In the name of Rociito

Being a gossip is a gift from heaven.

Being frivolous is a godsend.

It is being born with the ability to have fun with the insignificant and the tremendous.

However, being sarcastic or being a liar is a punishment for oneself;

it is lacerating oneself with misfortunes and making the lashes reach one's neighbor.

Gossip television (wrongly called “from the heart”) is sometimes an escape from an unjust world, but more often it is a public square in which to harass specific people so that viewers feel morally superior (To whom? I do not know).

The Jurado clan has returned to the public square this week.

And

is the worst installment of the saga.

The most artificial and most hollow.

There is a shot before the first chapter that sums up her crudeness in terms of audiovisual narrative: a shot of Rocío Carrasco —dressed and made up by her worst enemy— advancing behind the scenes (with that ugly thing of starting the shot before the character start walking) preceded by a camera that is neither

nor

A simple plan that any child on TikTok does with more subtlety.

In the background, a French ballad.

Although before issuing the chapter the verdict is offered on what we are going to see.

Rocío Carrasco gets emotional looking at some plywood.

It's not gossip, it's not frivolity.

It's not sarcastic, and it's not even annoying.

Neither heaven nor hell.

It is a toston with its six letters.

Toston.

It is only interesting when there are scenes of Rocío Jurado, who was brimming with charisma even when she sneezed.

Five hours of grilling to explain what we all know: that more people have lived on Rocío Jurado's tit than there were

in Fraggle Rock.

We can talk about the impact of all this on the perception of ill-treatment another day.

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