Ferran Monegal: "TVE has lacked courage. Put Belén Esteban in charge of the news."

BarcelonaThere was a time when the most widely read and feared television critic in Catalonia was Ferran Monegal (Barcelona, 1947). He could attack you from the press (32 years in The Newspaper), from the radio (17 years of collaborations with Júlia Otero) or from television (10 years on Betevé). Now he hasn't given his opinion anywhere for a year, but he hasn't said his last word as a journalist yet: he's looking for a platform where he can make the program that TV3 hasn't bought, he has a movie script in his head and, "alert", continues doing kick-boxing, at 78 years old, he's a karate black belt. Here's Ferran Monegal.

In the last interview Ricard Ustrell did with you on TV3, you quoted Montaigne and said that life is undulating. What phase would you say you're in now?

— In a phase without too many peaks, neither up nor down. I've decided to leave my opinions aside and have focused more on contemplation, preparing a television program, and a film, which I'm also working on.

Have you had a bad time this past year without being able to give your opinion?

— No, no. I was a little tired of the journalist's work as an opinion-giver, because, whether you like it or not, it's mixed with a certain amount of manipulation. And I'm not convinced that journalists have any more insight into what's happening than a plumber or an architect.

However, it's what you've done all your life.

— Yes, it's what I've done all my life: express opinions. It's a contradiction. These are the years that lead you to reflection. Has what you've done so far been fruitful? Does the profession shed more light or more confusion? Lately, I think the balance is one of confusion. We journalists have a tendency to think we're transcendent; our egos are brutal. There are people who have tried to appear on TV and can't live without being on it. Above all, they can't have the cameras focused on them, so they can do whatever they want.

And have you managed to live without a public platform?

— Yes, and I live very well. It seems to me that we are heading towards an erasure of the word journalism. Now there is more talk about communicators, which is a fantastic word. Fifteen years ago, Paolo Vasile was already telling me about it, that it was his dream and it's coming true. He said: "I'm not interested in journalists in my company; I want communicators." One communicates Aneto chicken broth and the other communicates the news, and they are interchangeable. Now, dear Albert, look at what's happening at Televisión Española, in that group that used to do the Save me, on Telecinco, which they put in the afternoon and it doesn't quite work.

I wanted to ask you what was the last program you would have liked to criticize, and I see that it is The TV family.

— They lacked courage at Televisión Española. What they should have done was put Belén Esteban and María Patiño on the reporting duties. Fulfill Paolo Vasile's dream. Because if it's all about surprising the audience, if television has become that grotesque deformation of Valle-Inclán, where producers only aspire to surprise and hook the viewer, then put those at The TV family to make the news and see what audiences they will have.

Why haven't you worked in the last year?

— I didn't feel like it. I must say that I've received offers, especially from online newspapers, to have a platform from which to continue pontificating, which is what I've done for 32 years. I've been very grateful, but I've declined. From the established newspapers, of which there are four, I haven't had any, nor was I looking for one.

On the other hand, one of the last things I heard you say was that you had a project to make a television show.

— I had a project and I still have it, but they didn't want it. I was in contact with TV3 and told them an idea: I'm 78 years old, I'm a grandfather, and it's about making a road movie Between grandfather and granddaughter. Find a child of about 22-23 years old, who could easily be my granddaughter, and reflect on the world. boomer, which is mine, and about the reality of today's granddaughter.

Would each program be a different granddaughter?

— No, it's always the same, and what changes is the theme and the walk. The idea seemed to be liked. They told me I should submit it to the usual selection process, which is like going to the market to see if they'll buy it, and it turns out they didn't want it. I hope to find another platform where the idea is popular. For example, I was thinking about a woman who's a professional working hard; I don't know her personally, but you, Mr. Om, must know her. Her name is Juliana Canet. I haven't spoken to her, nor do I know if she would want to, but this meeting, Canet and Monegal, fifty years apart, walking through Barcelona and Catalonia...

That would be unusual: I don't remember a presenter who was 78 years old.

— No, they don't, because we represent a segment of the population that consumes very little. And if not, I'm also working on a film project about a television network. The script for the film would be mine. It's about a creature who arrives at 9 in the morning because he has to deliver a package and leaves at 2 in the morning, after having been through all the offices and sets. Naturally, he comes out completely dirty.

When was the last time you felt you had overdone your criticism of someone?

— At the beginning of everything. When I realized that on a television set, if a presenter shouts too much, stumbles, or lisps, it doesn't matter at all. At first, I would sometimes point to a presenter. Then I realized that the most important thing is to see why they give the camera to this person, this group, or this production company. Why they highlight this topic and don't talk about another, and compare the news reports.

We talked a little about the critic's ego. Does the critic believe he or she is as important as the people he or she criticizes?

— Yes, the critic thinks that what he says can serve to transform something, but it is only an illusion.

There was a time when you had a lot of power. Did you ever believe it?

— A producer told me this, and I wasn't aware of the power he wielded. I quickly realized that criticism is pure ash, burnt wood. What I felt most uncomfortable with was giving positive criticism, praise. It seems that what people like, and I've proven it, is when you attack, when you poke holes in, when you highlight the absolute defeat of a situation on a set or of an entire program. But when a program overpowers you and you have no choice but to be honest, that criticism has no value. People always expect fire.

But if the critic only focuses on what he thinks is bad, then it seems like all television is crap, when it isn't, and it's also good that someone points that out.

— Yes, there's something good about television, but the defeat is widespread. Now it turns out we have a prime minister who's a television critic, Pedro Sánchez. I understand that, as a human being. The same night there was a woman at Eurovision representing Israel—a woman who, it must be said, is also a victim of war—that country was bombing homes with small children inside.

Like when Spain participated in Eurovision during the Franco regime while Franco carried out death sentences.

— Indeed. But Israel's situation, quantitatively, may be stronger.

You say that the president of the Spanish government is now a television critic, but the current president of the United States, Donald Trump, if he had not had a television program like The apprentice He wouldn't have made it to the White House. That program changed his image and gave him a boost after he'd been bankrupt.

— Mr. Om, do you realize what television has become? Now it turns out we have a president of the world, the great policeman of the universe, who is so thanks to television. Now imagine if tomorrow they have to give you a stent or they have to do a bypassGod forbid, imagine being introduced to a cardiologist who's a cardiologist because he hosted a TV show. It's chilling. You wouldn't let that cardiologist touch you.

Let me change the subject: the last thing I would have said about you is that you're a black belt in karate.

— Yes, I started when I was 19. With a group from the School of Journalism.

Did you think that knowing how to protect yourself would be a good idea for this profession?

— We did it as a kind of gym. And then, when Eastern martial arts merged with Western boxing rules, many of us switched to kick-boxing, which is what I'm still doing today. In a more relaxed way, I practically don't do it anymore. ring, but I do punchingI do rope... It's a very complete gymnastics.

Have you ever had your face smashed in?

— No, no. I don't know if you remember that Andreu Buenafuente once explained that he was driving along Travessera de Gràcia and that, at a pedestrian crossing, he saw the critic.

You?

— He said, "I saw the critic," and that there had been an impulse inside him to step on the accelerator. From the Travessera de Gràcia section he was talking about, it seems to be me.

Being Andreu, this comment could also be considered humorous.

— He could be, yes. The truth is, he didn't step on the gas. Anyway, regarding all this question you're asking me, Mr. Om, about my disenchantment with the world of journalism, I think you could also look in the mirror.

That's right, yes. The thing is, in my case, I don't blame the media so much as the feeling that there are things I've already done and now I prefer to do others.

— I remember him vividly on his trips to people's homes. That was very successful, and Albert Om is now at the ARA newspaper. We could also review the present and future of newspapers.

At ARA we have the best television critic, Mònica Planas.

— I follow her a lot.

Sometimes I wonder if this will be the last TV review.

— Yes, because it's moving on to something else. More than a critic, what's now interesting is someone who's well-connected, who goes to parties, shows, knows this person and that person, who interacts, and then you go on the radio or go to the newspaper, and you write articles that are a kind of fizzy drink. They don't maintain their distance, but rather become part of the showbiz.

Monica Planas doesn't do this.

— Exactly. This is something I never did, and neither did Monica. It's becoming less common. There's another Monica they have at the ARA, Monica Bernabé, who spent seven or eight years in Afghanistan. What's left of that entire generation of war correspondents? This is also coming to light.

What is the last concern you have right now?

— The future of grandchildren. I have a six-month-old grandson and a twelve-year-old. I'm especially worried about the education the twelve-year-old is receiving. What they're not taught, their dependence on screens... Sometimes I try to do a kind of simulation of peripatetic school, learning by walking and talking, but we only last two or three minutes. They quickly tire. This is a theory we've been hearing for a while, but now I realize it with my grandchildren. They're going in a different direction.

A song I've been listening to lately.

— Man, Italy. Caprese Moon, Peppino di Capri. I will attend, French music.

The last words of the interview are his.

— May God do more than we do.