Just seven years earlier, a group of fascist soldiers had stormed the Spanish Congress (the 23-F coup attempt). The “policeman”—the military—had almost returned. Meanwhile, the democratic government was fragile, and ETA terrorism was at its peak.
When the performance ends, Carmela is taken away and executed. She dies not for a political slogan, but for a punchline. Why did this film explode in 1988? Because Spain was living its own version of the sketch.
The answer, of course, is tragic. In the film, the policeman is always there—just offstage, holding a rifle. But the question isn't meant to be answered. It’s meant to be asked. Because in a democracy, the right to ask where authority is, is the only authority that matters.
The genius of the scene is that the actors on screen suddenly realize they aren't acting anymore. By asking where the authority is, they have summoned it. The real violence—the real policeman—waits in the wings.
Then comes the bit.
Then came Carlos Saura’s black comedy, ¡Ay, Carmela! And in the middle of a tragic war story, two starving performers asked a simple, devastating question: The Setup: Comedy in Hell For those who haven’t seen it, the film follows Carmela (Carmen Maura) and Paulino (Andrés Pajares), a pair of second-rate vaudeville performers trapped behind Nationalist lines during the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939). Forced to put on a propaganda show for a fascist commander, they decide to improvise.
Carmela dies for a laugh. But in 1988, and ever since, that laugh has echoed louder than any fascist anthem. The actress Carmen Maura later said that during the filming of the execution scene, the entire crew wept. But every time Saura yelled “cut,” someone would shout “¿Y dónde está el policía?” and the tension would break. It was their survival mechanism. Their ay, Carmela .
Spanish audiences watching ¡Ay, Carmela! weren’t just watching history. They were watching a mirror. They asked themselves: Where is the policeman today? Is he gone, or just hiding?