The other after the Festival
- This year I haven't been to Zarautz for Literature. I was too tired. At the end of the movie marathon that I had set for myself, I could come up well with the devices that Alex, from Mechanical Orange, had put on to keep me open in the eyes.
I remembered that I was in the Victoria Eugenia theater when I saw Werner Herzogen Fitzcarraldo. And before I finished getting angry, I read that some of the people in the Amazon who show up in the movie carrying the used boat from the mountain died.
As I approached the Main Theatre I remembered that we were taken from the ikastola to watch Jose Mari Zabala’s Axut breaking film, to the Petit Casino Casino Room, which has now become the Grand Kursaal Casino.
I haven't seen Crai nou, who won the Golden Shell, I've read the synopsis, and I thought it was going to be boring at the last moment. I've selected the movies I wanted to watch according to my desires and criteria. I haven't gotten close to giving my opinion about movies. I wanted to enjoy film, selfish, sit on the chair and enjoy the stories and stories that came to me through the images.
It has made it impossible for me to fully fulfill my purpose. Zinemaldia pollutes cinema. As well as the measures taken under the pretext of health. The film is formatted by the ritual that is organized around the film at the San Sebastian Film Festival.
With the accreditation hidden in my bag, I have tried to walk without heeding what the Festival brings to San Sebastian. I have not succeeded. I've felt the influence of the Festival, more than the influence of cinema. I wanted to force myself not to see certain things. I have not succeeded.
Amateur film tourists have filled the streets and bars of the Old Part of Donostiarra. To the point where the locals felt strangers.
I've seen policemen near Maria Cristina, armed and prepared. “To protect Johnny Deep?” Those who are responsible for what is supposed to be safety would have reason to do such demonstrations of strength in times of smoke absence.
In the films that have been shown, the presence of Euskera in the movies has been measured. Some will feel more like they expect; others will complain because they would like more; others will feel excessive and superfluous.
It is not necessary to measure the presence of Spanish. We know it's a percentage.
It had been thirty-seven years since that last time I had the opportunity to attend the Film Festival that still had the section “Neighborhoods and towns”. And yes, of course, the pollution of the Basque Country has spread considerably in all areas. But also at the Festival, despite the organizational efforts, the Basque language is a subaltern language. Insignificant Maculu is offered for the use of voluntary and claimant people with the Basque Country in Spanish and English.
A friend made me a mockery when I met my intention to participate in the Festival. And another, when I told him that the reason for not appearing in the literature was fatigue after the Festival, he said to me: “Ah, I am also tired of that Spanish film festival, of Movistar and of the San Sebastian Festival of RTVE that paralyzes the dissemination of culture in Euskera.”
When I pass the other side of the Festival, I want to make a list of those that I liked for those around me, and regain the pleasure of enjoying the cinema in the semi-empty room. Yes, it's also a pleasure.
