Exploring the Depth of ‘To Want‘: A Long Movie or an Episodic Gem?
So, imagine binged-watching a series of four episodes in one go. It’s like eating a giant pizza single-handedly while wondering if that’s really a good idea. I mean, let’s face it, this isn’t just a series anymore; it’s the cinematic equivalent of a long movie. Now, TV people might throw their remote controls at the television screen at this blasphemy, but who cares? Everyone sees the world through their own blurry lenses—like trying to pick out the exact shade of “light grey” in a paint store.
Now, let’s talk about To Want by Alauda Ruiz de Azúa. You might think my inability to sleep was due to jet lag after returning from America, but let’s be real—it was probably something about the gripping portrayal of human emotions in the desolate landscape of Bilbao. You know it’s good art when you forget about your own problems—like why you can never locate your left sock!
The Art of Subtlety Over Bombast
Now, here’s where it gets juicy. When art gets tied to a cause, it doesn’t have to be a flashy billboard shouting its message like a drunk at karaoke night. Sometimes talent soars above the message, like a well-groomed peacock in a flock of pigeons. You see, there are different morals in propaganda. A narrative sometimes leads to conclusions that make you want to pull your hair out in frustration. But To Want dives into the murky waters of uncomfortable truths, revealing a subtlety that leaves one pondering. It’s like folding an origami crane—each crease matters, and one wrong fold, and you’re left with a paper disaster.
Throughout the four hours, you’re introduced to layers of complexity. The film presents a case of violence, supported by one side and one side alone. The viewer, as it turns out, gets sucked into the intricacies of relationships within a broken family—forced to cheer for a victim played by the remarkable Nagore Aramburu. If you’re not cheering by the end, did you even watch?
A Hug That’s Postponed
Ruiz de Azúa takes a stand right from the get-go, waving the flag for the victim without ever wavering in tone or losing grip on the director’s intent. You find yourself wanting to hug this brave, shoulderless woman who’s more resolute than a cat refusing to budge from a sunny spot. It’s less about the words—those are sparse like chicken nuggets at a vegan festival—and more about the looks, the movements, and the silence that echo louder than a rock concert. You can’t help but feel like you’ve become a member of this fractured family.
A Celebration of Art
Let’s make this clear: To Want isn’t your average TV movie that a lazy high school teacher would drudge out to fill a “Values” class. Oh no, my friends! This is art stripped of all adjectives—raw, inviting, and hauntingly beautiful. So let’s raise a toast to this masterpiece! 🥂 May it stand tall against the flood of mediocrity that sometimes arrives like a surprise guest at a party you didn’t invite anyone to. We must protect it from the easy contempt of those TV bosses who tend to underestimate viewers—treating us like children rather than the astute adults we bravely pretend to be!
In a world where art and message often collide in a cacophony of noise, To Want manages to embrace the silence, leaving us enveloped in thought long after the credits roll. And isn’t that the hallmark of good art?
I binged all four episodes at once, so it seemed like a long movie, more than a series (TV people hate it when people say short series are long movies, but everyone sees the world in their own way. ), and then I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know how much he had to do with it. jet lagWell, I had just returned from an American trip, and how excited it was. I only know that it became clear to me without blurring the planes, the faces, the gestures, the silences and the background sounds of the desolate Bilbao that Alauda Ruiz de Azúa portrays in To want.
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When art is put at the service of a cause, the result does not have to be rabble-rousing, flat, priestly or a source of shame for others. Sometimes, talent and art fly far above the message, until it becomes a premise. There are morals in propaganda: the entire narrative leads to a moral conclusion that falls flat, blinding any alternative interpretation. In art, the thesis is a starting point from which the story plunges into uncomfortable, ambiguous, subtle and deep gaps, often unforeseen by its creator.
This is what happens with To wantwhich presents a case of violence without ever questioning the initial point of view or betraying the message about machismo, but without giving up the complexity of a subtle world that unfolds with the perplexing softness of an origami. The houses, the streets, the way they walk and the looks, much more than the words, which are sparse and irrelevant, turn the spectators into another member of that broken family. Ruiz de Azúa takes sides from the beginning with the victim (played by the impressive Nagore Aramburu) of a debatable and difficult to prove case, and it takes him four hours to recruit the rest of the characters and all the viewers to his cause. He does it not with arguments, but with the force of the narrative. We hug that shoulderless and brave woman who does not allow herself to be hugged because the director turns her into everyone’s mother.
This is art without adjectives. To want It is not a TV movie for lazy high school teachers to fill in a Values class. That is why we should celebrate it with enthusiasm and protect it from easy contempt, in case the TV bosses dare to follow this path and stop treating viewers like stupid children.
