We review the third season of the series ‘Una perra andaluza’
A quick Google search clarifies that an anastomosis is the surgical or natural connection between two or more tubular structures in the body, the purpose of which is to restore the flow of fluids or create alternative pathways. It is likely that this definition does not mean anything to a layman in medicine, but knowing that it is also the word that gives name to the WhatsApp group that Samu, Marcos and Sofía share, the metaphor explains itself.
The journey of this sort of Sevillian-style “Queer as Folk” that Pablo Bacon has been signing for Filmin for three seasons; “An Andalusian dog” has accompanied us for three consecutive years, giving us the opportunity to sneak into the most extreme intimacy of its protagonists and learn first-hand (foot, finger, ass, tit, cock and everything else) the troubles of their twenties.
If the first two installments were the portrait of a generation still impulsive and eager to discover the world from trauma, doubt and curiosity, the closing of the series now allows us to see all its characters finally assuming the consequences of their decisions and facing the bittersweet fate of maturity. Turning a birthday, burning through stages and turning the page does not mean, however, having answers for everything, and we see that impeccably reflected in the imperfect character of some characters who break the deck of standards (physical and social) to which the series of twenty-somethings have accustomed us (by the way, long live the non-normative shared apartments and enough of seeing impossible houses in fiction).
Pablo repeats for the third time a formula that is already familiar to him, that of truffling his story with winks to pop culture (from his soundtrack, quotes at the beginning of each episode, posters and t-shirts to small details such as draining the pasta with a racket, à la Jack Lemmon) and to the proud geography of his native Seville (placing the cast between Amate, Pino Montano, Los Remedios, Los Bermejales, the Three Thousand Homes, Cerro del Águila and a thousand more sites). Of course, beyond the nuance and easter eggs Curiously, where the writer and director shows us a progressive evolution is in his ability to better dose time, ordering with greater precision the multiple narrative lines that the plot manages and trusting like never before in characters that no longer need to be defined.
With the conclusion of its second season, “An Andalusian dog” left us with several doubts about the future of its ensemble cast: consent and MeToo transferred to Óscar’s workplace, emotional responsibility seen through the eyes of Samu, Sofía and her process of escape forward, Dani’s eating disorders, Madrid as a promise of emancipation for an entire generation and the shared task of learning to love oneself (and love oneself very much). There is a particularly revealing conversation between Carmelo and Samu that probably sums up the heart of this season better than any other, with the former inviting the latter to stop envying what others seem to have and simply start building a life of their own.
And behind all those stories of sex, friendship, fetish and desire that we have seen throughout these episodes –sometimes, with excessive explicitness and not suitable for modest viewers–, there is, of course, hidden a wound that is as personal as it is collective that feeds the narrative with truth and substance. In the mouths of its characters, and through those infinite bedroom conversations that extend and intersect in montage, we observe the voice of that adolescent who suffered too soon, who learned to distrust himself and who still today lives with intrusive thoughts that constantly remind him that he will never be enough.
If, in that sense, the series is a balm for its creator, it is something that remains between him and the text. What we get now is something similar to a coming of age, but definitely far from the archetype that young fiction usually offers us, and which, therefore, truly challenges us. Neither the conflicts of its characters are completely closed nor do we find any deus ex machina resolving the ballot at the last moment; The series concludes with its protagonists hungry for uncertainty, silencing the noise where and how best it can be done: in a karaoke and challenging a Zahara song to the point of destruction.
Against everything that may seem, “An Andalusian dog” He was never born with a typical vindictive or edifying vocation; For this reason, and regardless of whether its characters identify themselves in one way or another, what the series has really tried to do throughout its three seasons is to show us a more or less faithful generational portrait of youth and each setback relevant to it. We have all been that Sofia incapable of knowing where to take the next step; or that Marcos who ends up dwarfed under the weight of some Alex’s ego; or that Samu who lets opportunities slip away for fear of not deserving them and regardless of who comes after. We have all, at some point, lived with the uncomfortable feeling of not quite fitting in. We are all, in short, an Andalusian dog.
