Although the coronavirus has made any subject outside of it sound impertinent and inconvenient, the Javis have managed (once again) to make their intimate obsessions illuminate the more lateral areas of our fields of vision to make them relevant even now. Or, above all, now. The first chapter of Venom (Atresmedia) is not only his most ambitious and successful project, but the confirmation of a truth of Perogrullo that we tend to forget: it does not matter what we are looking at, but how we look at it.
They can sell Poison in many ways: as a biopic, as nostalgia for millennials, as meta-television, or as a good reflection to illustrate a class of ethics or values in a high school. But none of those labels matter compared to what really makes Veneno a moving and complex story: the eyes of the creators, what was previously called the author’s stamp.
The Javis look at their characters with compassion, in the broadest sense of the word: they feel sorry for them, that is, they suffer with them, they are passionate about them. From frivolous materials that most of the public and writers would consider rubble, they build a true world, made of that truth that reveals fiction and how different it is from the truth of the facts.
La Veneno, the TV of the 90s, Pepe Navarro, a teenager in love with a transsexual myth … The Javis gaze works like a spell on a golem made of ruins that nobody wants. It takes a lot of talent to launch such a creation and discover its soul and its tragedy. There is nothing frivolous in his perpetual praise of frivolity.
That is why this series is so pertinent in the midst of catastrophe, because it educates our eyes and teaches us not to lose sight of ourselves.