It happens on miraculous and unforgettable occasions when you see a certain paragraph in a book, a painting, an image from a film, the sound of a musical instrument, the beginning of a poem, that rare thing called art. It makes you feel something deep in your sensations, in your brain, in your heart. You identify so emotionally with what another person has invented, that it moves you, expresses in a luminous or devastating way what you have once felt, that you feel the arrival of emotion. It does not happen often, but you are fascinated when this happens, and the gratitude is infinite.
It’s been a long time since I reread Kafka, Beckett, Cioran, Céline. Journey to the end of the nightto so many illustrious specialists in denial (we did it with satisfaction and gratitude, those people whom the moderns or the postmoderns, or the satisfied idiocy, now disdainfully call useless culture vultures), but I am again deeply moved when I see in this newspaper the cartoon that El Roto published on September 1. A man, in possession of a notebook and a marker, fixes his gaze in front of him or in the void while he asks himself: “What happened? Where am I? What am I doing here?” It is him on El Roto’s first day back at work, something that he turns into pure art. It is lucidity, ferocity, bitterness, sarcasm, intelligence, freedom. What a luxury and what a consolation to have him there every day.
And I don’t wonder what audience levels, or if the supposedly massive audience will laugh and feel pleased with the militant impertinence, the mordacity, the street language, the surreal questions, the annoyance or the laughter of the cautious or stupefied interviewees that will be there. The revolta risky incursion by David Broncano into the territory of public television, as hungry for content as private television, for revolutionary programs, capable of provocation, unique. I have laughed a lot with The resistance and in the appearances of this comedian in any medium. I think he is someone in possession of talent, originality and grace. You don’t have to be young or cool to get the point, which I don’t find in the vast majority of the little things I see and hear on the torturous televisions. They dog-like assure that Televión Española belongs to all Spaniards. It’s a lie, of course. Its only owner is the political power that reigns in each era. And power loves the correctness of its subjects. Broncano can be acidic and shameless. Lenny Bruce’s anarchy was also like that and that’s how it ended. I hope Broncano continues to give me laughter.
#goodness #Roto