Albert Serra’s “Afternoon of Loneliness” begins by looking into the bull’s eyes, not by the bull’s horns. The piece opens with a candid close-up of a magnificent bovine specimen staring straight into the camera, its eyes almost hidden in the shiny obsidian monument of its head, yet somehow confrontational in its gaze. . Perhaps this beast does not realize that it is dying, but seems angrily resigned to its fate anyway. Or perhaps we are feeling anger on behalf of the beast and projecting it onto this majestic image. Over the next two hours, Serra’s extraordinary documentary about the grandeur and violent humiliation of the Spanish bullfighting ritual shows us that while we will never again observe animal victims so closely, we get to know the shots. I will never forget. Peru’s star conqueror of humans, even as the film’s focus shifts to cows bullfighter Andres Roca Rey, it’s that fateful gaze that haunts us.
Serra’s film, which has no commentary or interviews, avoids a rhetorical stance on a practice that remains the subject of a polarizing debate in the Catalan filmmaker’s homeland. Instead, it aloofly observes Roca Rey in and out of the ring, allowing plenty of room for the viewer’s own emotional response. Sure, the artificial spectacle of a bullfight, with its intricate choreography and flashy, racy costumes, has its charms, but it would be hard to describe “A Lonely Afternoon” as a celebration of its subject matter. The film’s gaze is both dazzling and mocking – Roca Rey’s macho posturing and hero-worship are implicit sources of humor – while Serra’s artistic vision Living up to his reputation for challenging cuisine, he doesn’t shy away from the presentation of his work. Animal abuse and suffering.
That frankness could make the film a thorn in the side for distributors, prompting a formal protest from Spanish animal rights groups ahead of its world premiere in competition at the San Sebastian Film Festival. (It will have its international premiere in New York next week.) But this is the magnum opus of a richly mature filmmaker, whose recent work uses languid repetition and sensory saturation to draw audiences into uncomfortable worlds. This work has the characteristics of fiction. dream-like state.
As the film cycles through three main spaces, there is little attempt to impose a narrative arc over the two-hour-long events. The luxurious car he drives to and from the venue is surrounded by an entourage of flattered men. And in his luxurious hotel room, he silently assembles and disassembles gaudy matador armor with shiny metal threads and sequins, often caked with blood. Though much of its time is spent watching Roca Rey psyche up for battle and deject after it, “A Lonely Afternoon” is not a character portrait. He remains a secluded and silent figure throughout, and Sera shows little interest in investigating the man’s interior or inner self. Home life only covers the rush of adrenaline and the decline in work routine.
In some ways, Roca Rey seems as much an object as a hapless bull. In a resourceful preparation scene, an assistant helps him fit into his body in an incredibly tight fit. Taregira She casually lifted his whole body and shook him inside his clothes, removing his pants and treating him more like a mannequin than a master. And while his followers rain praise on him on the ride from the stadium, their praise is dehumanizingly exaggerated. , he stares stoically into the middle distance, ignoring them. I can see that Sera is amused by such an absurd act. Of course, it goes without saying that there are homoerotic undertones to this vain masculine exaggeration, but the stark contrast between the details of these rituals and the visceral pain and danger that ensues inside the ring immediately strikes us. I stop.
No amount of fancy footwork or bright carmine-colored silk can disguise the ugly fact that this storied Spanish tradition is murder for sport. Serra and his regular cinematographer Arthur Torto Puyol (who also edited the film along with the director) don’t try to hide it either, avoiding grandiose wide shots to capture the gruesome physical destruction that’s going on. Separated from the frame, which often excludes the assembled crowd, for tight close-ups that isolate and emphasize, the viewer feels a strange, mesmerizing sense of isolation.
At one point, the film’s focus shifts from Roca Rey, unfazed by the attacks of the two horns, to the bull itself, which collapses, enraged and glowing with its own blood, before being dragged to its death in chains. and move again. It’s over, but it certainly doesn’t feel like a victory, even though Roca Rey and his fellow fighters are donning golden finery and preparing for honor. Stoic but almost numb to all the dazzling sensations in “A Lonely Afternoon,” it is up to the viewer to decide what beauty remains in this cruelty. Masu.
