After slicing up eyeballs with Salvador Dali in the late 1920s Luis Bunuel went on to carve a career in surrealisitc satires, plunging the knife into the psyches of church, state and citizenry and wiggling it with gleeful aplomb. The Exterminating Angel (1962) gave us a posh dinner party in a bourgeois town house which the guests find themselves inexplicably unable to leave. As the days pass and palace turns grimly to pigsty Bunuel lets the mind laconically loose on the fate of Francoist Spain.

This is what happens when the ruling class finds itself in a rut it lacks the wit to break out of: drinking from the water pipes, stowing the dead in closets, fornicating, fighting and praying for deliverance from itself. What we think of as privilege is a prison from which the fools who reside there can never escape. Holding us hostage to their pathology their greatest sin is the simple fact that they abide.