You will no doubt remember Hitchcock’s expression. A McGuffin is a plot excuse (a box, a necklace, some documents, anything), which serves to prop up the plot, but whose real importance is null. In other words, it is a harmless and painless occupation that entertains the viewer while the world marches on the other side. Is the question of the recently aborted motions of no confidence a McGuffin? Certainly yes. Did Doña Irene Montero become a McGuffin when she appeared on television as an odd commentator? It cannot be ruled out. Is it a McGuffin sending a warship to Gibraltar by Mr. Johnson? What a doubt. It also seems that the Andalusian PP is looking for its McGuffin among official candidacies and those of the others. And we do not reveal anything to the reader if we define the Catalan Government, still in its seed, as a huge and flowery McGuffin with a barretina.
Be that as it may, the use of McGuffin has become so widespread in this pandemic hour that it is difficult for us to clear up the present and return to what matters. My favorite McGuffin, because it could appear in any 20th century history book, is the one that concerns Mr. Johnson. To the “pale flock” of internal problems: the economy, the coronavirus, the Brexi, a future plebiscite for Scotland, the response arbitrated by the prime minister has been none other than to appeal to nationalism. They could also have sidestepped the matter with a timely appearance from Nessie. But since the old and unlikely plesiosaur is Scottish, perhaps Don Boris has feared that he will be accused of “cultural appropriation”, as when Rosalía sings for Los Chunguitos. The point, finally, is that the current crossroads has been veiled by an enormous number of matters whose importance is secondary. We all have a very strong opinion about Rociíto’s drama. But no one could tell us, with any certainty, when and how many elderly people will be vaccinated, if at all, in the coming weeks.
There is no doubt that the matritenses elections are more entertaining than the unemployment statistics (if the SEPE virus has not also erased the statistics); but, at some point, our authorities would do well to take care of us a little. As Hitchcock recalled, the McGuffin is nothing more than “a trap for hunting lions in Scotland.” To which you might astutely reply that there were never lions in Scotland. “Then, Don Alfred would qualify him, that over there is not a McGuffin.”
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