precios

Hace cerca de un año hablé aquí de una serie adorable en su cinismo donde coincidían tres piezas maravillosas: ella, él y su madre, la de él. Hoy, leyendo The Guardian, cosa que he empezado a hacer desde hace poco y que debería haber hecho hace mucho, me he encontrado con un artículo donde ella, Sharon Horgan, habla de la recién finada madre de él, Carrie Fisher. El artículo es de un estilo acorde con.
Sharon explicita algo que si se le sigue mínimamente a nivel profesional se sabe implícitamente.
Pues eso, todo maravilloso, salvo que Carrie se fue y no hay relevos porque hace tiempo que nadamos en piscinas sin agua.
El artículo completo está aquí. Lo que sigue es un trocito.

But who would want to do anything but listen to a lady like her with a life like that? It was, as she described it, something of a soap opera. She was no ordinary celebrity. She was, she said, Mickey Mouse. Everybody owned a piece, or felt they had the right to a piece. But the beautiful truth about Carrie is that she was genuine. She knew her talents, she knew her cultural importance, but she was humble, too. She didn’t have to feign her modesty. Her modesty and insecurity were part of her makeup. She was so real that it was almost dangerous. Actually, it was dangerous. Because she didn’t play the game. She said what she thought and, in an industry where that’s not always welcome, it sometimes came back to bite her. But she couldn’t help herself. She had very little filter.