Many autobiographies deteriorate into little more than banal remembrances and self-rationalizations and glorification. Not so with Luis Buñuel's remarkably candid My Last Sigh. The legendary director of Belle de Jour, That Obscure Object of Desire, and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie often confuses the hell out of the audience—not surprising, given his reputation as the father of surrealist cinema. But those eyeball-slicing, absurd dream sequences will make far more sense after reading Buñuel's autobiography.

Why do you think Roger Ebert and other critics so often quote from My Last Sigh? They have to work hard at making sense of Buñuel's surreal imagery, so they wisely seek out the source. And what a wealth it is. Not only does Buñuel provide highlights from his childhood, anecdotes about all the famous avant-garde artists he hung out with, stories about the Spanish Civil War, and comments about his cinematic creations, but he provides intimate insight into his inner thoughts and reveals his soul (though he would likely deny its existence).

Often described as a man with a confusing national identity, having lived in Spain, France, the U.S., and Mexico, Buñuel ironically became a citizen of Mexico, even though he swore the last place on Earth he wanted to live was in Latin America. Even though he appreciated the benefits of each country, like the cafes of Paris and the earthly delights of New York City, he was no fan of maudlin patriotism—shocking Charles Chaplin and friends by physically attacking a Christmas tree.

To explain this behavior is to delve into his concept of surrealism, which also helps understand his films. Although most know that Buñuel associated with surrealist artists Salvador Dali and Max Ernst from his first two films, Un chien andalou and L'Âge d'or, most have only a vague understanding about the movement, thinking the surrealists as weirdoes that just wanted to be different from bourgeois culture. Indeed, Buñuel states that “the real purpose of surrealism was not to create a new literary, artistic, or even philosophical movement, but to explode the social order, to transform life itself.” That's why he could never become part of a commercialized film venture. He was committed to his artistic vision and striving to change the world.

That doesn't mean that Buñuel didn't appreciate films that came from more traditional sources. He has a special fondness for Fritz Lang, and it was while watching one of his creations that he realized what he wanted to do in his life:

When I saw Destiny, I suddenly knew that I too wanted to make movies. It wasn't the three stories themselves that moved me so much, but the main episode—the arrival of the man in the black hat (whom I instantly recognized as Death) in a Flemish village—and the scene at the cemetery. Something about this film spoke to something deep in me; it clarified my life and my vision of the world.