a hypothetical Bunuel/Fellini/Dassin omnibus might have looked like, I propose a mental mash-up of this film, Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits and Dassin's 10:30 P.M. Summer, all of which featured their preferred leading ladies in very juicy and evocative roles. (I haven't seen the Dassin film but the reviews I've read make it seem rather wonderfully lurid, if flawed, and definitely pique my curiosity.)
Next: Two: Creeley/McClure