Where does one even start with a discussion on Land Without Bread, the ambitious and deeply unnerving documentary by Luis Buñuel? This isn’t to suggest that this is the kind of unimpeachable masterpiece that renders the viewer speechless (although this is certainly not untrue, for reasons we will discuss momentarily – it is one of his towering achievements, albeit not one that is often discussed at the same rate as some of his better-known works), but rather because this is such a strange, enticing curio of a film that attempts to look at it from any theoretical framework normally used to discuss cinema doesn’t feel like it is capturing the full scope of this film – and it is in this very sense of artistic ambiguity that the director manages to craft something truly extraordinary. Set in the region of rural Spain known as Las Hurdes, which the prologue states was almost entirely unknown to the rest of the world, even those within Spain until a road was built to the region less than a decade before this film was made, the film focuses on the occupants of a few small villages which are ravaged with poverty, disease and suffering, with the director and his crew spending two months immersed in the various communities, intent on capturing their lives in vivid detail. He crafts a fascinating documentary in which he examines the region and its people, taking an unflinching and often quite a harsh view into their lives, presenting a striking depiction of the daily routines of an entire population (which this film estimates at being around 8000 across the various villages that litter the province), carefully examining these people who have been essentially rendered as invisible, purely through the fact that they had remained hidden from the view of the rest of the world, but now emerge as the subjects for this incredible but deeply harrowing documentary in which Buñuel goes in search of a poetic story of the human condition, as seen through the perspective of people who define it in its most honest, fundamental form.

At a cursory glance, Land Without Bread seems to be quite a simple film – a director encounters information about a region in his native Spain that has somehow resisted the progress of time (albeit not by choice, but rather through how inaccessible it is to travel to and from these villages, and the fact that most of these people, unfortunately, do not have the strength or willpower to move between their communities and those beyond the borders of this area), which is immediately an idea that inspires him to set out to capture their lives, with a sense of extreme urgency, as the recent construction of a road to Las Hurdes meant that there were further opportunities for modernization and movement between regions. This film initially presents a portrait of the Spanish countryside, but eventually reveals itself to be much darker and more complex – this is not the beautiful, poetic ode to the natural world but a celebration of the simple life that we have been led to believe is experienced by those who live in these villages. Life is excruciatingly hard for these people, and while he could have easily chosen to ignore the more unsettling aspects, Buñuel was a director driven by a sense of veracity – even when he crafted deeply surreal films, they were underpinned by a sensation of authenticity, almost as if he believed that stretching the limits of plausibility and challenging the construction of stories can unearth deeper, more truthful themes. Outside of his narration, which is more factual than it is discursive, the film is composed of brief vignettes, which intend to present an overview of life in the region – we meet the people (although we never hear them speak, a choice that I am still trying to process – there may have been some value in hearing their perspective, rather than just the narrator presenting the facts), explore their homes and come to understand their daily routines, which presents a bleak portrait of life in these villages, which is shown to not always be particularly peaceful and idyllic, but rather filled with challenges that those of us in more developed areas could not even conceive of experience, making this a deeply essential film with a sense of genuine curiosity for its subject matter.

You cannot discuss a film like Land Without Bread without noting the ethics of telling such a story, which has been the source of a lot of controversy, and anyone who has ever had to undergo the daunting process of applying for ethical clearance for an artistic or scientific project knows how challenging it can be, and how those responsible for adjudicating whether or not a work is ethical can sometimes be extraordinarily stringent and difficult to convince. A film like this would never be made today, which is the reason why it is such a masterful exercise in ethnographic filmmaking – over time, we have become less willing to show certain subjects on screen, since it can sometimes go beyond being disturbing and become exploitative. There are a few reasons why Land Without Bread manages to be so effective without crossing this boundary – primarily, Buñuel was not an exploitative director at heart. He was certainly capable of skirting around controversy and challenging conventions in a way that could be mistaken for needlessly callous filmmaking, but he was truly one of the most empathetic artists of his generation, something that only becomes clear once we look beneath the surreal exterior of his films and find that the aspect that ties them all together is the fervent impulse to capture the human condition, presenting it in as raw and unfiltered a way as possible. Buñuel approaches the residents of these villages with extraordinary compassion – he never once mocks them, nor does he even attempt to deride their lifestyles or view himself as superior. For two months, he and his crew joined these people in their communities, and while we can’t earnestly say they were driven by the most humane intentions, there was a sense of deep sincerity that compelled them to record the lives of these people. Compassion is not always rendered as kindness – sometimes, the most impactful and deeply human stories are those that are jarring, upsetting and disturbing, which are precisely the qualities that push Land Without Bread to be such an extraordinary piece of cinema.

While its premise is certainly very compelling, Land Without Bread is not a pleasant film – it is uncomfortable, deeply unnerving and quite dark. Yet, this doesn’t at all disqualify it from being viewed as a masterpiece, but instead actively allows us to become immersed in this story, the sadness that envelopes the film being definitive of its identity, rather than contradictory. There is a deep undercurrent of sadness that moves this film forward, but it is earned not through the director intentionally manipulating the narrative to appear sadder than it is in reality, but rather in how the bleak style creates a very strange and unsettling atmosphere, from which we see the lives of these people. Early in the film, Buñuel remarks on how, despite some of the disturbing content, it is his artistic obligation to present certain images, for the audience to understand the reality that he was so intent on capturing. This film is propelled by both sadness and repulsion, the two often working in tandem to create this very unsettling film, albeit one that knows exactly how to capture certain concepts in vibrant detail, delivering a strong message in the process. A few scenes stand out in particular, such as children dipping bread in water (once again something that was only recently introduced into these villages), both being the lifeblood of humanity and one of our fundamental human rights, and it is this same water that only a few moments before was mentioned as being extracted from a paltry stream that flows through the villages, which the residents drink and use to wash themselves, despite the revolting state of the riverbed. Shockingly, it takes a film like Land Without Bread, which centres itself on presenting a harrowing portrait of the lives of people who barely have access to basic concepts such as comfortable housing (where a home with a bed is viewed as a rare and unusual luxury) or the most fundamental nourishment, for us to realize just how privileged we are, and while it may not have been his intention to create such a sensation, it would be surprising if anyone was capable of watching this film to completion without feeling some sense of guilt, which is only a further indication of the deep empathy that drives this film.

Land Without Bread is a film that ends just as fast as it started – the abrupt conclusion is perhaps the most fatal emotional blow we feel as the audience since it feels as if we have led to an emotional crescendo, a moment of catharsis in which we see some relief from the neverending depiction of suffering and despair shown to us on screen, only to have the director calmly state “after two months, we left”, followed by a statement that exists somewhere between a plea to help these people and a defeated resignation to the fact that such communities exist and suffer more than any of us may realize. The film runs less than half an hour, and while I would be the first to commend a film for being able to tackle such a deep subject in as short a time, this is one of the rare instances where a longer work would have been far more appropriate, if only for the selfish reason of giving the audience more of an opportunity to learn more about the region and its people. It’s an extremely fascinating film in terms of both intention and execution – Buñuel makes use of some surreal imagery to examine the aspects of the lives of these people that he finds most compelling (since it would be unfeasible, perhaps even impossible, to capture every aspect of life in this region, so choosing a particular angle was ideal), and adheres to the ultimate aim set out by the surrealist manifesto that he helped pioneer, which is to provoke thought and challenge conventions through unsettling and redefining our understanding of the human condition. Life is not easy for the people in Las Hurdes, and their struggle has been captured throughout this film, which is not always easy to watch, but is certainly captivating enough for those who have a penchant for slightly more abstract documentaries that have a distinct point of view and a strong authorial voice that guides their production. One of the more unheralded works in his career, Land Without Bread allows Buñuel the opportunity to explore the lives of a community suspended in time, looking at their struggle without interfering, which amounts to a beautiful and poetic work of incredible complexity.