EVA AMZEL-MATAS revisits Luis Buñuel’s Simon of the Desert, exploring its enduring relevance sixty years after its original release.
In a world where hedonism and personal interest rule, is it possible to remain uncorrupted by worldly gains? Is having a good time more important than worrying about the unknown or a divine being? Is it possible to be virtuous? Does organised religion ironically enhance hypocrisy? Surrealist filmmaker Luis Buñuel attempts to answer these questions in his forty-five-minute-long Simon of the Desert (1965), inviting us to consider the futility of escaping the inherent contradictions of the human experience, and its morality-shaping societal structures.
After resuming his exile from Spain due to the unconventional and revolutionary Viridiana (1960), which was not well-received by a Franquist audience, Luis Buñuel directed Simon of the Desert in Mexico. Though one of his less-talked-about works, it remains most relevant today. Characterised, like many of his films, by bizarre imagery, an illogical narrative, and satire, this masterpiece lays bare the cruel nature of humanity, and the illusion of a virtuous world that exists only in our dreams. Simon of the Desert follows the titular Simon (Claudio Brook), a fourth-century man who adopts a masochistic devotion to God by living atop a pillar. After several attempts, he is eventually seduced by Satan (Silvia Pinal), presented as a woman who teleports him through time to early 1960s New York.
By parodying the real-life story of Saint Simeon Stylites, a fourth-century hermit who spent thirty-nine years on top of a pillar, Buñuel critiques “organised” religion as hypocritical, Simon’s blind devotion to God descending into eventual hypocrisy. In the opening scenes, Simon is presented as an individual seeking God through seclusion from society. He sees himself as an authority figure, capable of communicating with Jesus and performing miracles—such as restoring the hands of a man who had none. Yet, this spirituality begins to erode as the film progresses, with the villagers and priests losing interest in Simon’s words, and caring only for his miracles. Focusing on these miracles, Buñuel comments on the irony of how people can be corrupted by worldly gains even within their belief systems, ultimately becoming the very hypocrites Simon, as a “Jesus figure”, disdains. Buñuel further invites the audience to question Simon’s self-imposed sense of denial through the surreal image of him atop the pillar. Believing himself superior for rejecting human needs—he does not eat nor drink—Simon embodies ascetic devotion. Yet, the film challenges us to consider whether a true bond with God is possible at all in a world ruled by hypocrisy and corruption.
Ultimately, Simon also succumbs to hypocrisy, eventually seduced by Satan. However, Satan goes through two unsuccessful attempts first: she begins by dressing as a schoolgirl, and later impersonates Jesus with a beard and a lamb—but is rejected both times, as Simon is conscious she is trying to tempt him. In her third attempt, a coffin drags itself across the desert and Satan rises from it. She climbs the pillar and tells him “we are more similar than you think”. This convinces Simon to follow her, even though it means getting off the pillar, and becoming a hypocrite as he sacrifices his devotion to God for what Satan might offer. Ironically, Satan is the only non-hypocrite in the film, as her character remains the same—a controversial concept to audiences at the time. By presenting Satan as a woman, Buñuel further satirises the classical role of the woman as a figure of temptation and desire, mirroring Eve in the corruption of Adam.
By the end, through magical anachronism, Simon and Satan are shown at a 1960s rock ’n’ roll bar smoking around a table, surrounded by young people dancing. Simon asks what kind of dance it is, and Satan replies that it is “radioactive rock”, better known as the “Final Dance”, alluding to the Last Supper of Jesus. Simon asks to leave, but Satan refuses his request as she goes off to dance. Simon continues smoking.
Simon of the Desert was originally meant as a two-part film (the second rumoured to be directed by De Sica or even Stanley Kubrick) but the project was dropped, so Buñuel filmed this final scene to complete his film. While the ending might appear simplistic, and perhaps underwhelming, I would argue that it is one of the best Buñuel could have chosen for this project. In the closing scenes, one could argue Simon comes to two realisations: either he is in Hell (symbolised by the bar and rock music), and recognises his masochistic devotion to God as ultimately futile, doomed towards corruption; or, he may not be in Hell at all, but finally comes to the conclusion that hedonistic desires govern the world, leaving no place for God in it.
While Buñuel does make a pointed commentary on the hypocrisies that lie within Christianity, this is not his main objective. Through irony and satire, he asserts that virtue cannot coexist in a world preoccupied with self-indulgence and hedonism. In such a world, everyone wants to dance “the Final Dance”: we all want to enjoy ourselves, unachievable virtue remaining ever-displaced in our minds. Though audiences struggled with its bizarre messaging and story, Simon of the Desert remains one of Buñuel’s most demonstrative works. In just forty-five minutes, it takes bold thematic risks, showcasing Buñuel’s perfect tact for the camera and masterful command of storytelling. Simon of the Desert demonstrates that people are, above all, self-centred, chasing worldly desires even when aspiring to goodness. Perhaps this unattainable virtue is irrelevant in our world and should be left behind, leaving audiences to ponder morality—and their next party.
Featured image courtesy of Slant Magazine.
