La Paca on the Screen: Between Fascination and Responsibility

La Paca on the Screen: Between Fascination and Responsibility

On May 29 the film "Mallorca confidencial" by David Ilundain opens in Spanish cinemas. The story, which loosely recalls the life of Francisca Cortés Picazo, is no coincidence: a well-known figure from the island's drug scene becomes a screen character. Filming took place in Mallorca, the lead role is played by Lolita Flores (named La Chusa), and Asia Ortega, Elena Furiase and Jordi Sánchez also appear. The Mallorcan company Cinètica and Inicia Films produced it, with participation from public broadcaster RTVE and Movistar Plus. The film will be shown in advance at the Málaga Festival and on Tuesday the Auditori de Peguera already plans a preview with cast and production participants.

Key question: Does the film depict reality—or present a crime as spectacle?

This is the simple but bitter question many people on the island will ask. Filmmakers say they are telling a free adaptation, not a documentary. Legally, that is safer ground. Journalistically and socially, however, that answer is not sufficient. When material linked to Son Banya and a criminal structure that operated for decades is put in bright spotlights, it changes how the public engages with the subject. Cinemas seep into everyday life: conversations in the café on the Passeig, commutes along Avinguda Argentina, events such as the Night Pilgrimage to Lluc: Tradition, Traffic and the Exposed Problems, the subject suddenly becomes talk among commuters and beach vendors.

The film brings familiar facts back to mind: that the woman the story is based on was long regarded as the matriarch of a drug clan; that Son Banya became known as a hub for trafficking; that investigations uncovered cash in the millions and contacts with corrupt officials; and that criminal convictions and multi-year prison sentences initiated the collapse of the empire. All of this belongs to the historical basis. At the same time, there is a difference between soberly working through these events and packaging them as a dramatic relationship plot for cinema audiences.

What is conspicuously quiet in the public debate is easy to list: the voices of victims, of families, of Son Banya residents who suffered stigma and poverty; the long-standing social problems that create room for criminal networks in the first place; and the perspectives of those who face drugs, prostitution or gang crime in everyday life. Often such details are deliberately left in the shadows in films because they disrupt dramaturgy.

There are practical consequences: a film can spark curiosity, romanticization or even empathy. But it can also cement myths. On an island that cares deeply about its image, this is not a trivial phenomenon. Mallorca lives from tourism and local networks. A popular crime film that reproduces images of certain neighborhoods and families does not only hit the screens but also mailbox fronts, market squares and schoolyards.

A small everyday scene: in the morning at the Mercado del Olivar, as vendors stack the first oranges, a baker talks with a taxi driver about whether the film is worth seeing; markets such as the Santa Catalina: Market Between Everyday Life and Performance show how market life is at once ordinary and public spectacle. An older man shakes his head: "Why dig that up again?" In Son Banya itself, walking along the narrow streets, you hear children playing and neighbors calling out—completely ordinary sounds. This normality is rarely captured in the glaring light of big productions.

So what is specifically missing from the discussion? First: a forum for those affected. Second: transparency about dramaturgical decisions—why names were changed, which events were dramatized. Third: a serious debate about whether artistic freedom here may come at the expense of historical responsibility. Fourth: a plan for how revenues could be used if the film is successful.

Concrete proposals can be made without falling into outrage: cinemas should display content warnings before screenings and inform audiences that the film is a fictionalized portrayal. Filmmakers and producers could organize public discussions with representatives from Son Banya, victim support groups, social workers and academics—preferably locally in Peguera, Palma and directly in the affected neighborhoods. Part of the proceeds could be earmarked for projects that support prevention, youth services and employment opportunities. Schools could receive accompanying materials to help with historical and social context. Authorities should take the opportunity to present investigation documents and reform steps in an accessible way to prevent speculation; cases such as the Decay on the Promenade: The Espigol Apartments in Can Picafort and the Question of Responsibility illustrate how tourism and neglect intersect.

These are pragmatic measures, not theatrical speeches. Cinema halls are not courtrooms, but they are public spaces that carry responsibility. If we allow entertainment to override memory, we make it harder for those who suffered from the drug economy to be heard.

Conclusion: "Mallorca confidencial" can be a good film. It can also be an occasion to ask uncomfortable questions and take concrete action. The island has enough real problems that they should not be filmed over without giving those affected a voice. Avoiding that is not only an artistic lapse but a moral one as well.