I don’t remember the last time, if there ever was one, that I stood in front of the TV, to watch the chimes, with excitement, with genuine interest, with curiosity. Last night was that time. And no, it was not because he weighed 30 kilos according to what he said days ago in The anthillnor of course to listen to clichés, taglines (be careful, I would be incapable of innovating in that sense, and I don’t think anyone would claim it either) nor to contemplate enormous smiles from hyper-stimulated presenters. No, it was to see and be truly surprised and truly laugh. And yes, they achieved both. On television, SPANISH! I couldn’t stop making the joke, come on, forgive me.
Here is a summary of the television New Year’s Eve, without order or concert, just as I have seen it, doing zapping crazy, with everything that I think is relevant for you to know:
In 2015, the Clan channel had Pocoyó broadcast the chimes, forcing dedicated parents who opted for that option to watch them with their children; they were not going to leave them alone in the room. But sacrifice for children also has its limits, so that was a flower of a day. Ten years later, the public channel arrives with a new fantasy: David Broncano and Lalachus, at Puerta del Sol in Madrid. Two characters who two days ago were so far from what mainstream like Isabel Preysler and a backpacking weekend, like Froilán and a chair at the Sorbonne, placed there, with pure entertainment as the banner, without paraphernalia, with self-confidence and without artifice. Without playing at being others, and showing that you can be like an octopus in a garage and having a blast, too. That moment of focusing from his position on the balcony, on the set of Antena 3 with Cristina Pedroche and Chico, and greeting them with joy was pure glory. Only they could dare to go off script like this.
In both world wars there was a Christmas truce and, as a contribution to the universal war culture, in Spain we have created the New Year’s Eve trench on television. Therefore, on a night like last night, on La Sexta, for example, one more year, the two television Spains, represented by , ate the grapes in love and harmony, as if one of them were not going to freeze their hearts. to the other.
Cristina Pedroche and the gentleman who accompanies her on Antena 3 (yes, I know it’s Alberto Chicote, but admit with me that you never look at him. I would say that he knows it too) have been winning the audience game against TVE since 2021, at the right moment when Cristina, ta chan, shows the famous dress. Of course there I went in that frantic zapping, and… I’m not going to comment on the dress because by the time you read this chronicle everything will have already been said. Yes feminism, yes objectification, yes slob and slob. In any case, Antena 3 has achieved with that moment, which is now the Pedroche effect forever, a hype (which you all already know is a “generation of exaggerated expectations around a product, service, person or situation”) like a piano, and beat the unbeatable TVE for three consecutive years. From here I bet: this year TVE will win.
On Telecinco and Cuatro with two very correct and conventional Blanca Romero and Ion Aramendi, a maxim is fulfilled: even if you know that you are going to be in line, that no one is going to really take you into account, you have to be there. Because the presenters of the bells, unless you mount a powerful claim (dress-Pedroche, couple Broncano-Lala) or score a Jenny Hermoso to demonstrate which side of history you want to be on, are quite irrelevant, they are background noise (what sorry guys) and what really matters is that the viewer says to himself: my channel, the one I usually watch the most, is there keeping me company on this special night.
What else happened last night? It happened that the TVE team, beautiful and endearing, made me cry. The ending went straight to the heart and if you are from Valencia it will blow you away. It happened that José Mota may or may not be funny to you, but his annual effort must be recognized. Which is still the best of the night. That musical specials are not going to die. They were on all the networks and one more year I reaffirmed myself: I think there are artists who only appear at these galas and then retire to their rooms until the following year. Once again people came out who I don’t know who they are until they put up the label and sometimes not even then, and people who thought they had retired from music. Last night Manu Tenorio, leaving aside for a few hours his bizarre fight against squatting, appeared on Telecinco marking the bolero Let’s go with a flamenco touch. The song said: “let’s go, where there is no justice or laws or anything.” I saw a wink there, I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s my thing.
