Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

Still an Atheist . . . Thank God!I75these were hideous ideas and push them out of my mind. But whenI reached the age of sixty, I finally understood the perfect innocenceof the imagination. It took that long for me to admit that whateverentered my head was my business and mine alone. The concepts ofsin or evil simply didn't apply; I was free to let my imagination gowherever it chose, even if it produced bloody images and hopelesslydecadent ideas. When I realized that, I suddenly accepted everything."Fine," I used to say to myself. "So I sleep with my mother.So what?" Even now, whenever I say that, the notions of sin andincest vanish beneath the great wave of my indifference.As inexplicable as the accidents that set it off, our imaginationis a crucial privilege. I've tried my whole life simply to accept theimages that present themselves to me without trying to analyzethem. I remember when we were shooting That Obscure Object ofDesirein Seville and I suddenly found myself telling Fernando Rey, at theend of a scene, to pick up a big sack filled with tools lying on abench, sling it over his shoulder, and walk away. The action wascompletely irrational, yet it seemed absolutely right to me. Still, Iwas worried about it, so I shot two versions of the scene: one withthe sack, one without. But during the rushes the following day, thewhole crew agreed that the scene was much better with the sack.Why? I can't explain it, and I don't enjoy rummaging around in thecliches of psychoanalysis.Amusingly enough, a great many psychiatrists and analysts havehad a great deal to say about my movies. I'm grateful for theirinterest, but I never read their articles, because when all is said anddone, psychoanalysis, as a therapy, is strictly an upper-class privilege.Some analysts-in despair, I suppose~have declared me "unanalyzable,"as if I belonged to some other species or had come from anotherplanet (which is always possible, of course). At my age, I let themsay whatever they want. I still have my imagination, and in itsimpregnable innocence it will keep me going until the end of mydays. All this compulsion to "understand" everything fills me withhorror. I love the unexpected more and more the older 1 get, even