The Milky Way

It's not a film that has all the answers. It's a film that casts doubt on all the answers we've had. Early in the film we hear the line, "A religion without mystery is not a religion at all. A heresy that denies a mystery can attract the weak and the shallow, but can never blot out the truth." My ears perked up. I was keenly interested in a film that was going to confront both religion and its opposition head on.

Two modern-day travelers are on the road as the film opens, from Paris to Spain. It's the customary episodic framework of the poor enduring as transient vagabonds feeling purpose in heading in a particular direction. It's also the even more customary fable of the wandering adventurer and his companion in search of revelation and virtue. Spanish-born absurdist filmmaker Luis Bunuel juxtaposes these narrative customs into a sort of cinematic reality existing in a unique dimension. The pilgrims are contemporary but time and space chaperon them in a continual instant and an all-encompassed earth science.

The protagonists of blasphemy and tradition portray their ideals in age-old Palestine, in the Europe of the Middle Ages, in the Age of Reason, and in today's hotels and fashionable restaurants, and on its boulevards. The Holy Virgin, her son Jesus and his young brothers, an arrogant ecclesiastical headwaiter and his submissive workers, a bleeding child by the roadside, the pope facing a firing squad, the Whore of Babylon ambushing ramblers, the Marquis de Sade, the Jansenist fencing with the Jesuit, Satan himself decked out as a rock star, an overzealously formal schoolmarm and her programmed little students chanting anathemas, self-righteous bishops and demented priests on the lam, this panoramic cast of characters, in itself a smirking take-off of Hollywood's epic ensembles, somehow expresses the barren conceptions of Christian dissent. Is there such a thing as the Holy Trinity? Was Christ God, man, and Holy Ghost one after the other, at the same time, or was he invariably just God the Father disguised as a human, so as to be seen? Was Jesus solely the mortal embodiment of a supreme spirit? Was his anguish then just facade? Because if he experienced pain at the hands of mortals, was he a god? Was Christ merely a smidgen of God's psyche? Are we free to discern between the exploits of Jesus the man and the teachings of Christ the god? Was Christ indeed two men, one born of God the Father, the other of Mary the Mother? Did Mary become pregnant in the same manner that light exceeds through a window glass? Did Jesus have brothers?

As Buñuel conceives visual substance to these religious contemplations, he does so with far- flung ability in banter and farce. The escaped lunatic believes that Christ is in the host like the rabbit is in the pâté. The pope's death by firing squad is something we'll never see. The debate of doctrine by the hostile maître d' and his waiters is in the royal practice of slapstick comedy. The dueling clerics clanking swords for Jesuitical piety and Jansenistic sin are a comic rendition of the vintage MGM swashbuckling jousts pared down to knowingly meaningless and irrational argument.

However, side by side with the broad comical tone, Buñuel is here tussling with the inconsistencies between faith and faithlessness. The young heretic who dons the hunter's garb and shoots at the rosary receives it back from the hands of the Virgin Mary and lets tears cascade down his heretical face. Really, as Pierre tells Jean when lightning strikes, God knows all, but we don't know what he knows. Buñuel apparently favored scenes which could just be pieced together by the ends in the editing room, producing long, mobile wide shots which follow the action. He aggregates all of these significations and implications into a streaming, uninterrupted visual existence recognizing the curious obscurities of both the comformists to the approved form of Christianity and the professed believers who nonetheless maintain contrary theologies and reject church-prescribed doctrines, while prosecuting the dogmatic certitudes of both. How else could you do it? It's a concept for a film that could only befit a surrealist.

There are two Bunuels: the cheeky Bunuel who makes movies filled with blatant symbolism and surrealism attacking religion and sexuality, and the narrative Bunuel, who makes more subtle films which approach these same issues in more mature ways.

The first Bunuel, the Bunuel of L'Age D'Or and Un Chien Andalou, was definitely at work on this project. The coherent narratives of Los Olivados, Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz, Exterminating Angel or even Discrete Charm of the Bourgoise.

Bunuel loved ambiguity and abstraction. He loved making people feel uncertain of things in all his movies - yet many of them maintain a serene, smooth surface nonetheless - there may be dream sequences in them, and things out of the ordinary happening, yet they don't jump around in the madcap way this movie and L'Age D'Or do, constantly making the viewer adjust to a new scene with seemingly no relation to the last, which is afterwards resolved when the pilgrims appear and reinstate continuity.

The two pilgrim characters are our tour guides through a patchwork of historical vignettes involving important religious events.

The highlight of the film for me was when a priest is talking to a man and a woman through a locked door, locked on the advice of the innkeeper presumably to keep the chaplin from coming into their rooms and preaching to them, and the chaplin is talking to them about how Mary could have given birth and remained a virgin. He thinks of an example of this: like light coming through a window. Bunuel cuts from the priest sitting outside the room to the couple inside the room, and suddenly the priest is sitting inside the room talking to he couple. In the next shot, he is outside, and the following shot, inside again. A superb example of cinematic irony.

I'm actually not quite sure what i thought of the film - its certainly not among my favourite Bunuels (Discrete Charm of the Bourgoisie, Exterminating Angel, Los Olivados, L'Age D'Or), but its the sort of film that clearly rewards repeat viewings. As another reviewer commented, a knowledge of religious history reaped rich rewards from it, which makes me wish i knew a little more than i did.

Clifford's Commendations: Like with any Bunuel film, if you're christian, and you get it, you won't like it! If you're not christian, it'll help if you know some christian history to get all the laughs and satire on offer. Without this knowledge, from personal experience, the film has fruits to offer, but you won't enjoy it as much as many other Bunuels.

The Milky Way is set in comparatively modern times. Two vagabond pilgrims make a journey to Spain. Specifically, to Santiago de Compostela. The remains of James the Apostle were thought to be interred there. On the way they meet various characters from different time periods. Including Jesus, the devil, the Virgin Mary, Jesuits, Jansenists, the Marquis de Sade, assorted clerics and a prostitute. All provide vignettes in which points of heresy are debated. People are routinely condemned to death or challenged to duels based on the fine shading of the wording of faith. It runs like a cross between Pilgrim's Progress and The Canterbury Tales, with just a touch of Life of Brian in passing.

But what puts the Milky Way in a class apart from most films of its ilk – even reverent biblical epics – is its careful adherence to the wording of the theological debates running through Christianity's history. According to Buñuel (who deserted Catholicism for atheism at the age of sixteen), "Besides the situation itself and the authentic doctrinal dispute it evokes, the film is above all a journey through fanaticism, where each person obstinately clings to his own particle of truth, ready if need be to kill or to die for it. The road traveled by the two pilgrims can represent, finally, any political or even aesthetic ideology."

Strangely, the film was welcomed on release both by Buñuel's anti-religious following and (to his embarrassment) the The Holy See itself. According to his biographer, Buñuel had planned for many years a film that would affirm his atheism, the intellectual scepticism he held towards a church he had renounced in his teens. Director and producer compiled a list of apostasies and repression and concluded that most heresies came from six areas of doubt: (1) The double nature of Christ. Was he God or man? God and man? God pretending to be man? (2) The Trinity; how can three natures co-exist in the same entity? (3) The Immaculate Conception. Mary, a virgin, was nevertheless Christ's mother. (4) Transubstantiation. Can bread literally become the body of Christ? Is this just a metaphor? (5) The problem of God's omnipotence. Is God all-powerful? If so, do we enjoy free will? (6) Evil. Did God create evil? "The list suggested no obvious structure, so they simply dramatized incidents illustrating the heresies, linking them with a pair of wandering modern pilgrims."*

Now if you've read this far, you may well already be interested in theology, whether as a believer or atheist, but it highlights one of the big shortcomings of the film. The psychopathology of Christianity is mainly of interest to its own theologians. While the film will just about hold you if you have already pondered such questions, others may be wondering why he spent so long dwelling on such bilge. Having dispensed, he claims, with such imponderables, is he simply exorcising old ghosts from his early teens? One religious-based reviewer wrote: "Whilst it's certainly sceptical about Christianity, the fact that it's been written by people who know their Catholicism inside out, and are not afraid to make a film that is inaccessible to those do not, means the film at least deserves some respect even if ultimately we disagree with its, somewhat tenuous, conclusions." It is a position with which I could only guardedly agree.

"One thing troubles me," says a young acolyte in one of the film's Spanish Inquisition periods. "The burning of heretics – may it not go against the will of the Holy Spirit?" The inquisitor replies, "It is the secular justice of men that punishes them. Not because they are heretics but for their sedition." Pushing his luck, the acolyte counters with, "But then, those whose brothers have been burnt will burn others, and so on. Each one believing he possesses the truth. Why these millions of deaths?" A stern glance and the acolyte desists – before he too is cast to the flames. (The logic seems more applicable to the constant conflicts between Islam and Christianity – or at least Palestine and Israel. In terms of burning people, the Catholic Church triumphed over every other brand of Christianity with unfettered brutality.)

Perhaps Buñuel found it amusing or even instructive to make this film. The millions of deaths, and the fanaticism that led to them, is not condemned. To the believer, perhaps they were God's will. But to this reviewer at least, Buñuel maybe falls short of his usual high achievements in elevating the good or bringing down hypocrisy. The Milky way is clever enough – even erudite – but ultimately an intellectual exercise rather than the powerful film it could have been.

*(nb - six areas of doubt are quoted from Baxter's biography of the director)

Le fantôme de la liberté (Buñuel, 1974) seems to take off right from this film as if it were a sequel, visually and conceptually. This film however is much more determined to denounce the contradictions and hypocrisy of different religions, while Fantôme has even more artistic freedom. Also this is much more coherent and if there is any danger of getting heavy-handed, Buñuel knows how to joke himself a way out using illusionism or a mild shock-treatment. It is simultaneously very rational and miraculous. The anti-clericism and subversive desires frequently come to the surreal surface. I can't help but see this as an inspiration for Monty Python's 'Life of Brian' (1979), because that film also remotely feels like an off the wall road movie in which anything can happen.

The subject matter was sort of tough for an atheist (heretic?) like me, but the humour with which Buñuel lets the characters throw the crucial differences between religions at each other is hilarious. E.g. in the middle of a duel between a Catholic and a Jesuit: 'Prior will is mere impulse. My thoughts and my will are not in my own power ... ma liberte est un fantôme.' 'What does freedom mean anyway? How can I be free if what I do is determined in advance?' etc. And why would all the personnel of a restaurant be caught up in an eloquent discussion about the existence of God while they are at work? See for yourself. Cinematographer Christian Matras (also Le Grande Illusion, 1937) continues to improve Buñuel's visual style using zoom-pan-zoom shots for instance, but keeps it sober.

9/10

I might be tempted to call the Milky Way a masterpiece, but for all of the excellent scenes that dance along on the edge of being silly, strange, dead-serious, and scathing in attack, Luis Bunuel doesn't make it quite an easy first viewing. It is, alongside Phantom of Liberty, though maybe more-so considering its picaresque flow, a difficult film to follow at times, as the folds go in and out of the two pilgrims on their way to Compostela as if in an ocean current. We see Jesus and his disciples. We see some 15th (or 4th) century sermons and heretic slayings and practices, sometimes seeming as mystical as something out of the Dark Crystal. And there's even a duel between two sides of the Catholic coin debating between specifics in the nature of god while fencing furiously. It's what could be defined, if one were looking for an easy label, true surrealism, pointed right at the edge of contradictions, of the daring of the random and of chances taken at the expense of all authority be damned, and at the same time it's a drama of fanaticism and faith in general. What is it to believe and actually buy into these guys, who at their most genial are storytellers and at their worst will burn you at the stake for not going for God in threes versus God as one?

Bunuel, at the least for his admirers, makes an attempt with his collaborator Jean-Claude Carriere, to raise questions in the midst of raucous entertainment. Although Bunuel can be even greater when being devilish and playful (eg Discreet Charm), the Milky Way displays the filmmaker reveling in the history and nature of heresy in a construct that's maybe more daring. One truly can't expect what will come next, as one may see a scene with a priest flip-flopping about whether or not the Holy Ghost is in the communion wafer or not (and soon thereafter taken back to the asylum), and then a scene with a rag-tag group of evangelicals in the woods who may or may not be paying heed to God, or to the Devil, or both, or a chef being questioned about how Jesus walked and then a cut-away to how Jesus really walked. As the two pilgrims go along their way, having their own delirious encounters- missing by a bit being struck by lightning, debating Christian free will, one hoping for a car to crash, which does, and then seeing some angel of death or other in the back-seat, and in their continuous streak of being turned away/kicked out by those who would take them in if not for essential hypocrisies- a pattern does start to form (if one could call it that), or at least the essential pieces to Bunuel's puzzle.

A lot of times one laughs at the subtlety and the outrageousness: should Jesus shave, do nuns crucify one another, how much can a priest pontificate about not having sex under any circumstances. But it's actually after the film ends that even more ideas start to come around. And yet Bunuel is so cunning, so deadpan with how he directs the actors- some part of his repertory, some not- that it skims into becoming straight drama, which in that case would make it almost dull; the film actually faced some (un-fair) criticism when first released that Bunuel had suddenly made a film cherishing the things he used to damn. How curious, deranged, and honest even in this part of the appeal, the playing of both sides. While it is fairly well known that Bunuel became an atheist following a strict Catholic upbringing (one quote of his, also the name of a documentary on the Criterion DVD, is "I'm an atheist, thank God"), it's never clear whether Bunuel will take one side or the other. There's things that are f***ed up about those who go without any question at all, like the little girls reciting verbatim on the stage, but also of what the man envisions of revolutionaries shooting the Pope in a firing line.

Even for those who may consider themselves atheists, as Bunuel might have up to a point (like Scorsese, no matter how much can be sort of dropped, there still remains chunks that stay as part of the auteur), and for those who are rigid believers, The Milky Way attempts to open up a discussion of dogma, heresies- many long forgotten before the writers dug them up in research- and why one should even believe if there is no definitive proof. For all of Bunuel's skewering of schizophrenic or quietly sex obsessed priests and moments of pure mystery like the man who first comes to the pilgrims, there is bits of reverence too, like for the Virgin Mary- who at times becomes part of the debate- and it's challenging and refreshing to see nothing left solidly as 'this is this for sure'. If it may feel a little loose an imperfect on a first viewing it shouldn't detract from everything that can be taken away as pure food for Bunuelian thought.