Film
Un Chien Andalou
A cloud crosses the moon; a razor crosses an eye — and cinema acquires its most famous seventeen minutes. Written in six days by two young Spaniards trading dreams, on one rule: no image that could be explained. Ants pour from a hole in a palm, a man drags pianos loaded with dead donkeys and live priests, and a Paris premiere its director attended with stones in his pockets ends, to his disgust, in applause.






