Que he hecho YO para merecer esto ?

Que he hecho YOⁱ para merecer esto ?ⁱⁱ is an excellent superlative of both Requiem for a Dream and Pink Flamingos. It is not a small accomplishment, this, to manage to be the better Requiem for a Dream of the set {"Requiem for a Dream", "Que he hecho YO para merecer esto ?"} and also be the better Pink Flamingosⁱⁱⁱ of the set {"Pink Flamingos" "Que he hecho YO para merecer esto ?"}. Don't you think ?

Let's unravel a little : some people, identical to all the other people "produced" (rather, resulting, like neoplastic growth, algae bloom or fungal explosion) by the failure of the Spanish state to control the pollution^iv spewed forth by the introduction of sewage systems are somewhat quaranteened in four concrete cubes of indescribable ugliness beyond a suspended road somewhere (nowhere). Almodovar forces the indistinguishable and undistinguished rats inhabiting the purpose-made "heaven (on Earth)" to drop all the conceits, all the falsehoods they use to clothe their offensive existence and present themselves nude.

The mother that offers the hungry child amphetamine in lieu of food ("will make appetite go away") and then sells the child to a lecherous dentist ; the twelve year old that is "dueno de su cuerpo", the stinkfoot "worker", the "forgetful" granny crowding her offspring, the angry neighbour, the pretty neighbour, these aren't exceptions, aren't different, and first and foremost aren't "made this way by the imagined-scapegoat du jour", be that "sociopath" or "capitalism" or whatever. It's not that they're people that were made nothing by something outside. It's that they were nothing to begin with, indistinct scum born without souls.

Posing the problem in terms of evolution and circumstance, in terms of "what have I done to deserve" is, in itself and perhaps not unintentionally, a dodge. It's a scam. It's the abused wife confessing to imaginary betrayals to score the beating that is nevertheless some quanta of human contact. The proper question is instead the one from La Grande Bellezza : "Chi sei tu ?"

And the answer is, necessarily and resoundingly, universally and unyieldingly the answer Francesca provides : No. Tu non sei nessuno.

That's it.

Howsoever dodged, howsoever repackaged, "cut up" by Burroughs' "technique", reinterpreted, commented upon, "satirized", spun, threaded, wiped or worn, the indelible fact of the matter remains : the byproducts of irresponsible industrial process are not anyone ; nor will ever be ; nor ever were ; nor could be nor could have been.

That's it.

1. Yes, the narcissist particle is quite as underscored in the film print, even if most of the reviewers, total fucktards without a clue, missed out on this obvious tidbit as they miss out on anything and everything else. It's hard, you know, getting a printed name of a thing and trying to make out with the lips and hands as if you know what you're talking about. Copywriters, what can you do. [↩]
2. 1984, by Pedro Almodovar, with Carmen Maura, Angel de Andres-Lopez, Veronica Forque, Chus Lampreave etc. [↩]
3. Not unqualifiedly better, though, just overall better. For instance, the golden rule ("all female actresses will appear naked at least once") sorta-obeyed by the original Pink Flamingos is not obeyed by the nevertheless overall better Pink Flamingos that is Que he hecho YO para merecer esto ?

   I hope the spurious titular punctuation isn't giving you trouble, by the way ? [↩]

4. You understand this, yes, the spurious class is exactly land pollution resulting from the irresponsible deployment of an industrial process. Do you ?

   The things, the things that crowd the walmarts with their unwelcome presence and purport to communicate their unwelcome "opinions" are not "people like you and me". They're things, exactly like this. [↩]