When I sit down and imagine the future I sometimes think that the future generations will not remember us the way we see ourselves today. Things or people we consider all important, like Almodóvar, for instance, someone I could not love or even admire, will lose their shine or whatever it is that draws the attention on them, mostly due to the incredible campaigns of self-publicity they are able to launch.

What will they think of this modern Spain then? Is it really so modern or something like an old man or woman  behaving like a rebellious teenager? I think that these new generations will not even ask themselves this question. They will ignore things that should have long been ignored for their lack of substance or depth, of meaningfulness, and cast their look on others the masamedia (the average people, comically defined as such in one of Almodóvar’s films, by the way) now adore. Because the topics in culture seem to be the same, and others have already said the same, will say the same. None of his characters will withstand the test of time.

Spain is full of fads, people need entertainment, but fads pass away, and once that happens, what is it that stays? Do you have a guess?

There is something I have found to be important to rule one’s life, even to rule one country, I would think. We always have to look twice, leave a first impression disappear, because what is left is more similar to the truth we could ever have imagined. “Pelotazo”, a word for dubious sudden success, strange source of income, something cheap that wishes to look expensive, a kind of drag, really. “Ganga”, again, something on the deceptively cheap with awful consequences. Now, is there a reason for us to look twice? They will say, this is precisely what we mean, in their deepest tone. No, this is not what you mean, you know that, because you mean nothing!

Gran ganga







I remember myself as an eleven year old with the book of texts we had to read and interpret for school. I did not like everything I read, although I fancied reading, because not all writers are the same, talk about the same things, or tell the same story. You give an account to two people and you get two different versions.

I disregarded many of the texts of the aforementioned book, but was fixated on an excerpt from Crónica del Alba, by Ramón J. Sender, as my favourite. Just because he is such a good writer.

If I say I was eleven, that means that it was 1980, that Franco had died not long ago, the democracy was new, and that, introducing a fragment of this novel seemed a timid attempt to tackle the Civil War taking into account the side of the losers, since Ramón J. Sender participated in it as a military man of rank and, subsequently, was exiled in Mexico and the USA. There were the memories of someone who had fought against Franco, something that had been silenced until recently.

At the time I was simply a child who enjoyed a good read and did not care about politics. I have the feeling that some took advantage of the political climax for personal reasons. That will always happen. What stays is a good narrator, and also a good film based on his childhood recollections, which could be true or not, who knows?

Here is the film based on Crónica del Alba for those of you already fluent in Spanish.