tripu

Tokio, otra vez.

El lienzo tridimensional del urbanismo inimaginable, efervescente y acogedor, permanentemente extraño y personalísimo.

Sus locales diminutos continúan desafiando la escala magnífica del esquema que resume los planos del transporte público, con sus ramas de líneas multicolores hundiéndose en las sub-ciudades. Bares que son menos que un pasillo, semiocultos tras las medias cortinas. Flanqueados por otros locales igualmente mínimos que sin embargo consiguen atraer la mirada y se hacen notar; poco importa que sea solo un local en una sucesión interminable de locales idénticos, que a su vez se replica al otro lado de la estación, en otra parte del barrio y en el otro extremo de la metrópolis. «Densidad» es la palabra.

Tokio. Los vagones de sus trenes se llenan de muchachas de piernas blanquísimas y delgadas, rodillas centrípetas, andar equino, cabellos finísimos, peinados impecables; cableadas, abrazadas al Louis Vuitton; envueltas como el resto de los pasajeros en electrónica portátil; cubiertas por pieles sucesivas de microfibra, plástico, cosméticos, autocontrol y ausente dulzura. Muchachas físicamente presentes, pero apenas conscientes de su propia existencia. Como el resto de los pasajeros. Las muchachas rotan en cada estación; aparecen y desaparecen, se maquillan, miran al suelo, juegan con el teléfono treinta minutos sin levantar la mirada, duermen con la cabeza en las rodillas, raramente hablan.

Una nueva barrera se ha sumado a las anteriores: a las alergias, la hipocondría y la consideración por la salud del otro se ha unido la psicosis de la pandemia de moda, y los japoneses se han envuelto en otra capa más. Más que nunca, la población se ha escindido en dos grupos: los que llevan mascarilla, y los que no. La consecuencia es que códigos nuevos están apareciendo, y los «enmascarillados» se comunican entre sí con las manos, con los ojos y con esa voz que surge atenuada desde el otro lado del tejido tenso sobre los labios. Tantos niños que deben estar aprendiendo a hablar lo están haciendo a base de mirar a los ojos de sus hermanos y a las manos de sus madres, pues la familia entera viaja de incógnito por la profilaxis. Una generación entera a la que le están racionando su dosis necesaria de sonrisas sinceras, dientes apretados, labios temblorosos, risas nerviosas, gestos cómplices… por fuerza tiene que crecer de otra manera, y comunicarse en otros canales.

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From the I-need-to-procrastinate-now dept.

Trying to alleviate somehow this miserable run of hours, days, weeks, months of stooping over my books, notes and laptop; of consuming booked holidays alone at home or in the library; of shortening or cancelling planned trips (so that I can spend more time alone at home or in the library); and of gazing through the window at that hateful, unconveniently sunny outer world, I just watched with Pablo episode #4 of Doctor Who (the new TV series): “Aliens of London”.

Doctor Who is an institution in the United Kingdom: actors who are currently playing the main parts appear on the cover of magazines regularly, Daleks are all over the place in London and everyone here seems to love the show, or at least to acknowledge its existence with reverence.

“In the United Kingdom and elsewhere, the show has become a cult television favourite and has influenced generations of British television professionals, many of whom grew up watching the series. It has received recognition from critics and the public as one of the finest British television programmes, including the BAFTA Award for Best Drama Series in 2006.”
— its page in the Wikipedia.

But all that does not changes a tad the fact that the show is dull and unconvincing. Its production is cheap by any standards of modern TV and it conveys the same dramatic intensity as the test card. You know — I have extensive knowledge about Doctor Who myself, having watched distractedly two episodes and two halves recently. I think it’s bad.

Take the episode we watched in DVD today. As far as I can tell, a UFO crashed against the Big Ben and fell into the Thames. Only that the dead alien pilot was not dead and was not alien. It was one of a bunch of relentessly farting humanoid pigs with zips on their foreheads (sic) who simulated the accident and infiltrated 10 Downing St in disguise and kidnapped the PM to achieve their evil goals. Oh, and the humanoid pigs were actually oversized, green, royalty-dodging versions of E.T. incapable of bending their necks or their arms because the budget for animatronics ran out the minute after the assistant to the carpenter uttered the words “Jeez, Quentin; this is a neat prototype, innit?”. The only merit of this episode, obviously, is that it predicted the swine flu four years ago.

I mean, just take a look at the bloody robots (they ain’t no robots; they’re an extraterrestrial race of mutants). These rice cookers make the robots in Forbidden Planet (1956) look like cutting-edge pieces of engineering. And Wikipedia says this is the “2005 redesign”. There must be a certain amount of irony at work here, or very sick doses of nostalgia, but I just don’t get it.

And still, it is iconic in this country while also enjoying incomprehensible success overseas. So it is good that, thanks to Pablo, I got to watch a few episodes. Now I can leave the country in peace.

All this is to say that tonight we discovered that Rose Tyler (the main character, together with “the Doctor”) lives in front of us! In effect, although she lives in the fictional location flat 48, Bucknall House, Powell Estate, SE15 7GO London, the filming location is Brandon Estate, in Kennington.

This estate is literally one minute away by foot from my doorstep. This is where we have our GP, and until very recently our nearest post office was that building partially hidden behind the arches, left-hand side in the picture.

Come to think about it, we have seen filming crews at work in our neighbourhood quite a few times in the last three years. I wonder if Doctor Who has something to do with that…

Although I suspect that it is just the charming suburban irrelevance of these streets that attracts producers here.

Now back to X_ƎT_EX.