Although devoid of the eyeball slicing surrealism of his first feature, Buñuel opens his last film with a literal bang and a humorous douse of water. Alter ego Fernando Rey stars in Cet obscur objet du désir (That Obscure Object of Desire) as a wealthy businessman named Mathieu, who is hopelessly obsessed with beautiful Conchita (Carole Bouquet and Ángela Molina). Based on the 1898 erotic novel La Femme et le Pantin (The Woman and the Puppet) by Pierry Louÿs, this marks the final cinematic chapter of Buñuel's own obsession with the nature of sexual politics.

Most noted for using two actresses to play the enigmatic female lead, Buñuel pulls it off effectively--Conchita's complexity mesmerizes and frustrates Mathieu, and he certainly seems oblivious to the changing actresses. Since Conchita inexplicably changes moods so rapidly, Buñuel's decision to cast the two women--one a coy French actress, the other a passionate Spanish dancer--works brilliantly. Aside from similar hair color and height, the two women look nothing alike, yet their physical dissimilarity fails to faze Mathieu, making his ultimate mission of getting inside Conchita's panties more obvious.

Despite desperate sexual urgings, Rey glides through the film like a fine-aged Chardonnay, relaying his longings primarily through subtle gestures and eye movements that also convey his frustrations and vulnerability. The occasional arguments aren't overstated, and his casual bucket-dumping moment is priceless.

The opening device that shows Mathieu fleeing Seville on a train bound for Paris allows Buñuel to insert a natural captive audience to his relationship problem, including a dwarf psychologist keenly interested in the dynamics. Mathieu then narrates the story, mostly through a series of flashbacks.

Conchita tantalizes intrepid Mathieu, who tries every method he can to woo her: using extreme kindness, giving money to her mother, buying her a house, and forcefully taking her. But all is in vain. She pleads for patience, saying that he should be satisfied with cuddling and fondling her breasts, but she just isn't ready yet to lose her virginity. Conchita seems even more determined to belittle Mathieu when she locks him out of the house he's purchased for her and proceeds to make love with a young man.

One of the more interesting scenes is staged directly on Jacques de Baroncelli's 1929 silent film version of La Femme et le pantin (the excerpt thankfully preserved on the Criterion DVD). Finding Conchita dancing in a club, Mathieu naively waits downstairs as she is "resting" upstairs before being tipped off that she is "entertaining" a private party. Again her dual nature remains intact--the men may be aroused by her erotic display, but they aren't allowed to touch her.

Similarly, the harder Mathieu pursues her, the more elusive she remains. Don't expect Buñuel to fashion a definitive answer to the mystery. Completely possessing the object of his desires remains unattainable, much like Buddhist teachings where desire leads only to suffering--the normal state of life. To achieve happiness requires detachment from desire. Not that self-proclaimed atheist Buñuel professed Buddhism, but as he grew older he found "it was a tremendous relief to be rid at last of nagging desires."

A parallel motif running throughout the film are scenes of senseless terrorism--not associated with any political movement in the film, nor would you expect them to be. In his autobiography, Buñuel indicates that these acts used as political weapons are despicable; however, the symbolic significance of terrorism has a certain attraction, for ideas of destroying the social order that were also goals of the surrealists. Thus, the father of surrealist cinema famously states, "The simplest surrealist gesture consists in going out into the street, gun in hand, and taking pot shots at the crowd!";

Buñuel's pot shots in That Obscure Object of Desire are well-planned provocative scenarios that show just how difficult it is to understand sexual desires. Just when the protagonist thinks ultimate victory is at hand, conflicting emotions explode in his presence and the battle continues--he can never fully possess her. In one sense, Buñuel's final film is among his most conventional, with fewer surrealistic moments, but the familiar themes questioning society and religion while exploring deeper realms of sexuality combine for another signature Buñuel piece. A fitting finale for one of the most influential directors of the twentieth century.