Un Chien Andalou
A man sharpens a straight razor. Then, he uses it to slice a woman's eye open. Eight years later, a man is riding a bicycle and falls down. A woman sees him and rushes to help him. Back in her apartment, ants crawl out of a hole in the man's hand. Then, the two of them watch from the window as a young woman uses a stick to poke at a severed hand that's laying on the street. The police put the hand in a box and give it to the girl. She gets run over by a car. Back in the apartment, watching all this has really turned the man on, for some reason, so he starts feeling the woman up. She doesn't like that, so he drags two pianos (along with a couple of priests and two dead donkeys) across the room. At three in the morning, a man in a hat arrives and makes the first man stand in the corner. Sixteen years earlier (hey, that's what the titles say), the second man hands the first man two books. The books turn into guns, and the first man shoots the second man, who is teleported to the woods, slides off the back of a naked woman, and is discovered by the police. Back in the apartment again, the man removes his own mouth and then somehow magically steals the woman's underarm hair, which he turns into a beard for himself. So, the woman leaves and meets another guy on the beach. They get along well, but in the spring, they're buried in the sand.
The whole thing is seventeen minutes long, and it was made in 1929. Salvador Dalí helped write the script. It's the first film of Luis Buñuel, who later became quite well-known with films like The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, which I didn't particularly like. As silent films go, this is actually quite good. Sure, it doesn't make any sense, but it isn't supposed to.
The sliced eyeball scene is seriously sick. It's also better-done than similar scenes in movies like New York Ripper and Evil Dead Trap.
By the way, the title means An Andalusian Dog. Not that it explains anything.