Afternoons are steeped in solitude for young torero Andrés Roca Rey, who often spends them alone in his hotel room. But as soon as he steps into the arena, he is lifted by the roar of the crowd. He feeds off the recognition of his strength, of the gazes fixed on him as he dominates the bull. In this portrait, multi-award-winning filmmaker Albert Serra explores the profound ambiguity of a practice — bullfighting, so often contested — and of a man who has devoted his life to it. The images exalt a certain beauty — whatever one may think of it: the grace of a gesture, a stance, a movement, a detail. The camera's framing often lingers elsewhere, not always where the action is unfolding. The gaze drifts, detached, contemplative. But the film also dares to look death straight in the eye. This ambiguity is distilled in the ornate details of the torero’s costume — embellishments that take endless hours to craft, only to be stained with blood. These ritualised and theatricalised images of violence and cruelty compel us to confront our fascination with spectacle, and our enduring thirst for domination.