The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz, despite the undeniably dark subject matter, could almost pass for an absurd comedy. Our protagonist, the titular Archibaldo, has wanted for nothing his entire life. Born into wealth and whatever material possessions he could possibly want, the film opens with a young Archibaldo living in a lavish home with all kinds of toys. He soon develops a sentimental attachment to a music box, an affection he would carry into adulthood. But not as some remembrance of childhood nostalgia, no. He likes it because it reminds him of his first taste of homicide, as his governess was shot and killed while the box was playing. Archibaldo equated that with he himself being the one to kill her which gave him a kind of sexual thrill that is reignited when he finds the music box in an antique store years later. What follows is Archibaldo trying, unsuccessfully, to carry out the murder of several different women. Each time, however, his efforts are thwarted by inconvenient timing (a jilted lover unexpectedly returning home, a group of tourists knocking on his door, and a jealous boyfriend killing his newly wedded wife before he can). Despite his clear intentions, Archibaldo is denied his homicidal satisfaction. Bunuel even pushes the absurdity further when Archibaldo confesses all of his intentions to a judge, only to be told that he can’t be punished for just wishing harm without actually doing it. Then, most comically of all, in the final moments of the film, Archibaldo tosses the music box in a lake, seemingly freed from its murderous spell over him. He twirls his cane and happily skips down a path, completely exonerated from everything he was intending to do. The film feels very much like American Psycho, if Patrick Bateman was unable to actually kill anyone.