It's been a long time since I reviewed two science fiction movies, or strict horror movies, entitled The invasion of the body thieves and his remake The invasion of the ultrabodies, but they are gloomily present in my sick brain every time I step on the streets populated by caravans of people hooked to their mobile, talking loudly through headphones, reading electronic books, massaging their tablet. Even if they belong to a group or form couples, each one goes to his own. And they do not look at what they have in front of them. They take you ahead without needing to apologize. On the sidewalks, at the traffic lights, at the zebra crossings. It is as threatening as it is natural. And if you can overcome such a Martian scenario, you will have to dodge, or be run over, the ecologists of the bikes and scooters.
There are more martyrdoms for the elderly, the mentally incapable of using new technologies, the incurable and rancid yearning of yesterday's world (ay ... the cinemas, the neighborhood bookstores, the record stores) and it is the Kafkaesque situation of Every time you use the phone to request medical appointments, banking inquiries, insurance or travel agencies, telephone companies, you will find recorded voices, desperate robots, that ask you to mark keys to inform you of their services, refer you to your web pages, require your username and password. Normal? No, insane. And the usual will be lined with replacing the human voice by the automata.
In his novel Diary of the war of the pig, Bioy Casares imagined the deadly hunt for useless old men. In the film I, Daniel Blake, Ken Loach portrayed the anguish of a seriously ill man who tries to be granted disability, but who is forced to look for work to grant him the subsidy. And that bureaucratic barbarism must resolve it through the Internet. He does not know, he does not learn, he can not. The heart explodes. One less.