Ricardo Darín: The day Jaén opened its heart to him (and the curious reason behind his Eternauta hoodie moment)

There are some actors who feel so much like our own that it's hard to believe they weren't born here. But with Ricardo Darín, it goes beyond just public affection. A few days ago, Jaén gave him one of those welcomes you don't forget, making official what many of us in Andalusia have felt for years: that Darín, though Argentine by birth, has been one of us for decades. The city where he was born —yes, born, because the actor came into the world in Buenos Aires but his family roots meant he set foot in Jaén long before he became the giant he is today— has named him a favourite son. And the ceremony, far from being a formal procedure, had that touch of heartfelt, unscripted emotion he so often brings to the screen.

I was there, mingling with the crowd that gathered in the square. It wasn't a massive event, but it was intense. There was a curious twist: many of us there weren't just wearing our Sunday best; there was an unexpected fashion statement. Suddenly, you'd see kids, but also blokes in their sixties, sporting hoodies with prints that looked like they'd jumped straight out of a comic strip. It was the shadow of El Eternauta. That masterpiece that Ricardo brought to the screen with that blend of solemnity and grit only he can pull off. The curious thing was, the trend wasn't just any hoodie; it was the oversized El Eternauta hoodie, the piece that's become the unofficial uniform of the modern cinephile. And I'm not talking about a cheap knock-off, but those statement design series T-shirts that seem to shout, "I was in the bunker" or "I know what resistance means."

The day Jaén went Argentine (without losing a bit of its soul)

The tribute had a reading that I think is brilliant. Jaén, a province that sometimes suffers from being overlooked by the media, decided to embrace Darín's figure to talk about itself. Because it turns out the actor's father, Ricardo Darín (yes, the father was also called Ricardo, and was also an actor), had a very strong connection to Jaén. During the event, a fragment of a letter was read where the elder Darín spoke of Jaén as "that place I always want to return to." And the son, with that signature deliberate pause of his, took the mic and said something that rang profoundly true: "My old man taught me to love this place. It's not that I'm here for a visit, it's that I'm coming home."

The list of sponsors for this curious tourism initiative —because yes, there's also a strategy to attract visitors, but done with the elegance of not seeming like it— included everyone. From the mayor, who confessed to having seen Nine Queens eight times, to the owner of a bar in the centre who put up a photo of Darín next to one of his grandfather. The key is they've understood that Darín's cinema (that cinema of complex characters and ambiguous morals) fits perfectly with the Andalusian character. We're not so different, after all: we both have a reputation for talking loudly, for solving things with wit rather than rulebooks, and for holding grudges with a smile.

• The father-son connection: The elder Ricardo Darín was a pillar of Argentine entertainment, but it was in Jaén he found a family refuge that his son has kept alive. That emotional legacy was what was being celebrated.
• The Truman phenomenon: Although the day was about the official tribute, scenes from that film kept coming up. Because, let's be honest, when you think of Darín and male friendship, you think of Julián and Tomás.
• The Eternauta fashion trend: It's no coincidence that in Jaén's shops, after the event, the oversized hoodies with the iconic phrase "Who are you guys?" sold out. The series has made the literary become aesthetic, and Chino Darín, who was also present (though more low-key), was fascinated by how his father's character has evolved in popular culture.

The best part is that this recognition isn't a full stop, but more of a "let's see what else we can come up with." I know for a fact they're already planning a cinema route through the places where the elder Darín spent his last seasons in Spain, and I understand they might put up a plaque on the street where he used to stay. Meanwhile, the young people of Jaén have adopted the aesthetic of the Argentine sci-fi hero with astonishing ease. You walk through the Alameda and see kids in those statement design series T-shirts that blend retro typography with the drawing of the helmeted figure, and you realise Ricardo Darín has achieved something few manage: a city honours him, but he, in turn, has unintentionally given the city a layer of modern identity and pride.

In the end, when the official photo was being taken, Darín took off his jacket. Underneath he was wearing a black T-shirt with the El Eternauta logo. It wasn't a publicity stunt. It was the gesture of a guy who knows his job isn't just to entertain, but also to be a symbol people can latch onto. Jaén, which has never needed big spotlights to feel important, returned the embrace. And those of us there left with the feeling we'd witnessed something bigger than a simple appointment. It was like seeing a local who went far away and came back a winner, but still asks for the local wine as if he'd never left.

So, if you see someone on the street with an oversized El Eternauta hoodie and a glass of Jaén wine in hand, don't ask where they're from. Chances are they're celebrating that, finally, the world understands that homeland is a feeling that sometimes doesn't recognise borders. And that Ricardo Darín, that man with the deep gaze and dry humour, belongs to all of us, just a little bit.