- Serial killer Faraway Downs, the grotesque comedy of a posh lady among rough country men
- Serial Killer The Crown 6: The Suicide Mission of Telling Lady Di's Death Well
I say "phenomenal" too many times. I already knew this, but watching My Christmas on Disney+ I've been more aware of it and I'm thinking of changing it. "Phenomenal" is a very Madrid expression (I am) and very posh (I wish it were). In My Christmas, Isabel Preysler also says it a lot. All phenomenal. Minus the series. My Christmas is dreadful and boring. Its two episodes are short, but its viewing becomes eternal. Alongside Isabel Preysler, the series about (Maria) Pombo's family is The Sweetest Thing, The First Wives Club and Out of Touch together. At what point do we confuse elegance with insubstance?
Isabel Preysler is a very interesting character. It's many things at once, and if we trust My Christmas, it's really neither. Submissive geisha, ruthless businesswoman, mantis, sphinx, shadow power, mummy, and collective projection. If we ask her (as a servile voice-over does in My Christmas), she will tell us that above all she is a mother, grandmother, friend of her friends and all the common places that can occur to her. Isabel Preysler is what you want her to be. Maybe that's why My Christmas seems to me to be such an empty content: my favorite Preysler is the one who says "no", the one who controls the times, the one who hides what she knows, the one who intrigues and the one who, without really doing anything, makes money. That Isabel is not in My Christmas, only in my head.
Our The Crown shouldn't be about the Bourbons but about the Preyslers. Her matriarch is perfect for stuffing her with interesting stuff. The same thing that Peter Morgan does with Queen Elizabeth or Lady Di could be done here by Javier Olivares, Isa Peña, Cristóbal Garrido or Anna R. Costa with Isabel Preysler. Although we all know that this type of fiction in Spain ends up mired in lawsuits and lawsuits.
My Christmas premieres the same week that the poster for the second season of Feud was unveiled. After telling the feud between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, Ryan Murphy will dedicate his series to Capote and his swans. Those women who had the writer as a pet-friend without suspecting that he might be using them as material for his caustic writings. To no one's surprise, Capote left them sold, exposing their petty sins and dismantling the paripé of high society, whatever that is.
Like the huge paripé that it is, My Christmas cries out to be dismantled. I would settle for a making of its two episodes in which we can see Isabel saying "no". When she says that she doesn't like to be disturbed while she eats breakfast, the pantomime is hilarious: we see her eating her kiwi and grapefruit by herself, but we know that, in addition to the interlocutor who asks her, there is a complete film crew there. Everything gives a lot of laughter and, above all, a lot of sleep. And a lot of laziness. The quintessential Spanish swan is stuffed.My Christmas smells of talcum powder, tranquilizers and mothballs. Everything phenomenal, everything ideal, everything cute. It's like staring at a beige wall all afternoon.