It’s no surprise they call it “the monster,” because what a freak phenomenon it is. Over its 64 years, it has become not only an event that forces us to communicate around a common theme but also a spectacle that expresses our own state of the art as a nation. Apart from its interactive nature, I can’t think of another place where the audience has the power to bring someone down from the stage purely with boos.

The Viña del Mar Festival is our Super Bowl, our Oscars, our Eurovision, and at the same time, the 50th anniversary of Saturday Night Live.

Am I exaggerating? I don’t think so. Because here’s why…

 

Our Super Bowl

Instead of sports, there’s an exotic range of artists (from Incubus to Bacilos) with the halftime show featuring the best of local comedy. Just like those Super Bowl performances, it’s a reflection of our state of affairs. For example, if there’s a racial conflict in the U.S., you’ll probably see rap artists. When pop and MTV ruled the world, there was Michael Jackson. Does everything feel like it means nothing? Then there’s Janet and Justin losing their minds. It’s the same with our comedy.

In Chile:

• Social unrest? Record-breaking ratings with Kramer representing everyone.

• Dictatorship? There was Checho.

• New times? All the stand-up comedians.

• Openness? Avello.

• New Chile? The sad back-and-forth between the hosts and the friend from Venezuela.

It’s our own communicational thermometer.

Side note: All brands launch their annual campaigns in this space, just like during the Super Bowl. New creative concepts, exotic ways of product placement (remember the applause meter or the launch of Machos, among many others?).

 

Our Oscars

First, the speeches. If someone has something to say, they’ll say it on that stage—no doubt. Then there’s that oddity we call the “Gala,” our own version of the red carpet. It’s the day we forget all about the sins of our local flora and fauna for a parade (this year, an endless one). And let’s not underestimate what this means in terms of communication: if Chile is in turmoil, it gets canceled. In a more gossip-filled Chile, we displayed jewelry in boxes, and with a straight face, the hosts would throw epithets like: “No, she doesn’t have the body for that dress” (today that would be called body-shaming).

Our Eurovision

A kitsch competition, usually inconsequential, but when it manages to grab attention, it does so big time. We know exactly what the milestones are (Let Me Try Again, El Tiempo en las Bastillas, among others), along with the looks, the styles, the lyrics… If we paid more attention, we would be surprised by everything they reveal about the Chile we live in.

Our SNL50

I might be a bit naïve here. We wish we had the budget and creativity that Saturday Night Live displays, but look at this: every year, they resurrect characters from the past—figures from morning shows, late-night talk shows, or prime-time TV—that are part of the show’s memorabilia.

On the other hand, there’s this infinite compilation of archive footage that we know by heart, but every year reminds us that it was here where we adopted Mike Patton as one of our own and where Xuxa experienced the worst of what we had to offer.

 

But What Can I Say?

In the end, I’m always there. After all, my first job as a creative director was a presentation with a giant eye (was it 2001?), which led me to the culture section of El Mercurio, and from there, everything else.

Viña either catapults you or sinks you. It’s a communications milestone that (without much strategy) shows us year after year the Chile we live in. But it also serves a key purpose: it reminds us all that we are in the final stretch, that this is the end of the break. And that is indeed strategic.

We see that Viña is coming, and we know that the monster called March is just around the corner. It’s more effective than any time change, electric rate hike, or weather shift.

Viña is here, the end of your break is near, so take advantage of this last splash of Chilean entertainment to let your mind soak it all in.