man bites dog
by
Douglas Messerli
Marco
Berger (screenwriter and director) Perro Perro / 2025
Marco
Berger’s Perro, Perro which literally translates in “dog, dog,” is one
of the most beautiful and audacious films I have seen in the past few years.
Most reviewers have loved the work,
although I believe also that most of them have misunderstood it.
A handsome man, Juan (German Flood), on
vacation with his girlfriend Jazmin (Bianca Brandimate) on a jungle-like
island, discovers a naked and quite beautiful man (, wandering nearby their
house. The man is mute, and Juan, clearly attracted to him, as is, I should
add, his friend Rama (Matias Quiroga). Juan takes him home as if he were
a stray dog and cares for him by first feeding him, providing him water, and
eventually bathes him and trims his nails, caring for him as if he were an
abandoned animal. The man, in turn, is clearly appreciative, and quickly grows
to express his affections for and devotion to Juan.
But almost immediately something else
happens in this tale, quite unexpected. Juan falls in love with his “so-called”
pet, eventually even leaving the side of his female partner at nights, and
sleeping with his “man.” What might first have been seen as the affection
between a pet and a human being is quickly transformed in this work into a true
love affair, as the two kiss and stroke one another in a way that certainly
breaks the limits of what one might do with a pet dog.
Jazmin and his other friends quickly note
the affection between the two, but simply treat it as a temporary obsession of
their friend as if the male he has discovered were simply a beast, a pet he has
found in the wild. The strange paradox has led most critics such as Rich Cline,
writing in Shadows Off the Beaten Path, to perceive the work as “a
surreal drama.” He writes:
“Shot
in glistening black and white by cinematographer Martin Farina, this surreal
drama is so playful that it immediately makes us smile. Argentine master
provocateur Marco Berger continues to explore masculinity and connection by
blurring lines of sexuality, in this case teasingly lusty inversion of reality.
Even if the metaphor is strained, the timeless filmmaking style gives a kick to
deeper ideas. It's also sweet and very sexy.”
Critic Dionar Hidalgo also slightly misrepresents
the film:
“The
premise—a man who finds a “dog” in nature that is, in appearance and behavior,
another man—could be interpreted as gratuitous provocation, but Berger
transforms it into an unsettling fable about affection. Juan welcomes, cares
for, and loves this other body that offers itself docilely, almost devoid of
will, while the external warning (“don’t get too attached”) instills suspicion
from the outset: every bond implies a form of domination. In this gesture, the
film unfolds as a satire of male desire, but also as a reflection on emotional
domestication, where the partner—like the animal—can become a territory of
control, projection, and dependence.”
But there is nothing at all surreal about
this situation. Yes, it is “strange,” but it is not a dream-like situation, but
very real in which his girlfriend is disturbed by her boyfriend’s sudden
infatuation. The beautiful nude man, whom Berger parades is all his nudity, is
never once described as a “dog,” but always as a “man” or the “male.” And
indeed, one of Jazmin’s friends actually is terrified by men, she confesses, since
she has been attacked by one long ago.
Jazmin, herself, is irritated by the
situation, but being a reasonable 21st century woman refuses to be jealous,
although it’s quite clear she actually is. She will not allow the “man” in
their rented house, and particularly will not allow him to sleep in their bed.
She warns Juan, time and again, to not get too attached, and is obviously
disturbed by the long periods he now spends away from her, kissing and now
literally making love (without any sexual action) with his new friend.
As the loving relationship between Juan and
his “man” escalates, tensions arise, particularly when her man-shy friend comes
for a visit, which forces Juan to actually treat his new lover as a dog, to tie
up his new “pet,” who escapes, and hurt by Juan’s behavior, will not
immediately return home. It is the story of all males involved in secretive
love affairs with other men who are called upon to suddenly treat their friends
as temporary animals who cannot be allowed into their house.
The man’s natural desire to share Juan’s
bed results in his having to explain that if he were to enter the bedroom “She’ll
kill us both.”
Juan and his “man’s” relationship, I would
argue, is not at all a surreal event, but a metaphor for what happens when a
husband or boyfriend suddenly shows an interest in another man. Heteronormative
domesticity has it rules after all.
Several commentators have described Juan’s
treatment of his new friend as representing the limitations we put upon others
with our love of them. But, in fact, Juan does not truly treat his friend as a
domestic animal, but displays his full love of him daily, as does the “man” to
Juan. The domesticated being in this world is not the “dog-like” being, but
Juan himself, held to the rules of normative behavior by Jazmin and his other
friends.
When he pleads with Jazmin to bring the man
home with him, she argues that it would be impossible to keep such a large man
in their Buenos Aires home, particularly since he must go to work each day, and
the man would miss him sorely. She suggests that they might get a woman, but no
men can come into her house.
Juan suggests that he might keep Juan in
his mother’s house and visit him, but her reaction is that of a slighted woman,
worrying that there he would perhaps pay no attention to her.
Yet the love between the men has grown,
and as they are soon to leave, Juan is obviously torn between his new love and
his old.
Like so very many domesticated men, he choses to leave his “man” behind,
hoping that he might find a new “owner,” which we might describe, in this case,
as a “lover.”
I have mentioned this story once before.
I met a young man in college who appeared to be straight, but was clearly on
the verge of coming out. He had met one of his teacher’s in Chicago, where he
had grown up, who had invited him into the very old-fashioned closeted world of
the 1950s and 1960s. And he is obviously intrigued and interested. Knowing I
was gay, he invited me to join him on a trip back home so that he might
introduce me his teacher and his gay circle. I was still young and rather
stupid, and didn’t realize that what he was really seeking was for me to engage
him and sex and bring him out. Instead, I had sex with his elder teacher.
Several years later, I had lunch with him.
He had since married a woman, and begged me to please never tell since she
would be very disturbed if she knew about our lunch. I do not even know his
wife and by that time Howard and I had been together for several years, and I
no intentions of luring my younger friend into bed; yet clearly having told his
wife of his past, she was terrified that I, as a “man,” might try to steal her “male”
away from her. I saw what full domestication had accomplished. Even having
lunch with me was seen by his wife and him as a temptation to break their vows.
In some respects, of course, Berger’s brilliant
metaphorical tale has relationships with Edward Albee’s The Goat, which
uses bestiality to talk about forbidden and outside sexual relationships. But
the marvel of Berger’s work is that he never denies for a moment that Juan’s
interest is in another man, the dog metaphor being simply how he and the other’s
pretend to deal with the situation. Cruel heteronormativity still wins out. But
the film shows us the deep love Juan has suddenly discovered in same-sex
relationships, and doubt that his return to Buenos Aires will allow him to
forgot that experience. Certainly, the silent man he has left behind remembers the
love of their deep friendship, the touch of the other, and his deep kisses,
even as he may die of longing.
Berger, in the shorts I have seen to date,
never actually puts his figures into sexual situations; they are always in deep
homoerotic situations on the verge of sexuality that is frustrated or
delimited. I believe him to be one of the most brilliant and perceptive of
contemporary gay writers, attempting to explore a world in which men are
seeking to discover same-sex love, yet are constantly stymied by the closed
worlds in which they live. I look forward to reviewing his feature works. In
his world, men want to experience love with other men, women with other women,
but find little easy access to that desire. Instead, they are cut off, made to
obey ridiculous social, familial, and other restrictions imposed by ancient values
and tradition.
What a wonderful world Juan might have had
if only he might have been able to bring his man home to share his bed, maybe
even along with Jazmin.
Los
Angeles, July 22, 2026
Reprinted
from My Queer Cinema blog (July 2026).
