La Pantoja never ends

One thinks that the life of the Pantoja does not go with him, but you always end up crossing paths with her, as a story, intimate and national at the same time, that concerns us in some way, because it says something about ourselves even though we think it speaks of others, many of us are not interested in the least.

You always end up knowing, like about family things.

You have the doubt: what if it is a message from God who, in his silence, wants to tell us something in a colloquial way?

Through these selected dramas we approach the mystery of human nature, as in a Shakespeare for clumsy.

The epic achievement is that there is for 40 years a character who thinks he knows everything and each time we discover that we did not know him, to gut him again in search of the secret.

The last incarnation of Isabel Pantoja is that of absolute evil.

With all of you, the bad of Spain.

For a month they have been telling you how bad she has turned out to be and you think that, well, she is a lady who has already been in jail for two years, but they tell you no, that now she is serious: she is a bad mother.

Accused by her own son Kiko.

On TV, of course, not in the living room or kitchen, where people say these things to each other.

He continues to perfect a biography so perfect in its narrative details that it seems to have been created in a Nodo laboratory: the copla, the bulls, politics, magazines, New Year's Eve grapes, money laundering, everything that a good Spaniard should be and do.

If he had a pro-independence grandson, I think we would have it all.

There are headlines that, viewed with perspective, sum up an era.

May 2007: "Zaplana assures that the Government seeks to 'mislead attention' with the arrest of Isabel Pantoja."

In the background always money, the need for liquidity, the train of life, impossible happiness.

The exclusive, sell the salable, the pastón, the cache.

And then the secret revealed, the lie discovered, the true truth that is never just known, is suspected, gossiped.

Around a chalet, a large case, the farm.

They speak assistants, cousins, in-laws, examigas of the soul, extodo.

About the wedding, the christening, the funeral.

To be at the top, fall at the bottom, like life itself.

A saint, a harpy, an interested woman, an artist, what art.

And the common people who feel called to the cause and love and hate her as she is.

A man from a sale in Cádiz, outraged by the attacks on the tonadillera, sells poinsettias to give him part of the proceeds.

With a sign: "Traitorous Paquirrín".

You have to take sides, and you must know everything, you cannot get lost among degenerating dynasties, genealogical trees that intersect and betray each other.

this is the last chapter.

His own son now says: "My mother has no heart";

"He is a person blinded by money";

"My mother's life is a big lie."

We have not yet seen the best, nor the worst.

But what audiences does the live vivisection of a famous family disruption give?

La Pantoja is almost a journalistic subgenre in itself.

That talent in exploiting the dramatic possibilities of a life is a talent of his, of his relatives, of the gathering of the industry, of half Spain.

He feeds a perfectly greased ancestral shredder, hungry for misery, which only consoles itself with destruction and sometimes joyous news, a communion photo.

Pantoja never ceases to be the protagonist, misfortune, fatal fate, death, bad luck, ruin fly over him at all times.

It is a religious parable, an auto sacramental, a continual public sacrifice.

I don't know if they remember how he murmured, with what morbid and Luciferian eyes, his relationship with Encarna Sánchez, with María del Monte.

Bomb news, the unthinkable was never enough.

Because she doesn't give up, she puts out a record again, always coming back.

It seemed that in 2019 he had hit bottom on a lost island in Honduras, in

.

She survived, but she had to offer herself to the populace without makeup, finally as she is, in the flesh, as she gets up, in a swimsuit, without a frilly dress.

Humiliated, insulted, hungry, fighting over a chicken, and being told truths like fists.

A national rejoicing, the daily inquisition.

It must be very rare that everyone knows more about your life than you do, and deep down you are a stranger.

says like this: "I was many things that have already been lost / in the sandbanks of my will."

La Pantoja never ends, and only when it is finished and inspires the purest piety can they finally forgive it.

How we will cry