Long live the snot-nosed!
PalmaAt the last Malaga festival, journalists asked an influencer invited by the organization to recommend a title. “A movie? What a drag?”, she replied to the reporters and the two million followers she has. All this on the red carpet of a film festival.
Directors and actors demanded that intruders not be invited to these events. The problem is not that they attend, but that journalists grant them an importance that they only have for photographers. There has always been an ornamental aristocracy of entertainment. Ojete Calor invented a perfect term to describe it: ‘mocatriu’, a hybrid of model, singer, and actress. And there have been plenty of these at the Goya galas, for example, since their beginnings. Misses who presented galas produced by José Luis Moreno and who acted as mujer florero (trophy wives) by the arm of businessmen or, luckily, with their own standing. When someone dared to give them a microphone, they gifted us pop culture pearls like that of “estar en el candelabro” (being on the chandelier), by Sofía Mazagatos, and I don't know if it was her or another mocatriu who swore to have read the three volumes of The Lord of the Rings.
The mocatrius and their male equivalents (hypermuscled pseudo-actors in need of a speech therapist) are the salt of the events; the fair of faded vanities that used to fill gossip magazines and now, stupid reels.
I read with fascination controversies from content creators I don't know and whose videos I have never seen. I like the idea that they exist only in writing so I can imagine them from a story. The latest is a certain Lola Lolita, angry because, according to her complaint, another girl allegedly stole her place at Bad Bunny's La Caseta, the VIP area that recreates a humble and colorful construction from Puerto Rico where celebrities of the first and fifth category mingle at the concerts of the most global artist of this era. The most sought-after carpetless carpet of the moment.
She who did have the front-row seat, close to the camera to grind, defended herself like an aspirant Showgirls: “She is frustrated because she couldn't be in front to be filmed”. And she added: “I don't live in Spain, I live in Switzerland. I don't know the famous people from Spain either, so I had no idea who this girl was”. Glorious. They don't know about cinema, nor do they need to. Long live the mocatrius.