María is 29 years old. Far from impressed with herself, she is addicted to cocaine and parties way too hard. On the cusp of turning 30, she believes she has nothing to offer.
As Cardo begins, we follow María, played by co-creator Ana Rujas, on a Sunday night path of self-annihilation in nightspots around Madrid. We’re given the briefest of snippets into her troubled past, via mini flashbacks which jolt María back to the present. Rather than shake her awake for very long, though, her eyes quickly glaze over again and she preoccupies herself with social media, mindlessly scrolling through her feed or posting selfies from her car crash of a life.
Her humiliations seem to be a habit she’s become accustomed to. Then she has an actual crash, in which her passenger, the older Santiago (Alberto San Juan), is thrown from her motorbike. It lands him in hospital and her with legal troubles. It’s the wake-up call she needs, and deep down, she realises it, her faded faith in God gently throwing an arm around her.
But – and this is one of the many attributes that make the show so true to life – she continues to stumble, repeating patterns of self-destructive behaviour. Rather than realise she has the means to repair the tatters of her life, she tells no one of the crash and shoves her guilt down. She instigates encounters with Gabriel (Diego Ibáñez), Santiago’s son, despite the fact that a relationship with him would make things exponentially worse for herself.
Co-creator Ana Rujas as María in ‘Cardo’. Source: Buendía Estudios
There is no shortage of people who care about her and would help her, including her flatmate Bego (Clara Sans), who checks on her and includes her in social gatherings in between enjoying a thriving sex and love life, and Puri (Juani Ruiz), an ailing florist who she has begun to work with in her shop, giving her life a thread of stability. Puri is especially dedicated to helping María turn her life around as her son died of an overdose at her age.
Nevertheless, María floats along in a bubble of separation, most notably from herself. Letting no one in, she tears herself apart with worry over whether Santiago will get out of hospital.
Rujas is raw and ever so honest in her depiction of an attractive young woman itching to remove herself from self, squirming in discomfort and crying out for recognition from others, but not allowing herself recognition, other than in derogatory terms – the show’s title is a Spanish term used to denigrate women considered ugly.
Gabriel (Diego Ibáñez) with María (Ana Rujas). Source: Buendía Estudios
Talking about its creation, Cardo arose “from a need, a hunger… to be able to express myself openly, to create something that was honest, beyond all other considerations.”
Rujas starred in a play she co-wrote with Bárbara Mestanza called The Ugliest Women in the World, in which they explored similar themes of rejecting one’s own attractiveness in the context of figuring out who you are and trying to drown out the noise of social expectations and conventions.
María (Ana Rujas) in Madrid. Source: Buendía Estudios
Cardo came next, Rujas’ first foray into television, and the show was met with wide acclaim in Spain, winning best series at Premios Feroz, Spain’s TV awards. Variety magazine also listed Cardo as one of its best international TV shows for 2021, and it’s easy to see why.
Co-creator and director of four episodes of Cardo (Lluís Sellarès directed the other two), Claudia Costafreda about women of her and Rujas’ generation, which certainly speaks to María’s struggle: “We didn’t know how to manage relationships with ourselves, others or with our own self-esteem.”
Overwhelmed by her circumstances and the legal and other consequences of the motorbike accident, María finds it easier to drag others down rather than lift herself up. She falls back on tempting her best friend Eva (Ana Telenti), who is engaged to be married and works at a successful beauty salon, to return to their drugging and partying lifestyle, and in her archetypal Lover, María leans heavily on her expression as the Temptress – it’s where she feels safest.
María at work. Source: Buendía Estudios
But even so, the universe supports María with her every ‘wrong’ turn, incrementally lifting her up while seeming to bring her down.
This is a true to life portrait of a woman from women creators who’ve made a visceral show full of exuberance and heart, a smelly depiction of a messy and beautiful life.
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