The Moment of Truth (1965) - #595

It requires extraordinary sacrifice. You must hold the bull at all times in your head and in your heart.

Growing up as I did in American suburbia, there was never any realistic possibility that, as a young person, I would get in touch on an emotional or intellectual level with the sheer intensity of bullfighting. My first impressions of the "sport," if you want to call it that, came from old Bugs Bunny cartoons and other similar diversions that basically made a joke of the man vs. beast combat that, in certain cultures, was much more deadly serious than I ever gave it credit for. I mean, sure, nobody who gives the idea more than a moment's thought relishes the possibility of standing in the middle of an arena with a big old angry animal aiming to charge and trample you. But for the most part, all the significance of the ancient rituals, the pomp and pageantry, and most significantly the blunt confrontation with mortality - "either thee, or me, Senor Toro" - got lost on me in the absurd and comic spectacle of an enraged beast huffing and puffing as it inevitably tried in vain to chase down its target - or if it did connect, the impact only resulted in a hilarious launch of the poor matador into some kind of slapstick pratfall or another.

Suffice it to say that my recent viewing of Francesco Rosi's The Moment of Truth was enough to strip me of my inexcusable naivete on the subject. As the film's ominous title implies, this is indeed the real deal, as much as cinema can expect to deliver in thrusting us up close and personally involved in the grim showdown between two types of brutes, each fighting to preserve their lives at the expense of their adversary's well-being. If fairness and justice were given adequate consideration, I suppose that a lot more of us would find ourselves rooting for the bull in most circumstances (and I do understand that there are those who definitely lean that way.) After all, the bull had nothing to do with the circumstances it finds itself in, and is only following the lead of its instincts once it recognizes on a primal level the threat that it faces. The toreador, on the other hand, is obviously exercising free will, prompted by the desire for money, glory, fame, power, sex and any of the other rewards that a culture bestows upon its heroes who demonstrate the ability to go out there and kill on demand. Here, the bull is a victim, the human is the predator, armed and possessed of deadly intentions. There's no battling to a draw when the two step into the ring, and even if other assailants need to step in to finish the job, the bull will never exit the arena alive.

But a fundamental loyalty to our species prevents most of us from ever explicitly cheering for the animal to exact a degree of vengeance in the duel. In fact, we find it hard to let go of the apprehension that something bad might happen to the brave young men who twirl the muleta and thrust the fatal sword into that precise spot behind the bull's skull that will quickly sever the spine and drop the massive beast to its knees before it finally keels over, belching up blood, and dies. It's that deep-seated anxiety, the raw uncertainty of how each particular confrontation might turn out, that keeps the audience on the edge of suspense, while those with more cultivated tastes zero in on the display of elegance and artistry that precedes each corrida's Moment of Truth.

It's quite fitting that Rosi begins and ends his film with documentary footage of the elaborate ceremonial festivities that frame the traditional Spanish bullfight. Though the symbolism and iconography have long since been subsumed by Christianity, there's no doubt that the traditions go back in some form or another much further in the nation's history and culture. Traces of pagan bull worship and sacrificial rituals obviously infuse the social customs that compel and reward those willing to put their lives and safety on the line, and in The Moment of Truth's earliest scenes, we are left with the impression that this cycle of preparation and sanctification, obliteration and exaltation has been going on for a very long time, so long that adherence to the old ways and re-enactment of the slaughter is hardly even debatable within the local populace. Though it is of course quite rational now (and most certainly was even back then) to call into question all this brutality and bloodshed, the custom's ancient pedigree, and the grip it has on a vast and vibrant community, makes it all the more venerable, legitimate and fascinating as a study into humanity's more savage inclinations even as we envision our species making progress toward some kind of more advanced, informed and compassionate way of living in this world.

So to get down to the particulars of this film. As he explains in the brief 2004 interview that serves as the only supplement on The Moment of Truth, Francesco Rosi had no clear idea what his follow-up to Hands Over the City would be. As an award-winning director of that film though, he had to come up with something. He had a basic idea of shooting a story about a young man making his way in the world, and when that notion was coupled with the fortuitous exposure he had to a Spanish festival that featured the "running of the bulls," both the narrative and visual possibilities proved too tantalizing to resist. As might be expected of a film that was written almost simultaneously as it was being shot, there's not a lot of ingenuity or creative risk-taking in the story of Miguel Romero, a young man coming from the country into the big city to seek out his fortune and transcend the limits of his rustic upbringing. A charitable take would say that Rosi is telling a tale along mythic, archetypal tangents, something along the lines of a Spanish opera, a passion play even.

The plot unfolds with cookie-cutter predictability as he stumbles inadvertently into the circle of an old trainer who teaches him the necessary skills, his raw talent gets noted, he rises quickly into the ranks of emerging new stars in the game, suffers a professional setback or two while being exploited by bosses who enrich themselves through his hazardous labor, gets seduced by the sudden rush of fame and success, and draws the story to its close by facing up to his ultimate challenge. It's a formula that's been played out innumerable times in movies covering the full spectrum of athletic endeavors (cf. This Sporting Life for an example drawn from English rugby), with most of the suspense hinging on whether its outcome will be motivating and inspirational in overcoming the odds, or dour and chastising for chasing after too much too soon. I won't spoil the ending in detail here, but hey, it's a Criterion art house film with neorealist sensibilities, so it ought not be too hard to guess the hero's fate.

But what The Moment of Truth lacks in story-telling originality, it more than makes up for in delivering a profoundly visceral and emotionally impacting experience. Rosi and his team of cinematographers (one of whom left the production to go work with Fellini because the agony of the bulls was unbearable for him to watch) do a commendable job in filming the pastoral scenes in the Spanish countryside, as well as Miguel's big city adventures in Barcelona and Madrid, bathing the audience in warm, sumptuous color and creating some memorable atmosphere as they explore the diverse environments. As for the heart of the matter, the action in the ring, much of the credit goes to the technology of a 300 mm lens that brings the bullfighting action into extreme close-up, so that the pulsating emotions and vehement but constrained exertions of both man and beast are clearly communicated. And that raw pathos is sincere, not synthesized. Miguel is a real toreador, and the moves, the sweat, the dust, the wounds, the blood and the death we see on screen are almost all entirely genuine, with no stunt doubles and a minimal resort to camera tricks along the way. Rosi deliberately seems intent upon sidestepping anything that might resemble an ethical or editorial verdict on the activity at hand, wisely (in my opinion) letting the sights and sounds speak for themselves and leaving it to viewers to draw their own conclusions. Personally, I value this film for the way it reveals how both venerable traditions and modern economic pressures channel humanity's bloodthirsty impulses into candid expression. Because the carnage is actual and undeniable, instead of the virtual representation that usually keeps viewers one safe step removed from actively participating and condoning the violence, The Moment of Truth may be one that only requires a single pass-through (if that) for many in its audience to be over and done with.

Next: Red Beard