The Goya Awards recovered normality.
And that, let’s accept it, it’s not exactly good news.
If last year for these dates we were all congratulated (and the plural is not so much asstática and immunized herd) by the speed and emotion of a gala confined by the pandemic, the number 36 issue of the Academy Awards recovered intact its essence
.
It was long, it was long and, if they hurry and for not extending, it was long.
Maybe it was because of the scenario.
The Palau de les Arts de Valencia is truly the Palau.
It is basically great.
It is also ugly, but it shows much more the size.
Does not fit.
In fact, it is not clear that it is in Valencia, it is rather Valencia that is in the Palau.
And perhaps, therefore, a decoration so required a disproportionate ceremony.
So it was.
From the first second everything was a beat of records and, at times, of teeth.
Never before there was both Oscar about the stage (up to six added those of Cate Blanchett, Pedro Almodóvar, Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem).
Never a film received so much nomination of a blow (20).
In life, so many figurines were distributed (30) between as many musical numbers … and the hugs.
And the cries.
And the dedications to the mother.
And the Father (less, by the way).
Of the duration of the gala, why insist.
Already from the first second the thing exploded.
And it is not a metaphor.
It is Valencia.
Every moment he wanted to live on the edge of the infarction.
Each phrase aspired to be historical.
Each gesture, a flag.
He sang (or cantuvo) free like the sun and there was no turning back.
And so on arriving where there had to come: to the good pattern.
We must recognize that the academy was so determined to do something historic that it was even for the memory the dismissal.
The one that was going to be an obvious night, it was, but otherwise very unavoidable.
And the truth is that little can be discussed the trial when it does not obey any trial.
The Academy decided to reduce the path of nominations.
If in that first selection phase it was defined by accumulation.
At the time of truth, there was distribution.
The idea was that everyone will win. So it was. The movie of the year was the one that had to be, that of the historical brand of candidates; that of the bastard, but sympathetic; The one that is comedy but it hurts as a tragedy. But by little. It was, crying almost. Aranoa lion ribbon took the awards that count (film, direction, script, protagonist, assembly and music), but along the way the whole life was left. Of course, Javier Bardem (the white Lord on the ribbon of the season) I can not miss the appointment. Of course, he remained unable to share with Penelope Cruz and his monumental and Oscarizable character of Janis in parallel mothers, from Pedro Almodóvar who, attentive, went empty. Again. White Portillo was the one that ruined that historical photo of the only partner or entity greater than Palau himself (which is already) at the same time that she herself wrote her own chapter in history. The Goya of her was the third for Maixabel, of Icíar Bollaín. So many Goya like Mediterranean, Marcel Barrena, and one more (only one more) than the prodigious debut of Clara Roquet freely.
In the first compass, the gallo rather than surprising anyone was allowed to be surprised by the irruption against all forecasting of the laws of the border.
When still one was looking for the place where you sit down (have you said how big everything was?), Daniel Monzón’s film that it reviews in his own way what was a quinqui cinema of the 70s already had up to four Goya awards.
It would end five including the adapted script and, therefore, secondly.
No one counted with them, but they did tell them.
And how.
Costume, Hairdressing, Art Direction and, Attentive, Chechu Salgado as the revealing Revelation Actor that is already.
More the script according to Javier Fence’s novel.
And all this, just before Cate Blanchett was thrilled and excited us with something as elementary as being there.
Her discourse was sincere, warm, grateful and, most visible, well interpreted.
But what impressed in this case was simply she.
One more time.
By the way, by then, the good pattern had already lost up to seven times.
Or eight.
When the three cast actors (three of four) went out with empty hands in front of Urko Olazábal by the ignition of him in Maixabel, the shadow of Átame!
He overwhelmed the yard of armchairs that … is already flying.
Remind yourself, it was 15 times candidate in 1990 and nothing.
Luckily Zeltia Montes already had his for music as well embedded by parody in the drama.
For the end, or almost, José Sacristán remained.
And here, on foot, greatness honored greatness.
Only once the Palau looked small (and even beautiful) and was when Chinchón spoke of garlic.
Big.
Enormous.
He disproportionate.
Then, when we have a while, we can talk again as every year of musical numbers.
There was once when the thing worked.
But only one.
Year after year, it is attempted to give with the midpoint between the Rap that of the irrepulted resine (encouragement) and the reinterpretation of the I am with you of Rosalía, the time that was good.
But there is no way.
Neither the already cited and impossible version of Nino Bravo neither C. Tangana nor Leiva nor the Sabina himself were able to dismantle the theory that maintains that they are left over.
Let’s admit it.
What was said, normality was this.
To the big way.
