Luis Buñuel’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972) is a surrealist tapestry that dissects the hollow rituals of the upper class with scalpel-like precision. The film’s genius lies in its screenplay, co-written by Buñuel and Jean-Claude Carrière, which constructs a dreamlike narrative where six bourgeois characters diplomats, socialites, and their ilk repeatedly fail to consummate a simple dinner. This Sisyphean loop becomes a metaphor for the futility of their privileged existence, exposing their veneer of civility as a fragile mask over primal desires and moral decay. Buñuel’s direction is masterful, blending absurdity with restraint; scenes shift from opulent dining rooms to inexplicable interruptions revolutionary uprisings, ghostly apparitions without losing tonal coherence. The screenplay’s episodic structure mirrors the characters’ fragmented lives, yet its deliberate pacing risks alienating viewers craving conventional resolution, a flaw that feels intentional but occasionally indulgent. Cinematographer Edmond Richard’s lush palette of golds and reds bathes the bourgeois settings in seductive warmth, contrasting their spiritual emptiness. The absence of a traditional score, relying instead on ambient sounds like clinking glasses or footsteps, amplifies the film’s unsettling intimacy, as if we’re eavesdropping on a crumbling world. Acting is uniformly superb, particularly Jean-Pierre Cassel’s smug ambassador and Delphine Seyrig’s poised yet unraveling hostess, whose subtle gestures betray their inner chaos. Buñuel’s critique isn’t merely class-based; it’s existential, questioning whether any social order can escape its own absurdities. The film’s locations elegant French chateaux and urban streets serve as both stage and cage, reflecting the characters’ entrapment in their own decorum. While the lack of narrative closure may frustrate some, it’s precisely this ambiguity that elevates the film to a philosophical provocation, inviting viewers to ponder the absurdity of their own rituals. Buñuel doesn’t mock the bourgeoisie; he dissects them with a wry, almost affectionate detachment, revealing their charm as both their armor and their undoing.