‘Second prize’: oblivious to its characters, its musical charm, its aesthetics | Culture

As one continues to inhabit from afar, although with progressive and infinite laziness, the world (or whatever it is) of cinematographic information, I am aware of the awards and infinite praise it has received Second prize, including the very funny certainty that it is the summit of musical cinema made in Spain. I envy…

As one continues to inhabit from afar, although with progressive and infinite laziness, the world (or whatever it is) of cinematographic information, I am aware of the awards and infinite praise it has received Second prize, including the very funny certainty that it is the summit of musical cinema made in Spain. I envy the orgasmic attitude of so many admirers and I would like to share it, but their feeling of artistic fulfillment seems Martian to me. Unfortunately, it happens to me with almost all of the films that Isaki Lacuesta makes. It also happened to me with the chapter that was signed by him in the attractive and uneven series titled Blackout. I admit that he is an eternal searcher for his own and different style to tell stories, but it is impossible for me to connect in the slightest with that aesthetic. I suppose it is original, but also pretentious (nothing to object to excessive pretensions, as long as the results are brilliant), far-fetched, experimental, vacuous.

I suppose that the many and select admirers of the group Los Planetas will join the unconditional lovers of his work. I can’t comment on the second because I had never heard them and if it happened to me I was unable to capture their charm. It happens to me with almost everything that has the label indie, which I have never really known what it consists of, since independent art lends itself to multiple and dispensable interpretations. I only know that I have swallowed many unbearable films that militate in that pure and liberating brand. Also literature, abandoned after a few pages. And I arrived late, or I do not have the capacity to perceive its gifts, to music indie. But I have no references about The Planets.

And after listening to their songs in this film, to the fact that actors, as very natural, enter into the crushed skin, the altered head, the musical inspiration and the difficult coexistence of those musicians, I still do not feel anything exciting either for the characters or for their songs, nor for their conversations, nor for their silences, nor for their perpetual wandering through day and night dens, nor for their inner complicity nor for their quarrels, nor for the reasonable suspicion that they live or survive in permanent hang-up, especially the guitarist, in a continuous cloud of horse. In return, the fiery drummer bursts out laughing all the time. He’s the only one I like.

And what happens in your argument? Well, everything is intended to be complex, but since I am very simple, it is only transparent to me that the bassist has left the group for whimsical or existential reasons, it is not clear; that recording an album in a New York studio would revitalize the group, that the previously deep, creative and fraternal communication between the singer and the guitarist is going through a crisis that seems insurmountable, that there are references to Lorca and his poet in New York and I don’t know how many more things. And all this in a dark tone, trying to create an environment that exudes authenticity. I can’t find it or I don’t care in the least about that representation of reality. They are survivors who seem broken or ready to explode, in need of a redeeming record to appease their demons. And numerous exegetes in love say that his album A week in the engine of a bus is awesome. Well, enjoy the amount with Second prize. It’s not my case.