I didn’t see the Saved dedicated to Víctor Manuel that La Sexta broadcasts tonight, so this is not a review, nor a value judgment, nor even a recommendation. At best, it’s a suspicion, a concern. In times of memes and coilsof the Gonzo program, will take the radish by the leaves. It doesn’t matter how hard they try to fine-tune the portrait. In the end only noise will come out, because Víctor speaks like Mieres’ compatriots. Like a good poet, he is not aware of euphemisms and periphrases. They have already filled the program with phrases about Pedro Sánchez and some political figures. Compare, for example, Abascal to Blas Piñar, in an analogy that is not too surprising, but which has produced some click and arguments online.
It’s a shame that the noise drowns out Victor’s silences. If his words sound categorical it is because he cultivates silences that television cannot afford. Víctor Manuel is unspeakable on television: to show his way of being in the world we would need a Bergman-style film, long and with very static and minimalist shots. The amphetamine horror vacui of today’s television and social media does little justice to his wry smile, his contemptuous, subterranean humor and his inexhaustible listening skills. When Víctor talks to someone, he attends to them with his whole body. The interlocutor feels that there is nothing more important than what he says. While listening, the singer creates a timely response because he responds to what the other has said. He never brings well-thought-out phrases from home, like talk shows. In a world of monologues we talk, but on Instagram there is only room for preachers. After the issuance of Saved Remnants of some sort of sermon float across phone screens. And as a priest, Víctor only has the pose, with his black shirt and his way of taking over the scene.
If someone took up Víctor Manuel’s modulations of silence, instead of putting his words in quotation marks, we could try a change of tone that would do us a lot of good. It would be nice if the political debate were more like a long conversation after dinner with him, and less like a clash between deputies. In the absence of silence, I hope that one of the mottos he has always launched will resonate louder: we are all here or not even God is here. This would be enough.
