Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

Hollywd Sequel 195I didn't return to Los Angeles until I 972, for the opening of TheDiscreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. It was a joy to walk the streets ofBeverly Hills once again, to luxuriate in that sense of order andsecurity, to enjoy that American amiability. One day, I received aninvitation to lunch with George Cukor, whom I'd never met. Inaddition to Serge Silberman, Jean-Claude Carrikre, and my son Rafael,there'd also be some "old friends," he told me. In the end, itturned out to be an extraordinary gathering. We, the Bufiuel party,were the first to arrive at Cukor's magnificent house, followed closebehind by a large, muscular black man half-carrying an elderlygentleman with a patch over one eye. To my surprise, it was JohnFord, who sat down next to me and told me how happy he was toknow I'd come back to Hollywood (a strange thing to say, since Ididn't know him and assumed he'd never heard of me). As he talked,he outlined his plans for another "big western," but unfortunatelyhe died just a few months later.At one point during our conversation, we heard footsteps shufflingbehind us, and when I turned around, there was Alfred Hitchcock,round and rosy cheeked, his arms held out in my direction.I'd never met him, either, but knew that he'd sung my praises fromtime to time. He sat down on the other side of me, and, one armaround my shoulders, he proceeded to talk nonstop about his winecellar, his diet, and the amputated leg in Tristana. "Ah, that leg. . . that leg," he sighed, more than once.The other guests included William Wyler, Billy Wilder, GeorgeStevens, Rouben Mamoulian, Robert Wise, and a young directornamed Robert Mulligan. After drinks, we went into the great, shadowydining room, lit at midday by enormous candelabra. It wasstrange to see this incredible reunion of phantoms who'd gatheredin my honor; they all talked of the "good old days," from Ben-Hurto West Side Story, Some Like It Hot to Notorious, Stagecoach to Giantsomany truly great films at that table. After lunch, someone calleda newspaper photographer, who arrived to take the family portrait,a picture that eventually became the collector's item of the year.(Unfortunately, John Ford had already left. His black slave came to