'The good boss' rules in the Goya of reunion, disproportionate torpor and Javier Bardem

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The Goyas returned to normalcy.

And that, let's face it, isn't exactly good news.

If last year around this time we all congratulated each other (and the plural is not so much majestic as an immunized herd) for the speed and emotion of a gala confined by the pandemic, the 36th edition of the Academy Awards recovered its essence intact .

Maybe it was because of the setting.

The Palau de les Arts in Valencia is truly THE PALAU.

It's basically big.

It is also ugly, but the size is much more noticeable.

Does not fit.

In fact, it is not clear that it is in Valencia, it is rather Valencia that is in the Palau.

And perhaps for this reason, such a setting required a ceremony in disproportionate correspondence.

So it was.

From the first second everything was a record breaking and, at times, teeth.

Never before have there been so many Oscars on stage (up to six added by Blanchett, Almodóvar, Cruz and Bardem).

Never has a film received so many nominations in one hit (20).

In life, so many statuettes (30) were distributed among so many musical numbers... And the hugs.

And the crying.

And her father (less, by the way).

Of the duration of the gala, why insist.

From the first second the thing exploded.

And it is not a metaphor.

It is Valencia.

Every moment you wanted to live on the brink of a heart attack.

Each sentence aspired to be historical.

Each gesture, a flag.

Free as the sun was sung (or

) and there was no turning back.

And so on until arriving where it was necessary to arrive: to

It must be recognized that the Academy was so determined to do something historic that the mistake was even remembered.

What was going to be an obvious night was, but otherwise very unobvious.

And the truth is that

The Academy decided to retrace the path of nominations.

If in that first selection phase it was defined by accumulation.

At the moment of truth, there was

.

The idea was for everyone to win.

So it was.

The film of the year was the one that had to be, the one with the historical brand of candidates;

that of the bastard businessman, but nice;

the one that is comedy but hurts like a tragedy.

But just barely.

It was, almost crying.

León de Aranoa's film won the awards that count

, but along the way he left his whole life behind.

Of course,

(Mr. Blanco in the season's film) cannot miss the appointment.

That yes, he was left without being able to share it with Penélope Cruz and her monumental and Oscar-winning character of Janis in Parallel Mothers, by Pedro Almodóvar who, attentive, left empty.

Again.

It was the one that ruined that historical photo of the only couple or entity bigger than Palau himself (which he already is) at the same time that she herself wrote her own chapter in history.

Her Goya was the third for

, by Icíar Bollaín.

As many Goyas as

, by Marcel Barrena, and one more (only one more) than Clara Roquet's prodigious debut with

.

In the early stages, the gala, more than surprising anyone, was surprised by the irruption against all odds of

When someone was still looking for a place to sit (have we already said how big everything was?), Daniel Monzón's film that reviews in its own way what that quinqui cinema of the 70s was already had up to four Goya awards.

No one counted on them, but they did count on them.

And how.

Costumes, hairdressing, art direction and, pay attention, Chechu Salgado as the revealing revelation actor that he already is.

Plus the libretto according to the novel by Javier Cercas.

And all this, just before

got excited and moved us with something as elemental as being there.

Her speech was sincere, warm, grateful and, most obviously, well interpreted.

But what impressed in this case was simply her.

One more time.

By the way, by then,

had already lost up to seven times.

Or eight.

When the three supporting actors (three of four) came out empty-handed again in front of Urko Olazábal for his fiery work in

, the shadow of ¡Átame!

flew over the stalls that... is already flying.

Remember, he was a candidate 15 times in 1990 and nothing.

Fortunately,

already had hers because of the music that embeds the parody so well in the drama.

For the end, or almost, was

.

And here yes, standing up! Greatness did honor to greatness.

Only once did the Palau seem small (and even pretty) and that was when the one from Chichón talked about garlic.

Big.

Enormous.

He is disproportionate.

Then, when we have some time, we can talk again like every year about the musical numbers.

There was a time when it worked.

But only one.

Year after year, they try to find the middle point between the rap of the inalienable

(heart) and the reinterpretation

of

, the time that she was fine.

But there is no way.

Neither the aforementioned and impossible version of Nino Bravo nor C. nor Tangana nor Leiva nor Sabina himself were able to dismantle the theory that maintains that they are left over.

Let's admit it.

That said, normality was this.

big time

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