I must confess to a shameful addiction. If you have Netflix, you can succumb as well, if you’re inclined that way. It’s Gran Hotel.
They call it the Spanish Downton Abbey, and in many ways it is—the period costumes, (complete with corsets), the rigid class distinctions, the multi-generational story lines. But it’s darker, more melodramatic. Family secrets are turfed out like ants from an anthill. Bodies drop in almost every episode, and not from car wrecks or natural causes as in the tepid Downton Abbey. Nearly everyone is some kind of murderer. And it’s all built around a charming love story between the married heiress to the hotel (Amaia Salamanca) and the hero, a handsome waiter (Yon Gonzalez). Muy Guapo, Yon Gonzalez. Possibly the prettiest young man I’ve ever seen.
As you can tell, I’m learning a little Spanish while I binge-watch this rip-snorter, which is subtitled in English. Already I’ve learned five or six words. By the time I get to the last episode—number 66, I think—I’ll be bilingual.
You’re saying, why doesn’t she get busy and write something herself? Hey, I’m studying. What is it that makes Gran Hotel impossible to turn away from? If I can discover their secret, I can write thrillers that nobody can put down, right? Anyway the week after Easter is a time to goof off and vacate. But that isn’t what I’m up to. No. I’m working. I’m studying. Here’s what I’ve discovered, the formula for a riveting and compelling story:
First of all the characters have to be interesting, varied, and deep. The plot twists have to be dizzying. And the writers must have no qualms about hurting people. No punches are to be pulled here.
So that’s how you do it. I’m going to go forth and do likewise, as soon as I find out about the affair between the Marquesa and the priest, and whether the inspector ever discovers that the maitre d’ is the serial killer. And the explosion. I think there’s an explosion coming. I’m going back and watch some more. Con su permiso.