That Obscure Object of Desire (1977)

That Obscure Object of Desire is Buñuel at the height of his late-career mischief: a romantic obsession story told with the elegance of a drawing-room confession and the bite of a wicked joke. Framed by a train compartment tale, it becomes hypnotic in the way it circles desire—how it flatters, humiliates, and keeps reinventing itself—while Buñuel’s surrealist wit quietly turns every “reasonable” explanation into something stranger. Fernando Rey gives the kind of performance that feels civilized on the surface and dangerously unhinged underneath, and the film’s cool control makes the push-pull between longing and power both funny and unsettling without ever tipping into melodrama. It’s not for viewers who want a straightforward love story or are sensitive to sexual coercion and brief nudity, but if you like cinema that teases your mind as much as its characters, this one lingers like a provocative dream you can’t quite shake.

That Obscure Object of Desire is Buñuel deliberately turning romantic obsession into a sly, unsettling joke, using Mathieu’s train-story confession to expose how desire can be equal parts vanity, cruelty, and self-delusion. The problem is that the film often keeps you at arm’s length: it can feel chilly, emotionally remote, and more like an elegant experiment in frustration than a romance you’re meant to invest in. If you want warmth, character intimacy, or a relationship you can actually root for, this will likely irritate you—especially with its repeated tease-and-denial structure and occasional sexual menace. But if you’re up for sharp filmmaking, dark humor, and a provocative, surreal take on power games (including the famously odd casting choice for Conchita), it’s a fascinating watch even when it’s not exactly pleasurable.