Snug atop a bed together, my grandmother and I greeted Saturday nights by tuning in to Sábado Gigante, a variety show that aired on the Latin American channel Univision. Our weekend ritual included fluffing pillows, turning down the venetian blinds, and transforming the space into a cozy oasis. As a child, I romanticized everything my grandmother preferred: instant coffee, regional Mexican music, steamy telenovelas, and her biggest source of laughs—Sábado Gigante.
Carribean Fragoza weaves a story around the show in her short story collection, Eat the Mouth That Feeds You. In “Sábado Gigante,” Fragoza describes the show as “Jerry Springer, Miss Latin America, National Geographic, Comedy Central, The Price is Right, Star Search and a burlesque show all at once, strung together by catchy jingles for Colgate, Kraft, and McDonalds, which the entire audience sings and dances together [to] during three hours of gospel-like reverie.” As I read her astute description, my eyes widened. Here was a truth about my childhood that I was unprepared to face: this staple of Latin American entertainment, this beacon of culture, was, among other things, undeniably lowbrow.
Yet, it would be reductive to say that Fragoza’s story is simply a scathing indictment of this legendary television landmark. Rather, she provides an insider’s perspective. The reader follows Emmanuel, an aspiring musician who hopes to win the singing-competition part of the show. Having grown up in a single-parent household, Emmanuel strives to break into show business and finally be able to provide for his mother.
My childhood logic contended that anyone appearing on TV, however briefly, had achieved fame. To perform in front of a studio audience and to have it broadcast around the globe, I believed, was itself proof of celebrity. With aching clarity, Fragoza demonstrates, though, that one musician’s lifelong aspirations amount to little more than public spectacle on the show. To display his talents, Emmanuel must contend with not only other contestants but also the show’s gatekeepers. The first gatekeeper is Don Francisco, the bawdy host, who degrades contestants with quick insults and inappropriate sexual advances. One of his sidekicks is El Chacal, an ominous figure in a black robe who blasts a trumpet to signal a contestant’s failure. When I googled El Chacal after reading the story, my stomach began to ache. My childhood memory had erased him entirely, a sign that his existence had been too brutal for my younger self. El Chacal was, in no uncertain terms, the grim reaper of showbiz dreams.
For this now-defunct show to succeed, Fragoza suggests, audience members and contestants alike had to warp their own perceptions. While I innocently anticipated watching Sábado Gigante with my grandmother, oblivious to the gatekeepers’ offensive behavior, Emmanuel, the story’s protagonist, convinces himself that he has a shot to win it all. He romanticizes his own success and starts to consider himself a younger Juan Gabriel, an internationally acclaimed Mexican singer.
Emmanuel’s rosy yet impractical expectations start to divide his life into distinct sections—the before and after of his rise to fame. His early life was shaped by his father’s disappearance, which he tells us “always made him feel so lonely and unwanted.” The descriptions surrounding his father’s abandonment are bleak and hellish, causing readers to root for his success.
Ascending to fame is Emmanuel’s ultimate desire, but to attain such a heavenly state, he must first pass through the trials of purgatory. In this case, the show Sábado Gigante is that holding place, the stage upon which dreams are made or shattered. Fragoza reveals that the show’s tests of talent are rigged. Even Emmanuel himself admits that he “sings and dances because he knows that some things need to change in this world, like who calls the shots in music and TV.” In this moment, he understands the limitations to this pathway to stardom. He acknowledges that he might not actually be on the cusp of launching his career. As I reached the point in the story where Emmanuel finally recognizes the scam that is Sábado Gigante, I also realized that this show, emblazoned in my memories as funny, was, in fact, mean-spirited and tasteless. This popular Saturday-night tradition that garnered thousands of laughs per episode did so at the expense of decency.
Luckily for readers, Fragoza doesn’t conclude on such a somber note. What follows can be described only as karma or a comedy of errors. Don Francisco himself is attacked, El Chacal and the producers left to clean up the on-air chaos. Fragoza lifts the veil on this cultural keystone and dismantles Sábado Gigante’s role as a career launchpad. Emmanuel accomplishes his goal of singing his heart out to an audience who applaud him, yet his career isn’t catapulted that night. Despite his televised loss, we learn that Emmanuel is “sated, complete.” He is an artist of integrity. What chance did authentic talent have in a fun house of ridicule? How can anyone be hailed the winner if the price is their dignity?•
Join us on December 21 at 5 p.m., when Fragoza will appear in conversation with California Book Club host John Freeman and a special guest to discuss Eat the Mouth That Feeds You. Register for the Zoom conversation here.
