Robert de Niro and a father tormented by his homosexuality


Purgatory are the parents. The first monsters that appear in the children's conscience are not those that appear between the pages of the stories or the first horror tapes (those that are seen on television in secret), but the frustrations and traumas that they visualize in the parents . An idea of ​​childhood has been sold, such as an Eden of innocence, which never corresponds to reality, as Charles Dickens anticipated a long time ago, although nobody pays attention to him, and Walt Disney, although everyone still thinks his films are the most suitable for children to entertain on Sunday afternoons.

Here each one comes with his own family backpack, which always precedes, or anticipates, as you look at, the one that is taken to school. But this material weight of books and notebooks is not less than the other, despite the fact that it is made of silences, secrets, ellipses and, in the worst case, of ill-treatment. The biggest secret is always oneself, the crooked roots from which it comes and this is something that is now known to Robert de Niro, the man with a thousand faces, our wild bull of the big screen, a man who more than interpret, swallows characters.

The actor brought with him a genius for the seventh art that was not casual, but was born from that kinetics that is usually domestic genetics, the environment in which one was enlightened and that cradled the first years. His father, more than a torment, was the invisible ink of his past, that which is written with lemon juice and that can only be seen when you examine your biography in the light of a candle. A guy who was born emblazoned with the label of genius, as a gifted child. His was art, but this time the pictorial, the blank canvas. Something that no kid should be ashamed of, especially if one takes into account the natural inclination of the children to brushes and pencils. But nothing is so simple and if it turns out that way, it is that there is a cat locked up. This creator, gifted for abstraction, that is, the rage expressed in colors, dragged a hidden homosexuality that undermined his marriage, the mental problems that filled him with demons, his economic problems and an anxiety that prompted him to a painful confessional exercise.

While the museums of New York disputed his paintings, he filled dozens of pages with his thoughts and family doubts, that is, with that swell of sufferings among which he tried to stay afloat. His bohemian life was anything but a bohemian life. Probably its antithesis. Robert de Niro has just delivered those writings to an editorial. Recognize that you have never read them. Or, rather, that he has taken his eyes off after reading several fragments, verifying how his father proudly underlined his triumphs in the cinema - moving image, quite the opposite of what a painting is -, and he wanted to hug him , to run his hand through his hair, as he acknowledges, but who dared not do for fear that the young star would not appreciate such a tiny gesture. Perhaps I did not understand that if there is something that an interpreter understands better than the script phrase is a gesture, however slight it may be. His ties are not those of a bad father and a good boy. If not the two types faced with that weather that is life.

. (tagsToTranslate) javier ors



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