Umbral said that the dandy’s daily tragedy is that almost no one notices that one has become unique. The dandy has developed an original personality, detached from the masses and mediocrity of his time, but since he also lives among the masses, he runs the risk of no one knowing how special he is. Since this thought is unbearable for him, he runs around like a peacock so that everyone realizes that he is not just one of them. For me, that’s where the real tragedy begins: the desire to get attention is perhaps the most vulgar and common impulse.
I resist the temptation to paint Carlos Pumares (who died this week at age 80) as the ultimate dandy. If not, it was close. There are no guys like Pumares anymore. His style made sense in a society that valued scholarship, ingenuity, and a form of authority based on science. In a world where not everyone thought they knew everything, this made sense and films were not judged by mass votes of viewers without criteria. In a world where the dandy’s feathers were a lot of fun, this made sense because no one took things too seriously and the words were carried away on the wind on radio and television rather than replayed on an endless loop on the Internet.
I liked it much better on the radio than on TV. The picture did not express its size well. The dandy is ridiculous in front of the camera, but becomes an oracle when he only has his voice. His Stardust listeners shouted to provoke him. It was a triumph to awaken that anger that you never knew if it was part of the show or real. I never called him, but I listened to him whenever I could, and I owe some of my current insomnia and cinephilia to him. Thank you for both.
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