Xavier Sardà on the set of “The Great Confusion”. JOSE BELLIDO (RTVE)
If it had been broadcast live, The Great Confusion would have started yesterday with a tribute to Ángel Casas, beyond the cold sign that swept across the screen at the start of the show. Xavier Sardà was able to recall it on his Twitter account: “A friend, a mentor, a man I learned from and admired, goes.” Ten years before Susana Reche’s striptease enlivened the extra hour of Martian Chronicles were Nudes in Casas’ One day is a day commonplace, a guy interviewing Fili Houteman, that former Miss Belgium thanks to whom we got to know Daniel Ducruet better than we might have, more than Susan Sontag, eclecticism well understood. If it had been live last week, a program dedicated to the traditional couple’s crisis would not have missed an opportunity to take a bite out of the ubiquitous Tamaragate. It’s not that I miss more information about Hazte Oír’s muse, but the undue interest their love affairs have aroused would have allowed the show to take a few tenths of the large stake TVE left on a record scratch and place them afterwards the game of selection. If it had been broadcast live, the technical and rhythmic errors would have been justified, although it is highly probable that the live broadcast itself would have given it an energy had it not been a broadcast exposed to the dryness of the edition would be his two shipments.
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Yesterday, Saturday, the technical errors were corrected, but it left the feeling that it rests solely on the interest of its interviewees: it’s so easy to be blinded by the misadventures of Sergio Garrido’s good paparazzi and the clarifications of Pilar Eyre , to face the emotional ups and downs of the former locomía Luis Font or Erik Putzbach, our hopefully older and less sorrowful Anna Nicole Smith, who, after her widowhood, laments the absent-mindedness of her husband, eighty-year-old Rafael de Marchena, who he only had her left a necklace and a cloak. A few moments that, like all interventions by Quique Jiménez, the presenter formerly known as Torito, make me light a candle to Eugene Polley for inventing the remote control and saving me from fainting at the sheer embarrassment of others .
The choice of Sardà to revitalize TVE’s gloomy Saturday nights has been controversial. Catalan will always be haunted by the slander of the Telebasura, “Telebasura tu puta madre” as he explained in a poetic abduction. His chronicles came to Telecinco to pay tribute to the wee hours after the excesses of Tonight We Cross the Mississippi, showing that you could gain an audience through quality television, and eventually sponsored the harassment of the disabled by Javier Cárdenas himself, who now manifests on the other hand, ideological bias signs Wikipedia, the never-ending joke.
This Martian Chronicles said goodbye after eight years with more than 50% ownership and a sardà so uncomfortable with his legacy that he was even uncomfortable with being mentioned. Judging by the two programs broadcast, he seems reconciled to the format that, thanks to the impeccable work of the imitator Pep Plaza, has taken him to the point of cloning himself, in a self that presents itself with more gray hair but more identical The one who moderated the program, which one had to watch in order not to remain on the sidelines of the conversation, draws energy from it. The constant tribute to Chronicles is undisguised, from the logo to the staff and guests, everything references the Mars format. Like those Paz Padilla who greeted many with their knives held high, until the chemistry between the two, two experienced players who pass each other without looking because they know they always find a shot, showed that no matter how flashy, state-of-the-art or overflowing was indoctrinated by them the councilman on duty that it’s a set, the only thing that fills it is talent. And where this talent shines best is live.
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