Review: GORED - the True and Deadly Story of a Bullfighter

What do you do when the thing you love most in the world is something at which, to put it mildly, you're not terribly good? Particularly when the thing you love most in the world is quite possibly going to destroy you? What you do is to be Antonio Barrera, the bullfighter with the distinction of being gored more often than any other bullfighter in modern history - 23 times, to be precise. That he survived to retire less than happily is a testament more to luck than to genius, but the documentary of his career and retirement is close to genius. GORED, by Ido Mizrahy, succeeds in telling the tale of a bullfighter whose bravery is greater than his artistry, and whose dreams are never fully realized.

Bullfighting is roundly condemned both by animal lovers and those with common sense, though it seems to be beloved of tourists in some Latin countries; it's now been banned in Catalonia, in the Mexican state of Sonora, and in Ecuador, among other locales. The bull must be provoked to attack; though perhaps less placid than the mythic Ferdinand, it does not automatically desire to charge at and kill someone brandishing something red. However, when provoked, it is dangerous if not deadly; bullfighters still die every year in the ring. The bullfight was Hemingway's great icon of bravery and of masculinity - a man and a piece of fabric up against a charging animal weighing half a ton or more.

It's still many people's idea of bravery and masculinity, and in economically depressed areas of Spain and of other countries, becoming a bullfighter, a matador, is seen as the way out of poverty in the same way that boxing and basketball have been seen as tickets out of poverty and into celebrity in the United States. Barrera, whose father was an amateur bullfighter who knew he lacked the ability to become a professional, was one of the youths who chose that route - starting at 8 years old or younger, when his father started pushing young bulls his way. (To a charge that he forced his child into the career, his father, in an interview clip used by Mizrahy, points out, "they complained... and then they paid for tickets."

Mizrahy uses contemporary footage of Barrera's last fight and his and his family's preparation for it, combined with older footage of bullfights, clips of television interviews, and contemporary interviews with friends, family, and bullfighting experts to give a picture of Barrera's career, and of the man himself. Spanish bullfight critic (evaluator, not protestor) JA de Moral notes that Barrera is not an aesthetic bullfighter, not an artistic one; one of the reasons for his frequent gorings is that a matador who is not an artist, who cannot dance the "tragic ballet," must go for sheer bravery in the face of danger in a way that will excite a crowd, such as Barrera's signature opening of a bullfight on his knees with the cape spread across his legs, making it difficult to defend when the bull charges out. This was what occurred when he was gored on his honeymoon.

His wife, daughter of a rancher and raised with the bulls herself, says that she never asked him to give up fighting, but that she was overjoyed when he said that he would retire from the bullring. His decision was prompted by their now having young children, and his responsibility for a family. But he is uneasy about the decision: he still dreams of the perfect bullfight he will never have. And he believes the relationship between himself and the bull is more intimate than any relationship he has ever had with any woman. "It's the purest relationship I've ever known, because the bull is the one I offer my life to."

Barrera's obsession with the bull, an obsession greater than his love for his family, accounts for his being gored 18 times in front of his wife, who considered any of his bullfights a victory as long as he could call her afterwards to say he survived. A combination of obsession and lack of grace, forcing him to ridiculous bravery and a philosophical attitude that most people fail to think of death as being beside them all the time, creates a combination that makes his survival surprising.

The artistry here is Mizrahy's, juxtaposing contemporary and archival footage to show a life, to show an obsession, to show a career that in America equates to the boxer with more raw talent and desire than grace and skill in the squared circle.

And perhaps the most frightening line in the entire piece is a quote of his father's from a prior television interview: "I realized Antonio could become someone because he had a cold heart." A cold heart with a desire to challenge and kill the bull at the risk of his own life, a cold heart that opens to possible death at the bull's horns before the love of another human, is a tragic one, in a story beautifully told.

Of Barrera's retirement, he has gone on, as shown at the end of Mizrahy's narrative, to become a suit-and-tie wearing manager of a considerably more artistic and successful bullfighter. He is safe for his family now, but his expression far more vacant than when he cheated death in the ring. As for his hopes and dreams, now a family man? "I have to believe I will bullfight again in order to go on living."

Available on Netflix and Hulu, among other platforms, after last year's film festival openings. Beautiful and chilling, and unsuited for children; there's footage of Barrera's goring in here, as well as of bulls being spiked and killed in the ring. Though both beautiful and compelling in Mizrahy's hands, animal lovers will find much of this work hard to watch - as it should be, given Barrera's personal story. It's horrible, but also impossible to look away from it. And it's worth working your way through it.

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