Fallas Fair: Marco Pérez, ready and determined, through the front door | Culture

Santiago Domecq’s bullfight, well presented and put together, had four more than drinkable bulls, and two, fifth and sixth, lackluster. Those four were ideal for modern bullfighting, noble, letting themselves be at all times and without opposing everything the bullfighters did or wanted to do. But it was also a disappointing run, because a more balanced lot was expected, as has been the recent custom. Several of them were received with applause when they appeared in the arena.

The first chapter of the bullfight passed as if on tiptoe. The red man who opened the square said little and Perera said little before him. Of the entire set of a task without relief, a very coiled natural in one of the two batches that he prescribed to the bull on that side. Nothing else. Next to nothing.

A dark chestnut jumped like a hat in fourth place. Good bull. Soon in the attack, with fixity and a lot of nobility. Perera’s work was scattered, piling up passes, almost all of them without rhyme or reason, and without taking advantage of the benefits of a bull that asked for another type of party than the one Perera gave him. To finish off at the same level of the task, a puncture in the basement and a low lunge left Santiago Domecq’s man ready for the mules. Pity of bull.

A good bull, the beautiful second, who was applauded when he appeared in the ring. Deep, well armed, with rennet, he was a bull of great kindness. He was taken care of in vain, in a simply compliant process. The five statues that Víctor Hernández gave him to open the curtain of the task were followed by composed and established batches. Without rounding, without really reaching the people, between two sets on the left, always putting his right leg forward, he highlighted a natural tightly wound around the waist. Everything else was correct, but with the final impression that the bull was asking for something more.

The striking fifth, a good-looking salinero, was not of the same suit as his brothers. He bumped rather than attacked the crutch, with nodding and jumping. But it had its mobility and its possibilities. Although he was not a bull for the modern bullfighting that Víctor Hernández wanted to impose in a task without government, with little temper and anodyne. Long and meaningless.

Coming out of a couple of banderillas, the third one tied up the banderillero José Antonio Prestel who crashed into him when trying to win the burladero. The bull tried to get him out three times; however, he did not make flesh. Good bull that third. Marco Pérez did the job in a big way, with a great reception from the people: a change from behind and then on his knees and in a round. The task was that of a smart bullfighter, knowing what the people wanted and giving it in large doses. Pérez responded to the bull’s fixity and promptness with skill, in a long and populist task. There was no great adjustment to nature, but it didn’t matter, people celebrated the young bullfighter’s volcano of will. With the layout delivered, the final closes, enclosed in tables and a clean body challenge, raised an outcry. The stab, somewhat dull, was followed by a loud, noisy request. One ear, enough reward.

The sixth was also a dull, uncomfortable bull. But Marco Pérez organized his private party with the approval of the respectable person. Ready, displaying great skill, the task was not a paragon of purity, but of sincerity. Of knowing how to win the bull, of understanding the bull in the most direct way. The final blow, from which the bull rolled without toe, losing his crutch, opened the big door for him.