viernes, 23 de octubre de 2026

THE MIDNIGHT ARCHIVES: SPANISH WOMAN (IN "La Llorona")

Draco in Leather Pants is a trope that is all the rage today with the genesis of Draconia Malfoid - the genderflipped Draco everyone is shipping with Harry - but I have found a Privileged Rival character that deserves the same treatment just by virtue of being foreign, wealthy, and cultured - and uncannily attractive (MOVE OVER, DRACONIA MALFOID).

A noblewoman from across the ocean, skin white as paper, a white feather in her hat, dressed in silk the colour of cream...

The Spanish fiancée of the Hidalgo in the legend of La Llorona, as seen in The Midnight Archives:

This is the story as it is told. It has no date and no town because every town that tells it gives it its own river. It goes like this. 

In the years after the conquest, in a village in New Spain, ... a man rode into the village on a black horse. He was a Spaniard, not a soldier, the son of a family that had land, a great deal of land, somewhere to the south. and the horse alone was worth more than every house in the village together. He wore black with silver at the collar and the cuffs and a sword he did not look as though he had ever drawn. He was handsome. He was young. He had the easy unbothered face of a man who has never once in his life been told no. And he rode through the square at a walk looking at everything as if he were deciding whether to buy it. 



 He had been seen at a ball given by the viceroy's people in black and silver with a woman on his arm, a Spanish woman, the daughter of a family as old as his own, pale as paper, who had come across the sea that year, and would not have known one end of a water jar from the other. He had been seen walking with her in a courtyard with a fountain. He had been seen laughing. 


It was a fine carriage, black, with a crest on the door. Two gray horses, and as it came level with the place ... He was sitting with his back to the horses. Across from him, in silk the colour of cream, with her hands folded in her lap and a hat with a feather in it, at the Spanish woman. The carriage did not stop. He turned his head as it passed. 

That evening he told her in the house with the tiled floor that he was going to be married, at the cathedral, in the spring, to a woman of his own class, as his family required. 

And, the icing on the cake: she gets the guy, as the "other woman" so frequently does in this kind of murder ballad stories. If this legend were a modern-day rom-com, she would not be so lucky... And there's more icing on that cake: we got AI-generated images of the Spanish woman in seventeenth-century clothes: the aristocractic bearing, the white feather in her hat, the silk the colour of cream, the skin white as paper... AI-generated but irradiating privilege and otherworldliness indeed! So I illustrated my excerpts with these Midnight Archives illustrations!

So I wound up in a chat with the podcaster about why he made her foreign - turns out that in colonial New Spain, being from Old Spain was an upper-class marker... I wound up recommending a whole slew of tropes to him in the "Draco in Leather Pants" constellation:

SANDRA DERMARK: I have a question, why is the Spaniard's wife chosen by their parents an upper-class woman like him ("skin like paper", "feather in her hat") and most importantly FOREIGN ("from across the ocean") while it is left ambiguous whether the Spaniard himself was born in Old Spain like her or in the colonies? I would like so much to know your interpretation of this character and of the "other man/woman" the love interest is engaged to (marries them in tragic/old-world stories like this, ALMOST marries them in stories with happy endings). I have always been fascinated by this character archetype, especially if they're upper-class and foreign, but why do you make the "other woman" here foreign?

PODCASTER: Great question, and you’ve spotted something real. In the versions I was working from she’s from Spain on purpose: in New Spain being born in Spain outranked being born in the colonies, so a bride “from across the sea” was the ultimate status match, the one his family would push for. The story leaves his own birthplace vague because it doesn’t matter to the tale, what matters is that he has a world he can go back to and María (La Llorona) doesn’t. The other woman is always the door closing. I kept it that way because that’s the whole engine of the legend...

SANDRA: so she's from Old Spain because it's a status symbol? Just like the feather in her hat and her skin white as paper? And her cream-coloured silks? I find her far more interesting than María (for me it's always the other man, or other woman, whom the love interest marries/is betrothed to who is more interesting - for being foreign / wealthy / cultured / classy, as an escapist character. You should read the TV Tropes pages "Draco in Leather Pants" and "Rooting for the Empire" and "Privileged Rival" and "Wicked Cultured" to see why I like these characters)

PODCASTER: Pretty much, yes. The paper-white skin and the feather and the cream-coloured silks are doing the same job as “from across the sea”: she’s everything María can’t be, and the story needs you to feel the gap in one look. I get why you’d find her the more interesting one, she’s the character with a whole world behind her that we never get to see. Will have a read of those pages, I’ve fallen down TV Tropes holes before 😅

Draco in Leather Pants: Common reasons for this include the character being wicked in a classy or cool way. A physically attractive villain is much more likely to be subject to this trope than a physically ugly one. Beauty Equals Goodness often subconsciously applies even when the character's beauty only extends to their physical appearance. 

Rooting for the Empire: 

Wicked Cultured:  those who like "high" culture are a bit weird, "other", and more likely to be antagonists; it's not that Evil Is Cool. Rather, it's more like "Evil Is Intellectual". Evil is smart, wicked, sarcastic with a biting sense of humor. Evil is smooth and eloquent, if not outright suave. Evil dresses well, has a polysyllabic lexicon, quotes William Shakespeare, sips fine wine, listens to their favourite opera on their downtime (almost always Don Giovanni), and in general is shown to be cultured if not necessarily civilized. This can apply to any villain, Anti-Villain, or associated character types.

Privileged Rival: Depending on genre, they can be anywhere from royalty, to having a famous family member, or just plain being loaded—with all the advantages that implies. Of course, this also makes said rival more of a challenge for the hero/ine, which in turn makes the victory that much sweeter, and the defeat that more painful (UNLESS YOU'RE ROOTING FOR THE PRIVILEGED RIVAL ALL ALONG)

Reminds me of this Jaguar ad with Tom Bloody Hiddleston (our dear Loki, and Cassio opposite Ewan McGregor's Iago) and Ben Bloody Kingsley (the voice of Bagheera) in it: Could as well be the prologue to a series about British supervillains in their Jaguars with their RP accents!

viernes, 16 de octubre de 2026

DONKEY KONG in GORKY PARK: Misheard lyrics

When was the last time I posted some misheard lyrics? I recently found out that "Wind of Change" by the Scorpions is NOT about Donkey Kong and I had to share it with you...

I follow the Moskva / Down to Donkey Kong

Original lyrics:

I follow the Moskva 

down to Gorky Park
Listening to the wind of change

Misheard as:

I follow the Moskva 

down to Donkey Kong
Listening to the wind of change

Why? I didn't know the writer Maksim Gorky, nor that he had a park named after him in Moscow, when I was a child. But I knew Donkey Kong from his animated series and from the Super Mario games...

sábado, 3 de octubre de 2026

TMA - Frog Prince - Second (Clever) Sister

 The Midnight Archive has returned to making fairytales... and now they did an hour-length Frog Prince. I was pleased that the titular love interest was "clever" (even though he out-Joffreys Joffrey at first, I knew the enchantment would teach him a lesson)...


He was a young man who had been handsome and clever and loved from the day he was born and who had come to believe without ever thinking it through that the world was arranged that way on purpose. He was kind to his dogs, and to his horse. He was generous with his friends. He tipped well and he had never once looked at a person who could do nothing for him and seen a person. He had come to hunt.

 Heinrich was 2 years older. He had been given to the prince as a companion when the prince was six, the son of a steward, chosen because he was steady, and he had been steady ever since. When the prince fell from his first pony, it was Hinrich who set his arm. When the prince got drunk at 17 and said things to his father that could not be unsaid. It was Heinrich who carried him to bed and sat with him until morning and never mentioned it again. He was not the prince's friend. The prince did not have any true friends. He was the prince's servant, and he loved him. And he knew exactly what the prince was, and loved him anyway, which is the hardest kind of love there is.

He denies a crone (fairy? goddess?) a drink of water to quench her thirst (apparently his kindness somehow excludes old crones!), and the crone turns him into an amphibian (though keeping his human mind and power of speech) until he finds true love.


He was thirsty and through the trees ahead of him in a hollow he saw the pale trunk of a great linden tree and under it the gray stones of a well, or more of an artificial pond. He rode down to it. 

There was a woman sitting on the rim. She was old. That was the first thing he saw. And for a long moment, the only thing old in the way that people in stories are old, past counting, her face folded down into itself, her hands like roots. 

She was dressed in nothing he could name, gray on gray, and she had a wooden cup in her lap, and she was looking at the water. And she did not look up when the horse came down the slope, though she must have heard it. He did what he always did. 

He spoke first and he spoke down. "Old Grandmother", he said, "is this water good?" 

"It is the best water in the woods", she said without turning. "It is the best water in either kingdom. Kings and queens have drunk from it". 

 "Then draw me a cup". 

She turned then and looked at him, and he saw her eyes, and something in him that had never been afraid of anything went cold, and did not know why. 

"I will draw you a cup," she said, "if you will give me something for it." 

He laughed. It was a good laugh. People had told him so. "Name it," he said. 

 "Give me your word," she said. "Not gold, not the ring on your hand. Your word. Promise me one thing, and you may drink". "What thing?" 

She held out the cup, and it was full, though he had not seen her draw it, and the water in it was so clear that he could see the grain of the wood through it. 

"Promise me," she said "that when someone who can do nothing for you asks you for kindness, you will give it. That is all. One promise. Then drink." 

And here is the moment. Here is the whole of Prince Anselm's life in a single breath. He could have said yes. It would have cost him nothing. She was holding the cup out to him and he was thirsty and the water was the clearest thing he had ever seen. But she was old and she was hideous and she was nobody and she had told him what to do. 

He reached down from the saddle and took the cup out of her hands and drank it dry and dropped it on the stones at her feet and said, 

 "I do not make promises to beggars. Tell me the way to the eastern road and I will see you paid." She looked at the cup on the ground. 

She did not pick it up. "You have drunk," she said. "And you have not promised. I told you I do not promise beggars. Then you will learn what it is to need one," she said. 

And she stood up. He would say afterwards when there was anyone to say it to that he did not remember getting down from the horse and did not remember the horse going and did not remember the words she used only that she used a great many and that they came out of her in a voice that was not old at all. 

He remembered the tree going up and up above him like a green wall. He remembered his own hands and that there was something wrong with them...

Then we move into a nearby kingdom with a widowed king and his three daughters. The eldest, the crown princess Edda, is already married to a northern duke and has a daughter of her own (I headcanon her as being in her thirties like me). The youngest, Adela, is OBVIOUSLY our heroine / protagonist, a bratty but physically adorable teenager.

But my absolute FAVOURITE is Irmgard, the second / middle sister, in her twenties, described as "kind and plain and clever," you can see why I identify with her! Why can't Irmgard be the protagonist? Why can't we have plain and clever heroines? Why is the heroine often the cute but ditzy youngest child? Doesn't a clever prince need an equally clever heroine (as in the Fourth Story of the Snow Queen) here as well?

Here I add how TMA characterises Irmgard:


The second was Irmgard, who was kind and clever and plain and knew that she was plain and had made her peace with it in the way that clever people do by becoming the one everybody relied on. 

Irmgard had asked her (Adela) at breakfast. The envoys from the north were coming in 2 days and there were 40 beds to make ready. 

And Irmgard, who did everything in that castle that nobody else remembered to do, had looked across the table at her younger sister and said, "Will you help me this morning?" 

 And Adela had then got up from the table and picked up her golden ball and walked out through the little gate on the woods side without a backward glance. And Irmgard had watched her go and had not said anything because there was no point.

sábado, 26 de septiembre de 2026

SARA BOERO at last does OSCAR WILDE

Fairytale and folklore youtuber Extraordinaire Sara Boero has FINALLY covered Oscar Wilde's literary tales and THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK - most importantly she mentions MY FAVOURITE OSCAR WILDE CHARACTER, only known as "Her Lover" (fans of this blog will know him in more detail and get to know why he deserves so much platonic worship), but sadly she does ONLY mention him (with a synonym of the word used in the official, canon Italian translation (but NOT his personality or his ABSOLUTELY FIRE only sentence, that he says while stargazing on a royal palace balcony with his girlfriend, "the Loveliest of the Queen's Maids of Honour" AKA "A Beautiful Girl."

To quote Sara Boero:

... il vestito per una damigella della regina.

... vede anche la damigella del re col suo innamorato, che si lamenta del fatto che la cucitrice è pigra e non le è ancora finito il vestito. Wild non cielo dice, ma secondo me tanto che in aria le sgancia un ricordino in testa è sottointeso.

Note, she says "il suo innamorato" though the original Italian translation has "il suo spasimante": a synonym for "innamorato", but a more elevated, literary word, and most importantly SARA BOERO ONLY MENTIONS HIM, LOWING OUT the words that this innamorato or spasimante says while stargazing with his court lady ladylove on that palace balcony. To quote the official Italian translation:

... i guanti di satin che le più graziose damigelle della Regina indosseranno al prossimo ballo di corte.

Vicino ad un palazzo se sentì la musica di una sala da ballo. Una bellissima ragazza uscì sul balcone con il suo spasimante. 
"Che meraviglia le stelle - le disse lui, - meraviglioso il potere dell'Amore!" 
"Spero che il mio vestito sia pronto in tempo per il ballo di Stato - intervenne la ragazza, - ho ordinato che vi venissero ricamate alcune passiflore; " 

Let those words he says sink in "Che meraviglia le stelle (- le disse lui, -) meraviglioso il potere dell'Amore!":  Or, in Wilde's English:

"How wonderful the stars are," (he said to her,) "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

Let it sink in again. The character only known as "Her Lover" is romantic and passionate (and also young, wealthy, and idealistic, no matter how straight he is). Note that it's "he said to her" and NOT "she said to him; ("le disse lui" and NOT "le disse lei)" Her Lover transcends gender roles (while, in this same fairytale, the little matchgirl's dad physically abuses her, the Mayor only wants more statues raised to himself, and the Maths Professor only thinks about numbers and equations - Her Lover is a monument to the sensitive guy who transcends gender roles, and he RIGHTFULLY DESERVES to be my favourite Oscar Wilde character in all of his opus, in spite of only having one cameo appearance and saying only one sentence - but ISN'T THAT SENTENCE FIRE?

PS. Another Italian translation has "innamorato" instead of "spasimante" instead:

un abito di raso che la più bella tra le damigelle d'onore della Regina indosserà al prossimo ballo di Corte. 

domingo, 13 de septiembre de 2026

CLEFAIRY and the MACARENA

 Not long ago, Karambolage released an episode on the Macarena, choreography and all (in case you had forgotten), the floodgates of Millennial nostalgia rushed open within me, and I remembered a reference to it in the Western dubs of the Pokémon anime:


This is the localisation of the Pokémon (Indigo League) episode "Clefairy and the Moonstone":

...

– Ash: (Trying to translate what Pikachu’s saying) “These Clefairy collect all these rocks and……do the Macarena!”

 Ah the Macarena. That won’t ever get dated.

......

(Pikachu seizes a strand of Ash's hair)

– Misty: “What rhymes with 'hair'?”

Brock: “Hey, how about ‘prayer’?” 

Yes, everyone, there was a time when 4Kids would actually mention religion. 

*******

4Kids Entertainment English dub (the basis for all Western dubs of Kanto and Johto) of Pokémon Indigo League (Season 1, Episode 6: "Clefairy and the Moonstone" In this episode, Ash's Pikachu tries to explain to Ash and the gang what the Clefairy are doing by using charades. Because the original Japanese script relied on heavy cultural references and wordplay, 4Kids had to completely reinvent the dialogue. 

💃 The Dance: Obon vs. the Macarena

Original Japanese: Ash guesses that the Clefairy are performing an Obon Dance (Bon Odori), a traditional dance performed during the Japanese Obon festival to honor the spirits of the dead. 4Kids English Dub: Since Western kids in the late '90s wouldn't know what Obon was, 4Kids had Ash guess that the Clefairy "collect all these rocks and... do the Macarena!" (referencing the massive '90s Spanish dance craze)

🧎‍♂️ The Prayer: Kami vs. Hair/Prayer

Original Japanese: Pikachu pulls out a single strand of Ash's hair. In Japanese, the word for hair is Kami (髪). Ash shouts "My hair!", which prompts Brock to realize that Kami is a homophone for the Japanese word for God/Spirit/Deity (神, Kami). This is how they figure out the Clefairy are praying. 

4Kids completely cut out the Shinto/religious reference. Instead, they turned it into a simple rhyming game. When Pikachu pulls Ash's hair, Misty asks, "What rhymes with hair?" and Brock replies, "Hey, how about 'prayer'?" 

Leading them to deduce that the Clefairy are praying to the Moonstone. 1

It stands as one of the most clever—and hilariously dated—linguistic pivots from the early days of anime localization!

I recall having watched this episode in Valencian, in Spanish, and in Swedish and wondering if it was the Macarena or another dance in the original!


Andersen - a Catholic church in Spain

 Andersen, "Story of the Dunes." Here a Nordic cabin boy enters a Catholic church in Andalusia, most surely in Málaga where the author had lived for a while. The culture shock between the Baroque Catholic atmosphere --colourful pictures in golden frames and backgrounds, the Virgin with Child surrounded by candles and bouquets of flowers, the ornate vestments of priests and choirboys-- and the simple foreign cabin boy is described as "glory and beauty" (herlighet og pragt) - Andersen, as a good Romantic, is not appalled by Catholicism, nor does he demonise it, rather he finds it exotic and exciting and beautiful!: 

Suddenly he saw before him the mighty portals of a cathedral, with lights streaming out through the twilight of the colonnades, and the fragrance of incense saluting him. Even the poorest beggar in rags could venture to climb those stairs and enter. The sailor who had taken Jörgen ashore went into the church; Jörgen followed, and soon he stood in the sanctuary. Coloured pictures glowed out from golden backgrounds; amid flowers and candles at the altar he beheld the Blessed Virgin holding the Holy Child; priests in their vestments were chanting, while pretty choirboys swung silver censers. What magnificence he saw there! All this glory and beauty, streaming into Jörgen's soul, nearly overpowered him. The church and the faith of his forefathers surrounded him and awakened a chord in his soul, causing tears to come to his eyes. (Jean Hersholt)

Jurgen hardly knew where he was, or which way he went, till he found himself in front of the mighty portal of a cathedral. Light streamed through the dark aisles, and a fragrance of incense was wafted towards him; yet the poorest beggar could venture up the steps into the shrine. Jurgen followed the sailor who was with him into the church, and stood in the sacred edifice. Pictures in golden frames were before him; on the altar stood a figure ot the Virgin, with the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive robes were chanting, and choir-boys, clothed in white, swung the silver censers. What splendour, what magnificence, was here! It streamed in upon his soul, and overpowered him, The church and the faith of his parents touched a chord in his heart, that caused his eyes to overflow with tears. (Victorian translation)

Jörgen estaba completamente desconcertado. De pronto vio ante sí la gran puerta de la catedral. Brillaban luces en la penumbra de las naves, y el aroma del incienso impregnaba el aire. Hasta el mendigo más desharrapado podía subir la escalinata y entrar. El marinero a quien acompañaba Jörgen penetró también en la catedral, y con él entró nuestro mocito. Cuadros de rico colorido destacaban radiantes del fondo dorado. La Virgen con el Niño Jesús aparecía entronizada en el altar, entre flores y cirios, cantaban los sacerdotes, con sus capas de oro y seda, y hermosos monaguillos, ricamente revestidos, agitaban incensarios de plata. ¡Qué magnificencia! Jörgen se sentía subyugado. La iglesia y la fe de sus padres produjeron en él una impresión singular e hicieron sonar en su alma un acorde que le llenó de lágrimas los ojos.

 Da saae han lige foran sig Domkirkens mægtige portal, lysene straalede ud fra de halvdunkle hvælvinger, og der kom en duft af røgelse. Selv den fattigste tigger i pjalter vovede sig op ad trappen derind. Matrosen, som Jørgen fulgte med, lagde veien gjennem kirken, og Jørgen stod i helligdommen. Brogede billeder straalede fra gylden grund. Gudsmoder med Jesubarnet stod paa altaret mellem blomster og lys; præster i høitidsklæder sang, og smukke, pyntede chordrenge svingede sølv-røgelsekar; det var en herlighed, en pragt at see, det gjennemstrømmede Jørgens sjæl, overvældede ham; hans forældres kirke og tro omsluttede ham og slog en ackord i hans sjæl, saa taarer stod ham i øinene. (Original, H.C. Andersen)

martes, 8 de septiembre de 2026

MAL ME SIENTO (Magnus Uggla Filkslation)

 MAL ME SIENTO

Una tradufilk (traducción + filk) de Magnus Uggla

por Sandra Dermark

08 / 09 / MMXXVI

**********

Con una Bella Easo,

mi móvil y mi vaso,

me siento sola en el McCafé

mirando a vocalistas,

súper stars y artistas

que caen en el salseo y el cliché...

Así es...

hurgando en el abismo de la red social,

como ves,

yo busco escape de mi vida nada ideal...

Entre tareas y abusones,

que me tocan los cojones,

no puedo ni escoger lo que comer,

y ni siquiera salir fuera,

¿y si me atropellan,

o hago pis en la calle y me ven?

En el gram,

¿quién se divorcia o quién se casa o es infiel?

¿o quién es gay?

Y mientras tanto el mundo gira, como ven...

************

Mal me siento,

mal me siento,

cuando me encuentro en la paella un pimiento

y más una cabeza de conejo

feo y viejo,

¡aaagh qué mal me siento!

Mal me siento,

mal me siento,

cuando me hablan en inglés con un acento

y no hay vocales largas pa' distinguir

la beach de bitch o ship de sheep

¡y me revuelvo dentro como un calcetín!

******************

Me toca los ovarios, rezo un mental rosario

con el perreo y con el reguetón,

se ve que ahora un par de tetas

son más que cien carretas

y esos letristas son sin ton ni son...

¡Ay qué cruz!

La Gozadera, el Sin Pijama y Kenny G...

¡Ved la luz!

A esos gurriatos ni una perla lanzaré...

************************

Mal me siento,

mal me siento,

cuando ese hedor a atún en lata lleva el viento,

peor que la comida para gatos,

en el plato,

¡aaagh, qué mal me siento!

Mal me siento,

mal me siento,

cuando he de esperar y el tiempo sólo pasa lento,

y no puedo tener ni una distracción,

¡entonces yo cruzó mi límite

y saco el móvil sin más dilación!

*****************

La crisis del año es lo más extraño:

cuando Eurovisión

se fue sin decir adiós,

por Israel y la guerra

que devasta la Tierra:

¡al menos en Valencia

tengo la tele sueca!

********************

Mal me siento,

mal me siento

cuando me dicen que la Rowling es "de cuento",

(ironía)

cuando oigo que odia a los transexuales,

¡qué bestiales!

¡Aaaagh, que mal me siento!

Mal me siento,

mal me siento,

y en esta letra expreso mi resentimiento,

y esto es sólo el pico del iceberg...

¡Esto es Sodoma y Gomorra

y en el mundo hay que ver para creer!