The_Film_That_Changed_My_Life

142 Guy Maddin
to the way we love. The way he used such broad strokes but still seemed to
get to details within my heart and endeared to my soul—that really changed
my life the most.
Do you have any direct references or homages to L’ âge d’or in any of
your films?
Maddin: A lot of the shots seemed accidental. I loved the way the little
top-hatted guy, some sort of sculptor, starts the ceremony. When the movie
is switching over from silent film to a talkie, he clears his throat first. We
thought that there was maybe some technical reason for this, where the
throat-clearing might help the transition, the clunking over from one reel
to the next, but he clears his throat, and you can hear it all of a sudden. It’s
in sync, and then he starts talking. In my first movie ever, when someone
speaks for the first time, I just have him clear his throat.
Shots of Gaston Modot’s abdomen coming toward the camera, sort of
ending up on a button, on his lowest button on his jacket or a button on
his fly. Then it goes out of focus and switches to a reverse shot. I love that.
That button just seemed so inexplicable somehow. I’ve tried sticking that
in a few places.
Where specifically?
Maddin: I’m trying to remember if I kept it in my pictures, but I know
I loved that button. I think in The Dead Father once again, because I was
really under its influence while making that movie. I haven’t had the nerve
to watch that movie for a long time because it’s way too long. But it was
made while in love—which is maybe not the right time to make something—in
love with L’ âge d’or.
Through the film’s first screening, Dalí supported the film. It was only
later that there was the big falling-out because he was among the people
who had signed a petition against the film. He was supportive, yet
two-faced, which never made sense to me.
Maddin: I’ll give Dalí credit—classic George Costanza/Daffy Duck figure,
where there doesn’t seem to be an equivalent in the sitcom world for Buñuel.