He Nights without fiction It has become a dead end for documentaries that has lost its stamp, direction, and critical eye. It now welcomes all kinds of productions, the only condition they must meet is that they are low costAnd this results in documentaries that are poor despite their good intentions, or that are old, amateurish, or of poor quality. It has also become a container for analysis programs when it suits them and, in the process, a television wild card: the promos announce documentaries that will later change depending on the wind. The loss of the title Non-fiction, in this guise of name changes on a whim, has implied the loss of the personality, prestige, and coherence that the format once had.
However, there are times when we manage to find deeply impressive stories. Documentaries that, despite their sensitivity and delicacy, are mistreated by the network with self-promotions and advertisements. This was the case this Tuesday, with the broadcast of Let it be known (Indarkeriaren Oi(k)artzunak). The story reaches us solely through the voice of its protagonist, Tamara Muruetagoyena Hormaza. She was the daughter of the doctor from Oiartzun, and the violence of the Basque conflict made her family victims of both sides: threats from ETA and police torture. In the first image of the documentary, we see the moment of the clapperboard, where the boy caresses her arm to comfort her before she begins to speak. A clue to the harshness and profound pain that will follow. Let it be known It is the visual representation of loneliness. Tamara Muruetagoyena sits on a stone bench against a wall. She tells her entire story while looking into the camera. Her discourse is only complemented by animated images that recreate some scenes. There are no supporting images, no photographs, no documents, and no television clips that capture the events she talks about. There are no other voices to reinforce her testimony, giving impact to her tragic case. There is nothing. Just a woman confronted on camera, explaining all the facts, sometimes contrite, sometimes crying: "That night our life changed forever," she says. And when stories begin like that, you know that everything that follows will be very powerful.
The most unfortunate thing came when, at the most tragic climax of her story, as she is crying, explaining how she realizes the injustice suffered by her father, who died a victim of torture at the police station, the broadcast abruptly cuts off and, without any transition, Samantha Hud, the APM, appears. Beyond the objectification of the advertising appeal, it couldn't be more disrespectful to the television product and its sensibilities, to the protagonist and the viewer. And since this isn't the first time it's happened, it only confirms the professional neglect that exists on-air and in live broadcasts. There are managers who don't do their jobs and even don't watch the television they work on.
