It is curious that, in the case of a couple of actors of recognized prestige, they hid so badly. A reporter from OK daily approaches the presenters of Los Goya and asks their opinion about the posters that appeared in Seville in protest of the nomination and presence at the gala of Fermín Muguruzaone of the fundamental figures of the nationalist movement, founder of Kortatu, the main Basque radical rock band, columnist for do it and sympathizer and collaborator of People’s Unionthat is, the complete package.
Antonio de la Torre he begins to stammer, you can literally see how the springs of his brain are activated looking for the exit that can bring him the least personal repercussions. “I’ve caught a glimpse of something, but I haven’t heard, explain it to me,” she says, stalling for time. First wrong move, because it is evident that it was impossible for him not to be aware of something of such importance for an act that he himself was going to present. Next, he takes advantage of the seconds that the reporter’s response gives him to find and throw out slogans, one after another. “ETA laid down its arms fifteen years ago” “I condemn violence, regardless of whoever it comes from” “Reopening wounds is for populists” “Yes, well, in the film two ETA members are treated as heroes but of course, it is their point of view”. Beside her, a habitually loquacious and knowledgeable clear lake she remains mute and without throwing the slightest cape on her anguished companion until he finally consummates the betrayal and with a “since I’m not finding out about the move, I’m leaving” leaves him alone before the microphone, the spectators and the truth: that the ethereal collective The self-proclaimed “Spanish cinema” has decided to nominate a film from the world of ETA for one of its awards without the slightest regard for the victims, many of whom still have their cases unsolved.
We have to make many more films about the civil war, until the guilty part of the Spanish apologizes to the innocent part of the Spanish
Like Walt Whitman, the “Spanish cinema”, said always in quotes, contradicts itself because it contains multitudes. In an interview with this year’s acclamation winner, Rodrigo Sorogoyen, this is dispatched by ruling, and never better said, that many more films must be made about the civil war, until the guilty part of the Spanish apologizes to the innocent part of the Spaniards, and they decide, or not, to forgive them. In other words, maintaining the memory of ETA, which only stopped killing fifteen years ago, is populism and reopening unnecessary wounds, but you, son of a republican retaliated against by Vox or PP voter He has to apologize for something that happened eighty years ago to the great-grandson of a Falangist who, as a good gentleman, is from We can. The madness.
One dreams of a gala in which the happy winners would thank their agent, their mother and their dog for their award, in that order, and they would avoid political speeches all in the same direction, because at the gala there was no minor reference to sexual offenders benefited by the law of Irene Montero and yes they all focused on pigeon shooting Isabel Diaz Ayuso, in the same way that no one knows which party their dentist votes for and they don’t even need to. That it consisted of a review and celebration of the best works in which the sparkles created by the talent of so many artists shone in their own right, who working together sometimes manage to make art. A gala in which there were nominations that preferred the victims of the documentaries of Iñaki Arteta more than the hagiography of ETA members by Fermín Muguruza. A stalls in which all ideologies could coexist in freedom because, make no mistake, as in the Catalonia of the Procés, not everyone thinks alike but a part must remain silent so as not to suffer the consequences of not being hired again.
With the tone of moral superiority of the one who is already launched to win points, a young director of those who has more protest suits in his closet than viewers of his films does not hesitate to say that He does not want Spaniards of a certain political tendency to see his cinema. Commercial suicide but wonderful progressive film corpse. And so, gala by gala, homily by homily, a large part of Spaniards have been left out because we can no longer take so much gratuitous moral superiority. We no longer feel it ours. The new “Spanish cinema”, so inclusive, excludes all of us, and after the initial rage of those who feel expelled from their own home, we have ended up going en masse to see something else or simply to our lives.
So without seeing the gala in which we are not welcome except for what is splashed on social networks, we must concentrate on remembering that Spanish cinema, this time without quotes, is much more than the usual sycophants of Sánchez and their partners. Are Pepe Isbert and his humble and gigantic talent, the faces of bodal y Landa in any of Garcia like an astronomical map of feelings, Lola Flores moving a black tailed robe with the power of an ancient goddess to Carlos Saura, Fernan Gomez and his strange journey, the films of our childhood and those of right now, the last peaches from Alcarràs and his miraculous children, Berlanga always and the almodovar before, Fernando Galindo an admirer, a slave, a friend, a servant. that cinema in which we are going to see ourselves and from which we will never be excluded, no matter how we think, because it forms part of our sentimental memory and because the moment the film begins and we sit in silence to watch it, we complete it .
