Bruno
For Gloria.
Hello Gloria, neighbour. I’m at home listening to jazz — a fantastic septet — and all of a sudden it occurred to me to tell you about something that happened to me not long ago, though I’m not entirely sure. In my life, that thin line between reality and fiction is almost invisible; I’m serious, Gloria, I can’t tell them apart. I’ll go further: I think my life is pure fiction.
The story I’m about to tell you — I think it happened to me. Or maybe not. I’m not sure. I’m hoping you’ll help me work it out. Here’s how the story begins.
The other day, coming out of dialysis, I decided not to go straight home — it was such a fine day for a walk. I rang Luis so he wouldn’t worry, then kept walking. After a good while, I hear a voice calling me.
—Carlos!!
—Hello, Gloria. Where have you been?
—I had a day off and I thought I’d go to the cinema.
—That explains why I didn’t see you. How was the film?
—Wonderful, fantastic. Carlos, I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.
—You’re joking! Really?
—Honestly, Carlos! It’s absolutely extraordinary.
—And what’s it called?
—Bruno!
—Bruno?
—Yes, it’s about a donkey named Bruno.
—Gloria, forgive me, but… you’re having me on, aren’t you?
—No, no… Carlos, I swear I’m not, it’s not a joke. Honestly, it’s a magnificent film; I’m still astonished by what I saw barely two hours ago.
—But Gloria…
—Carlos, please — I would never lie to you, you know that, and you can believe me. What I’ve just experienced is something extraordinary, and I’ll tell you more: I’m glad I ran into you, because I know you’ll listen and you’ll understand what I’m feeling right now.
—Thank you, Gloria. Of course you can trust me! But please, go on. What’s so special about this film?
—Look, listen, Carlos! The film was like a UFO dropped from a distant planet — it split me in two; I didn’t know what to do, whether to defend it or reject it. Provocative and astonishing, it broke every golden rule of conventional cinema on both sides of the wide ocean, while at the same time breaking with what they called European art cinema — the Nouvelle Vague — and yet it was, at the very same moment, astoundingly perfect in its absolute unity of content and form. I came to understand later that this perfection had its own history of maturation, when I had the chance some time ago to see the director’s earlier films. Nevertheless, despite the masterpieces he made, Bruno remains for me the most precious jewel in all of cinema. No other film has made my head and heart spin the way this one does.
—I didn’t know this side of you, Gloria, but now I do; you’ve got me captivated… I need you to tell me: what is the film actually about?
—I’ll only tell you the beginning, to give you a sense of it. Okay, Carlos?
—Okay, Gloria!
—Bruno is a donkey. The film tells the story of his life, his suffering, and his death. And it tells — in fragments — the story of those who crossed Bruno’s path.
The opening: the screen stays dark, and before the first image, we hear the tinkling of sheep bells from a flock. Then comes the first shot. The baby donkey is nursing between its mother’s legs. In the background we sense the flock of sheep. All we hear is the soft tinkling of their bells. Then a thin arm — of a boy or a girl — wraps around the animal’s neck and pulls it away from its mother. The camera follows the arm and we see it belongs to a girl tenderly embracing the donkey. A boy of the same age is also bent over, stroking it, and between them, slightly out of focus, stands a man. They are dressed lightly; it is summer. “Give him to us. We need him.” “My children, that’s impossible.”
Long shot: the children run alongside the father as he pulls the little donkey behind him down toward the valley from the mountain pasture. The bells of the sheep have gone quiet.
Second shot: with a small jug, one of the children pours water over the donkey’s head and says: “Bruno, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
—What do you think of the opening, Carlos?
—Wonderful!! Now I really want to see it.
—So what are you waiting for, Carlos?
—Will you come with me, Gloria?
—Of course, Carlos, neighbour! I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you watch it.
Carlos. 03/03/2019. For my neighbour Gloria.