Presidents like television cameras. They like them a lot. The beginnings are always shy and distant, but there comes a day when the presis finally learn to unite their souls with the electric spirit of metal that boils inside these junk when the red recording light is turned on, and that media mysticism it translates into an intense sentimental rapport at the moment when they fix their eyes on the glass lens or sensually purse their lips and put on their July-church side when they feel filmed.
There are presis who like to dress in black leather and dark glasses, topgun but shabby machote, forgiving clowns who, like a gray contestant who has had a weekend in the foreigner area of Benidorm, shout with joy when they press the button and launch a Hwasong-17, which looks more like a brand of suppositories than an intercontinental missile. Others take to kissing a sleeping Siberian tiger, practicing judo and whacking a skittish sparin, riding bare-chested through a frost-covered autumn field, swimming in a loincloth through the frigid waters of a lake nothing to do with Fraga’s dip in Palomares stuffed into a sobaquero swimsuit or by injecting himself with Botox and surrounding himself with beautiful girls to give an image of an alpha male unable to cheat the passage of time.
There are also presidents whose vanity is inflated by so much television flirtation and they commission the recording of a series of four episodes about their day-to-day life in the presidential palace at a time when the IPC is flying as high as that Korean suppository, in which has gone back eight decades in job and energy insecurity and in which a quarter of the population lives on the threshold of severe poverty. But Curro will record the series in the British style to show the most human and personal side of such a distinguished institution and such an illustrious host, to “appreciate more than ever the fact of living in a democratic country, in which citizens are guaranteed their freedoms », says Curro. How handsome they all will be.
