The Last Circus (2010): A Masterpiece of Grotesque National Grief
The Last Circus (2010): A Masterpiece of Grotesque National Grief
"Most horror clowns want to kill you. The clowns in The Last Circus are already dead—killed by fascism, machismo, and a country that never buried its past." — 5/5 Stars
The Last Circus (2010) reveiw: In the oldest sense of the word, this Spanish tragicomedy is incredible: awe-inspiring, grotesque, stunning, and heartfelt. Directed by the visionary Álex de la Iglesia, this Spanish tragicomedy uses the clown as a vessel for national trauma, transforming the circus ring into a bloodstained arena where Spain’s unburied past—Franco, fascism, machismo—rages like a ghost that refuses to rest.
Set against the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War and its long, suffocating aftermath, the film follows Javier (Carlos Areces), a gentle soul born into a family of circus clowns, who is drafted into a militia and forced to trade laughter for violence. Years later, he joins a new troupe, where he falls for Natalia (Carolina Bang), the acrobat caught between him and Sergio (Antonio de la Torre)—a towering, rage-fueled “happy clown” whose love is indistinguishable from domination. What unfolds is not a love triangle, but a collision of wounded masculinities, each warped by history, performance, and the illusion of control.
Horror as National Memory
This is not horror for shock’s sake. Every drop of blood, every act of surreal violence, every burst of black humor serves a deeper purpose: to mirror Spain’s unresolved cultural psychosis. The Valle de los Caídos—the real-life Francoist mausoleum—looms over the film not as set dressing, but as a monument to collective repression. The Last Circus stands as a vital work of antifascist cinema—not through slogans, but through visceral, grotesque truth-telling. Javier’s suffering there is both personal and political: a man driven mad by a nation that never mourned its dead, never punished its monsters, and turned silence into a kind of slow suicide.
The Two Clowns of Toxic Masculinity
Sergio is machismo incarnate: loud, violent, possessive, convinced his love entitles him to ownership. Javier is its shadow: passive, martyr-like, believing suffering proves devotion. Neither is healthy. Neither is heroic. Both are products of a culture that equates manhood with control—over women, over emotion, over chaos. Natalia, far from a mere prize, becomes the battlefield where these ideologies clash, her autonomy erased by men who call their obsession “love.”
And the clown makeup? It’s not costume—it’s wound and weapon. When Javier finally mutilates his own face to “become” the clown permanently, it’s body horror with profound psychological and political resonance: the ultimate surrender to a role assigned by history.
“Over all, the film is incredible. In the oldest sense of that word, it is awe-inspiring and grotesque. Stunning and heartfelt. It is a love letter to a country, a time and a frowning clown singing mournfully about a weeping trumpet.” — Cole Abaius
A Symphony of Excess
Yes, the film is insane. Yes, it blends hard violence, raw sexuality, surreal imagery, and pitch-black satire in ways that will unsettle even seasoned horror fans. But this excess is the point. De la Iglesia doesn’t flinch because Spain’s history doesn’t flinch. This is Buñuel by way of grindhouse, Pan’s Labyrinth with a chainsaw—a farce that bleeds, a tragedy that laughs through tears.
Every frame is meticulously composed. The color palette—burnt reds, sickly yellows, bruised purples—feels like a fever dream painted in blood and greasepaint. The performances are staggering: Areces’ wounded vulnerability, de la Torre’s terrifying charisma, Bang’s fierce, tragic resilience. Together, they elevate the film beyond genre into the realm of myth.
The final sequence—set atop the Valle de los Caídos—is one of the most haunting climaxes in 21st-century cinema: a direct, devastating inversion of religious iconography that asks not for salvation, but for acknowledgment.
Final Verdict: A masterpiece of political horror, tragic comedy, and visual poetry. The Last Circus isn’t just one of the greatest Spanish films ever made—it’s one of the most vital films of our century. 5/5 stars.
Official trailer for The Last Circus (2010)
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