- Campanadas.Cristina Pedroche, a dress and her Excalibur
If you look, things are no longer, now things do or seem to be. But without really being. Let's say, for example, a newspaper. Long ago (that is, last week), newspapers gave news or showed opinions . Not now. Now one visits (who does not read) the web of a newspaper to be able to put their opinion at the bottom, to attest to what only he knows, or, if necessary, to 'tweet' (or 'reinstate') something. The news, or whatever, has ceased to be cause or effect to be just an excuse . Its value is only transactional. And what counts for this where I write, serves the same for everything else. Including the New Year's Eve that bore her .
All programming is due to a ritual as rigid, immovable, ugly and inexplicable as Pedroche's own dress this year. I remember that years ago the queen of the night appeared (that is, she) and a debate quickly arose, against, before, it fits, under ... feminist-drunk about the convenient, timely or only revolutionary that turned out to be a Woman was naked at 12 pm in the icy and heteropatriarchal Puerta del Sol in Madrid.
But that is the past. Now, the curtain (or the cape) is lowered and before we see even that 'practical' as ridiculous armor rolled in cellophane, we are already tired. The surprise lasted what it took any of us to lower our heads to look at the mobile. And no, there were no 'memes', the 'meme' was her. Let's say, back to the beginning, that reality itself has ended up becoming a parody of itself, an excuse, a refutation, an emoticon, a large pile of detritus. Reality to spare . Reality are leftovers.
Not a single second of all the immense programming seemed minimally surprising, novel or only professional. There were the toasts, the joys, the jokes (all of them as fun as a herpes) and the performances in rigorous prerecorded perfectly aware of their inanity. No one, really, looked . The subtext was more important than the text, the footnote annotation than the page itself, the ever-occurring commentary of 'Cachitos' than the 'cachito' itself. And so.
First was Mota, named José. And it must be admitted that, despite the irregularity of everything, the willingness to play on the edge was appreciated (that of the king unable to decide touched the unconstitutional). A humorous program with the excuse of the 1981 coup d'etat and with the 'leitmotiv' of a Hitlerian greeting or, if necessary, 'Gilarian' ( that of 'Heil Gila'! )? We are crazy? If Rosa Díez does it daily, why not a real professional, who did not come, of humor, the creators should have thought.
And, again, it was the best . Despite this effort to put all the colleagues in a shoehorn, despite the 'fatigue' of a good part of the musical numbers, despite the infinite regrets of a space that is only needed and to do the pinopuente ... despite everything, Mota left us some pearls for posterity : from the 'Indecent, indecent' (for 'Innocent, innocent') of the journalist inventor of news to the 'purge of the serious', through the recovered stardom of Unamuno in culture popular or the creation of the union of murderous clowns, without forgetting the much more joking joke of passing Ana Pastor through simply a pastor ... Of Rosalia, we do not even talk. It is impossible to say anything anymore.
The bottom line was to claim a bit of humor and tranquility in an increasingly hysterical landscape and, if only for the contrast effect with the permanently apocalyptic tone in which journalism lives on the hunt for 'clicks' and emotions, it thanks. It is true that, once again, the program showed signs of fatigue in each of its seconds. He has been doing it for at least three years, but, it would be said, that even that has become a tradition and, again, an excuse. Since that mythical program of 2015 (yes, from then on) nothing has been the same again, and yet it seems impossible to even imagine a New Year's Eve without Mota. Of course, at this step, the expression 'coup d'etat' will end up being more used than the flamenco emoticon.
And then, the Pedroche. It will be a thousand decades before someone comes up with the deep meaning of a suit that really isn't ; of an armor that, in truth, is target; of one thing that approximates anticosa. After successive humiliations to the haute couture guild New Year's Eve after New Year's Eve, his was an amendment to all tinsmiths . Pedroche-chest-can. But what matters, as always, is the conceptual debate.
Huge nonsense
If until now the Pedroche has made a flag of nakedness with all that that implies, what happened on Tuesday at the edge of midnight was a vindication of its opposite from the non-exhibition without a macula of the entire body and perfectly rigid. The nakedness was even greater, but without it . It was pure oxymoron. And it is here, right here, where everything makes sense. It was a dress that really was nothing. It was, we have arrived, only excuse. And that's why nobody like Pedroche herself to make sense of the meaninglessness of all this. Yes, a humorous show about a coup d'etat and a naked and completely covered woman are the same: a huge nonsense . Our huge nonsense.
In between, you know, Anne Igartiburu gave the grapes . There was also Roberto Leal, but as if not. The day Igartiburu stops giving the grapes, the world will end . We must assume it. Moreover, I propose that the Constitution be amended so that this cannot occur. I see more serious right now that this woman does not give the grapes to limit the deficit. Limit before what is really important and then we will see.
The rest, as you know, was prerecorded. The rest, in fact, did not exist . In Mediaset, as in the Sixth, someone was with the bells. But I don't quite believe it. Then, yes, many people sang (or 'sang') and in 'Cachitos' a text appeared in which the screenwriter invited a friendly journalist to put his own comment. It was that: nothing is, everything is an excuse.
According to the criteria of The Trust Project
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