Luis Buñuel's second film abandons the shock tactics of Un Chien andalou for something stranger: a deadpan ethnographic survey of Las Hurdes, one of the poorest regions of Spain, shot in 1932. A flat, formal narrator describes goats falling from cliffs, a donkey stung to death by bees, children with visible deformities, and villagers eating unripe cherries because nothing else is ready to harvest, all delivered in the calm cadence of a geography lesson. The mismatch between the narration's classroom tone and the misery on screen is the point; Buñuel stages some of the worst incidents himself, turning the documentary form itself into an object of suspicion rather than a neutral window. Bach and Brahms play under images of squalor that any straight travelogue would soften or skip. Franco's government banned it on release for the picture it painted of rural Spain. Sixty-seven minutes, black and white, and one of the earliest films to ask whether a camera pointed at real suffering can ever be trusted.