While watching the eight chapters of this fantastic reality show halfway between A Weekend in a Country House, an Agatha Christie Novel and Castle Night That Traitors Devour (HBO Max), in addition to suffering for every adversity my friend Faces exposed to Juan Sanguino – I’m writing again from a friend and with the possessive, as Isabel Pantoja would say, sorry – throw myself at Leo Marget’s ingenuity’s feet and ponder the never-ending debate “underwear under pajamas, yes? Or not?” Thanks to Abril Zamora, I’ve been thinking a lot about Telecinco.
At the funeral home, it’s rude to discuss how the dead person should have been saved, but death can return on TV, so it’s worth offering solutions to dethrone Telecinco. It is not difficult to conclude that a program as interwoven as that of Friendship Chain is lacking new characters to feed those transversal plots that all their programs drink from, and that the best way to integrate them is through good reality shows is.
I’m not concerned with Mediaset’s firstborn regaining viewership, it’s more the love of general television. A reality show on the platform, no matter how good, and Traitors is, is blinded by the lack of simultaneity in the show. Everyone’s transition to sexual maturity involves the first-hand assumption that having orgasms at the same time is of no use and that perhaps the only orgasm to preserve is the one you feel, as Woody Allen said in Husbands and Wives, when the judge divorces you. But oh on TV. TV is everything everywhere at once and it’s much more fun to arrive at the same time.
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