Neither the insatiable nor the dissatisfied vocations are never lacking.
Everything seems little to them and everything seems failed.
It often seems that the endings should be their endings and not the endings of those who thought them, wrote them and brought them to the screen.
Experts in the art of resorting to a supposed coherence that they tend to invent themselves in their cerebral hemispheres - depending on what day they have the air or what they have been told out there, which influences a lot -, jump on the neck of the scriptwriter who , they denounce, perpetrated the ignominy.
If things don't end as I expected, this is dung.
It's a good line of analysis, yes sir.
It already happened with the end of
The Sopranos
.
The masterful final sequence of the hypergangster and his family sitting in a cafe waiting for what, death? Life? It seemed inappropriate for one of the two or three best series in history.
Then its creator, David Chase, was in charge, in a slip, to drop that in reality good old Tony was sent to breed mallow.
The uninformed are not lacking either.
That you lack keys does not disallow you to express your opinion, but it does disqualify you from vociferous claiming - man please! - alternative endings.
No alternative facts?
Well I want my alternate ending.
The same thing that I have not lived in the Basque Country, that I only know the disgusting background of what happened in the Basque Country for half a century through bar conversations during a good
pintxos
weekend
, that I believe that Basque jokes (I love them) They are the vademecum to understand the immense complexity of a place that the cliché calls noblote and simpleton and that all Basques unfailingly lift stones and are kitchens.
An amalgamation of all this has occurred with the last chapter of
Patria,
but especially with the last shot of the last sequence of the latter, exciting and real as the last chapter of the fucking life.
At the end of the sour cake served by Aitor Gabilondo there is a poisoned icing.
A brooch that has upset many and even outraged some ("not like this, not like this!", They exclaim when they see it).
Miren and Bittori, with the ax and the snake still looking at them from the back of the square, embrace.
It is a hug almost as if without wanting to, as without understanding and, of course, without programming.
It's a hug.
Nor were those familiar Christmas Eve Christs programmed that led many brothers to stop talking to each other.
Not that beating of the
jarraitus
to my father's friend, under the house, for telling them not to destroy urban furniture.
Not even that extortion letter to my friend's father, "revolutionary tax," they said;
not even when two friends from the Gros neighborhood sent to take them up the ass that night for a take away these dead.
Yes, the murders of the murderers were programmed.
While the victim - walking over a bridge like Txato - and his wife - sitting on the couch, like Bittori -, completely deprogrammed, unknowingly headed towards shattered lives, the criminals, completely programmed, were already waiting with their pipes. ready to become heroes.
And now let's return to the embrace, completely deprogrammed, except in the head of Fernando Aramburu and Aitor Gabilondo.
Bittori has suffered and suffers.
She has her husband under a stone in Polloe, killed by the "heroes."
He has cancer and is going to die.
It is carried regularly with the children.
And the cat has escaped.
Look, he has suffered and suffers.
She has a husband who does not understand her (she believes), a son in ETA and imprisoned for a long time and a daughter half dead in life due to a stroke.
And Saint Ignatius of Loyola ignores him in his prayers.
They both know what it is to suffer.
Yes: one is a victim and the other, the mother of the victim maker.
Does not matter.
There is no gradation.
And less in the suffering that you had not programmed.
That is why they hug in the town square after having been friends and after hating each other.
But that hug will have no continuation.
It is not a symbolic gesture of reunion, forgiveness and other commendable and improbable principles.
And that's what many don't understand about that ending.
It is a hug of understanding and solidarity, fleeting like a spark.
I suffer, the other one too.
There is nothing else neither in the
Homeland
of Aramburu nor in that of Gabilondo to try to convey that.
And no, it is not an open ending.
The wounds are.
That ending, no.
Look and Bittori will never be friends again.
Life does not allow it.
Yes they will understand, forever, what is on the sidewalk in front.
It is a dignified, disarming ending ... and overwhelming logic.
And whoever doesn't like it ... just as he hadn't programmed it.