Long-term resident
IT’S THAT MAN AGAIN
On the 7th of this month Catalonia’s most internationally known filmmaker, Albert Serra, premiered his 19th film (if we include the shorts) called Tardes de soledad (‘Lonely Afternoons’) which is, as far as I know, his first work of non-fiction. And it’s about bullfighting. Cue the predictable reaction of foreign (and some Spanish) spectators: that it’s logical that a Spaniard should make a film about what is often called ‘la Fiesta Nacional’. After which they will equally predictably split up into the ones in favour of what they regard as a fascinating cultural ritual and the others who loathe what they see as viciously staged – and completely unnecessary – animal torture.
In the case of Tardes de Soledad, such spectators would be wide of the mark on all counts. To begin with, although I have no idea how Serra identifies himself culturally, he is undoubtedly a Catalan, which means that he comes from a part of the Spanish state in which bullfighting is banned, and – despite a tiny group of local fans – has not been particularly popular since the mid-twentieth century (I lived close to Barcelona’s largest bullring, the Monumental, for several years before the ban was put in place, and over 90% of the people queuing for entrance tickets were always tourists). And being a Catalan also implies being at least one cultural remove from mainstream Spain, due to a small host of cultural, linguistic and historical differentials. So a Catalan making a film about bullfighting is a bit like – and I’m aware this is a leaky comparison – a Scot making a film about English foxhunting. That said, we need to be careful, because Serra has made a highly atypical film about bullfighting which, although apparently neutral, when looked at closely isn’t neutral at all.
The film follows the Peruvian bullfighter Andrés Roca Rey for over two hours as he shifts from his minibus to his hotels and, above all, to the Spanish bullrings in which he performs and kills. When filmed out of the ring, Roca Rey is a diffident, peppermint-munching, highly superstitious man (I lost count of the amount of times he crosses himself before venturing out to deal with a bull) who doesn’t seem to be much interested in the adulation of his admirers, to judge
from the occasional rictus he regales them with.
He also comes across in certain scenes as being remarkably feminine, notably in one sequence in which his valet squeezes him into a suit of lights. In the bullring, however, he transforms himself into a scowling, grunting dandy as he coaxes the bull to pass within centimetres of him, time and
again. When on the few occasions the bull decides to go for a direct hit, Roca Rey dives under it, then gets up and continues the baiting until the bull’s bitter end.
This might look like an outright celebration of the bullfighter’s dexterous courage and, indeed, bullfighting in general, if it weren’t for the merciless shots – often from
unusual angles – of the wounded bulls as they pant, bleed profusely and eventually collapse, half-dead, to screaming applause.
In short, Serra is showing us exactly what bullfighting involves, both for the bulls and their fighters. Yes, it is a fascinating, dangerous ritual, and yes, it is an exceptionally cruel way of tormenting sentient animals.
Using a subliminal distancing effect present in several of his other films, he is telling his spectators to stand back and make up their own minds. Something I’ve done: before this film, I had never seen a bullfight; after this film, I will never, ever see another one.
Opinion
