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"Il grande torero di domani," his rise and fall. Francesco Rosi in Spain at once questions the myth, the feet of laborers are seen under the lavish religious float (cf. Los Olvidados), the Pamplona encierro leaves trampled civilians in its wake. The Andalusian peasant (Miguel Mateo Salcedo) sees his father by the plow going around in circles, life in Barcelona is not much different until he jumps into the bullring and gets dragged out to audience cheers. "Grace, time and great elegance" are needed, declares the aging maestro teaching in drab basements (Pedro Basauri), the struggling pupil has little use for talk of art. "If they give me a million, I'll go in the arena and wait for the bull like this, with open arms." Rossen's Body and Soul is the dependable model, one bloodsport recognizes another. Documentary technique is prevalent, swift shots and telephoto lenses give the teeming crowds along with the ornate rituals, le sang des bêtes flows throughout. (The bovine carnage literalizes Blood and Sand, sequined trajes de luces regularly come out splattered.) The young athlete is his own breed of exploitable animal, he dedicates the bullfight in Madrid to the lordly impresario while his agent keeps most of the profit to himself. "A real bull, real horns," red convertibles and Swedish models are the rewards, a rapacious American socialite (Linda Christian) borrows his muleta for a bit of Dolce Vita seduction. The dispassionate view permits itself one lyrical interlude, a brief return to the country that gets impressionistic effects from shovelfuls of wheat during harvest. "A typical Spanish souvenir," one morning he wakes up to the creeping emptiness within: "That's just fear." Curved saber and dripping beast also launch Rosi's rollicking return to the country two decades later, Carmen. Cinematography by Pasqualino De Santis.
--- Fernando F. Croce |