I had a joyous and apparently erroneous concept for much of my life of what morbidity meant to me. He associated it with sensuality, mystery, and erotic appeal. True to my desires, I perceived it in certain women, in real life and on the screen. There was something very satisfying about realizing that ladies near or far gave me that feeling. But my personal appreciation is not shared. Apparently, according to the market surveys that the audiovisual media must carry out in search of clientele, the supreme morbidity of the receivers is concentrated in the bloodthirsty, rapes, beatings, incest, robberies, murders, kidnappings, extreme violence that the television mornings expose without rush and without pauses. And it must create addiction among its many consumers, many of them belonging to the third or fourth age, retirees, housewives and housewives.
I imagine that they must feel protected in their home and safe from the barbarism that happens to others, witnessing the evil from afar, quite a high. Above all, when the presenters of bloody events warn them with a rueful expression: “The images that we are going to offer you below are very harsh. “They can hurt your sensitivity.” What a farce, what a shame.
They have replaced the hepatic universe of the world of the heart, specialized in nothingness, with the truculence of events, with everything that drips with suffering and viscera. There are many ways to cajole staff, but I suspect this potent drug is going to last.
And I reluctantly watch countless series with identical themes. It’s not even worth commenting on them. Some pretend to be fictions packed with tension and violence. Others recreate terrifying real events. It could be the murder and dismemberment of a Honduran woman or the enigmatic annihilation of a Chinese girl who was adopted by an unhealthy Galician couple. Everything about them seems forgettable to me. But I am amazed at the expressive audacity shown by a specific chapter of the series. My stuffed reindeer. They claim that what he narrates happened in his own life to Richard Gadd, who writes and stars in this ode to sadomasochism. He describes the incessant and savage harassment of an fatty psychopath to an unfunny comedian who is attracted to a transsexual. In that fierce chapter, a powerful and devious producer relentlessly drugs the unlucky comedian. When he wakes up, he discovers the saliva that his colleague has deposited on his genitals. And subsequently that he has been penetrated. But the worst thing is that he also discovers that the rapes of the agent and the monstrous stalker really please him, even though he is still in love with the transsexual, and you freak out with such an argument and her exposure. The sordidness of My stuffed reindeer, but it also brings confusion at some point. His creator is a very strange guy, but not stupid at all.
You can follow EL PAÍS Television on x or sign up here to receive our weekly newsletter.
Subscribe to continue reading
Read without limits
_
#great #market #morbidity #blood