“Never think of making movies with children or with dogs, or with Charles Laughton.” This is how a genius of cinema ironically despised a genius of dramatic acting.
In that canonical book published by François Truffaut –Cinema According to Hitchcock– Sir Alfred suggests that the affected and chameleonic performance of that superb theatrical performer had ruined the filming for him and later that something similar had happened to him with Paul Newman, who instead of surrendering to the conventional rules of classic Hollywood – he was jealous of Marlon Brando – he bowed to the emotional “mannerisms” and overacting typical of the Actor’s Studio, the place where Marilyn Monroe ruined her career.
It is that Hitch had come to the conclusion that when we enter the cinema and see on the screen the evolution of a true star, we accept her new role, but unconsciously we already have an opinion about her formed by her previous films, her statements to the press and the articles they wrote about his personality: he has already become a human archetype. James Stewart, like now Tom Hanks, is and will always be the “common man with a noble soul” –Every Christmas they spent How beautiful it is to live on television to ratify it–, and then Hitchcock started from that previous construction for his purposes, which consisted not in modifying the image but in showing its small dark cracks or its weaknesses: he painted over the painting .
But the most curious thing that he confesses to Truffaut is that the wrong choice of a leading actor could ruin a good film. This happened especially in The Paradine trial, when for the role of a lawyer – British and sophisticated – Lawrence Olivier failed him and he had to settle for Gregory Peck, who was neither one thing nor the other. The history of modern cinema is full of these anecdotes, although they are always commented on in a low voice: nobody wants to alienate the star system, which holds the real power in the industry. Hitchcock, who was back from everything, didn’t give a damn about that. A clear example – now a shot for the side of the Strasberg school – is located in the 70s, when the production of The Godfather tried to impose Robert Redford for the role of Michael Corleone. Wouldn’t this choice have destroyed that masterpiece? Francis Ford Coppola had to become strong with an actor from the off stage: without that stranger of Italian origin called Al Pacino, perhaps everything would have dwarfed and failed.
This cinephile reference has no other purpose than to point out something: in politics, as in the cinema, the casting can be glory or Devotee. Cristina Kirchner chose Boudou, Kicillof and Alberto, and the entire work turned to the catastrophe genre. They were bad choices from a capricious and omnipotent director. She now chooses, with water up to her neck, Sergio Massa. That in principle does not give the physique du rôle.
Although it will be necessary to see not the photo but the complete film, the truth is that today the Fouché of Tigre County does not seem like a man who is going to sit on the box and resist the siren’s songs: he wants to be a candidate for President and have The governors, mayors, trade unionists and businessmen of regulated prices are happy, and especially the almost untouched –due to the adjustment– Buenos Aires fiefdom, where the Egyptian architect and her troupe plan to seclude themselves in case of intense rainfall.
Massa is a minor Menem without a strong Cavallo to discipline him, and that is why the first indication of the director – narrated on Monday by Carlos Pagni – was very successful: “Sergio, 95% management and only 5% campaign.” But it’s like asking John Wayne to play the frail, neurotic kid; that’s what Montgomery Clift was for. The representation is man, and his destiny is in his nature. Massa is not a Churchill of the economy, but a rogue who cannot resist the temptation to sweep home again and again. And that he cannot truly touch the obese and infinite state corporation that feeds him and that he must then enthrone him so that nothing changes.
Due to the scattered measures he has taken so far, he does not seem to have any other objective than to avoid a flash and reach the finish line bursting horses. Clearly, those who are going to pay the initial bill will be the hated citizens of the productive and rebellious middle class, with tariffs that will begin to bite fiercely in September, and also the businessmen who must invest and create jobs. Or put in his terms, the “shit class” “the half hair sepoy” and the “concentrated power” With the others, they negotiate above and below the table, each one puts a tarascón and keeps something, and the bought unionism acts as a praetorian guard of the adjusting justicialism, in high-sounding marches that are nothing more than walks in the open air .
The painful and necessary openness and the usual robbery do not seem, however, sufficient to conjure up the tremendous mess. Massa went to sell to the Council of the Americas that he could perform miracles; reconcile, for example, the macroeconomic order with social peace. Which at this point is something like promising to lose weight with a diet based on Sicilian cannoli.
It was also shown, on the same stage where the “Moderate Albert” as a self-sacrificing accordist with the opposition –something that is prohibited by express order of the queen of Juncal street– and also opportunely empathic with the United States, where he must travel imminently to ask for mercy and pass the cap. The problem is that his other partners in the National Front for Incoherence pronounced themselves, in parallel, in favor of Venezuela and Cuba, and replied with pompous Chicanas to the US ambassador in Argentina.
It is an epic but confusing film, a zigzag that we have already seen and that was not canceled with the entry of the new protagonist. They weave by day and unweave by night, they march both south and north, as if the proudly immobilizing motto were a parody of an old martial arts film: “Never go forward, never go back.”
To get out of this active paralysis, in the midst of the scorching fire of the second semester – recessive and inflationary at the same time – Massa would have to massear his secret keeper, to whom he must account due to the doctor’s imperative: the ineffable Axel Kicillof. Coincidentally, the very operative and then ideological author of this model that led us to bankruptcy; It is as if Idi Amín were advising you to pacify Uganda. Massa then has a stocks, and the game seems to consist of showing tiny advances and selling them as great achievements, praying every day for the storm to subside.
They modestly call this “balancing the variables”. Save the clothes. It is not very similar to the grandiose and transformative dream full of magic formulas that was suggested just four weeks ago: a hyperkinetic Messiah would arrive to save Kirchnerism from its debacle and generate a new mystique. The problem, at the close of this edition, is that the variables are not balanced, and that on top of that the Peronist governors –sponsored by Kicillof himself– warned on Friday that they are not willing to sacrifice.
The most experienced economists have in private a pessimism so alarming that they do not even dare to make it public. Hitchcock explained in a very simple way the genre that dominates us these days: “Imagine a man sitting on his favorite sofa in his house. Below him is a bomb about to explode. He ignores it, but the public knows it. That’s the suspense.” And that is Argentina.
Jorge Fernandez Diaz