7 Soles: Interview with Pedro Ultreras and Gustavo Sánchez Parra

This U.S. premiere marks the beginning of the filmmaking career for writer-director Pedro Ultreras, a three times Emmy-nominated Mexican journalist who worked for Telemundo among others, now living in New York. The movie depicts faithfully how the immigrants are treated during their journeys to the U.S., searching with hope for a better future. “El Negro” (Gustavo Sánchez Parra) is hired to smuggle a group of undocumented migrants into the United States. He wants to get out of the human smuggling business and claims this is his last trip. His superiors, now suspicious, send “Gavilán” (Luis Ávila), a younger smuggler, to keep an eye on him. During the troubling crossing through the Arizona desert, a one-night journey becomes a seven-day crossing. The two smugglers fight and eventually lose part of their human “cargo”. Negro tries to escape from his former associates but also from justice.

Gustavo Sánchez Parra started his acting in films in the year 2000 as “Jarocho” in González Iñárritu’s Amores Perros. After that lofty debut, in only eight years he has been in as many as forty films, 7 Soles being his last one. We will see him soon in Rabia, produced by Guillermo del Toro. The movie was selected in the international festivals of Shangai, Málaga, and the new Frontera Film Fest in Ciudad de Juárez . I had the opportunity of meeting Ultreras, who also wrote the script for 7 Soles and Sanchez Parra during the New York Latino International Film Festival. We talked about film, politics and the horrific fate of many undocumented immigrants. After watching 7 Soles and learning what’s Pedro’s next project, the illegal immigration issue becomes so urgent that it burns.


Pablo Goldbarg: In which aspects are both of you similar or different than “El Negro”, the main character in 7 Soles?

Pedro Ultreras: I have absolutely nothing to do with El Negro. My life is totally different, and I’ve never been associated myself with him even in a thought. The character came out from many stories that I was told by border patrol agents, federal authorities and undocumented immigrants; the most important comments from victims and survivors, about the behavior of human traffickers or “coyotes.”

Gustavo Sánchez Parra: Well, I have nothing in common with El Negro either, but there are sensations that you can refer to as an actor. He wants to escape from a situation that involves him and devours him deep inside, and that’s a feeling we all live. We want to get out from some kind of hole, but it’s difficult to achieve it, even if we are conscious about its damage. I took that feeling to recreate some kind of sensation more than a truth about who is Negro, someone trapped in a net.

P.G.: Pedro, why are you so interested in the illegal immigration to the U.S.?

P.U.: I worked as a news reporter for many years in the Arizona desert. I grew up in Juárez, next to El Paso. So since I was a kid I used to see people crossing illegally. As a journalist, I’ve focused my career mostly covering immigration issues accross the country. I’ve lived in many cities and states (Chicago, Arizona, California, Texas). The last four years of my television career I was based in Arizona, and most of the stories I did where about undocumented immigrants. So, I got to see many of them, and I was quite shocked and surprised when I realized that the TV and massive media don’t cover much of what happens there, especially when about 300 to 350 immigrants die each year in Arizona. The killings of women in Juárez have reached about 500 in the last fifteen years, and every one knows about it, the European Union asks the Mexican government to step on it, Hollywood celebrities protest to find the killers. In Arizona, 300 people die every single year and no one says anything about it, and this happens in American soil, and it seems like nobody cares for them. I needed to bring to the big screen what happens here, in a more dramatic way. I want people to see how things happen.

P.G.: So, how much of fiction and real facts are in the movie?

P.U.: I based every single thing in stories that people told me they went through in my last four years as a journalist. I created this fictional movie based on true events. I had to play a lot with fiction; I never got to meet a “coyote,” a smuggler like El Negro or Gavilán. I created those characters. The victims in the journey are created based on survivors I met, and spending a lot of time with relatives, too. All these people didn’t want to be identified, so I had to play with fiction.

P.G.: How did you switch careers, and how has journalism helped your development as a filmmaker?

P.U.: It was an easy decision for me when I was eager to tell a story. But it was also tough because I had a very solid career as a journalist, making a six digit number a year, and I knew that as a filmmaker I wouldn’t make a penny. In Arizona, you live with $150,000 as a king, but not in New York, especially when film school is extremely expensive. The desire to tell this story was bigger than my economic needs. I never thought of this film as a change of careers. I thought that I would prepare myself to make this film and then go back to TV. But through the process of filming this movie I got trapped by filmmaking, and now I don’t think I’m going back to TV, other than freelancing to make some money, because I haven’t been able to make any money as a filmmaker yet. Nevertheless, the TV experience helped me a lot because I used to tell stories; one-two-minute stories, but I got to know the angles and different aspects. Television and film are related a lot, though you bring things to film in a very different level. I had some schoolmates coming from engineering or accounting, and for them was like a shock or a new world, but for me it was easy to adjust.

P.G.: Is there any solution for illegal immigration?

P.U.: That’s the 20-million-dollar question! Many people feel that the construction of the wall is a solution, but I don’t think so; it’s a waste of money and time. I think a new immigration reform could be a temporary solution, legalizing all the undocumented. However, I’m afraid that with time down the line it would become a problem again, because it would only fix the problem with people here and the needs in Mexico and other countries in Central America to come here would continue. Also, people would think, “if they create an immigration reform now, they can create a new one in ten years.” The only solution is that our countries could create better job opportunities, could improve education, and have a reason for people to stay there. Also, the U.S. has a need for cheap labor, so as that demand continues, the immigration continues too. I don’t think this is a problem that will end soon.

P.G.: Please tell us about Mirna Pineda’s book 7 Soles.

P.U.: Mirna Pineda is an old friend of mine. The book is an adaptation from the script, and it was my idea. I didn’t have time to write it myself, because I was already working in the movie. Mirna helped me to bring more details and create a novel. She was also very busy at the beginning, and, you know, coming with a book is not easy. But I convinced her to do it, I gave her the script, I directed her to respect the original script exactly as I wrote it, and I supervised her. This is the opposite of what we normally know as an adaptation. This time it was from screen to paper. I wanted to have an additional promotional tool for the movie.

P.G.: The cinematography and even the subtitles in English look very washed and “eighties” style. What did you want to convey with the aesthetics?

P.U.: I don’t want to take any credits about the subtitles, because I let one of the producers to do it – though, obviously he always knew what I wanted. I didn’t have a special style in mind, other than I wanted to make it look like a documentary. I wanted the audience to feel that they were waking along with the migrants. I spent a lot of time with the D.P. [director of photography] to make sure we worked as documentary filmmakers, and we barely used tripods. I did play with the colors to make it look more like a dry lethal desert, because we filmed right before spring and the colors in the landscapes were changing. I wanted that feeling that you’re not going get far because you’ll die. I was told it looked like a documentary, and even some people think it’s a documentary.

P.G.: How did you decide the genre and acting style?

P.U.: I wanted a more dramatic style than the way it’s today. We had to cut a lot, especially the most dramatic scenes. According to the script it would be a two-and-a-half-hour movie. I wanted the audience to feel the pain and suffering of the migrants. I didn’t have experience directing actors – only with students. I talked with them about my personal experiences as a news reporter, about many of the migrants I saw about to die, people begging for water, and throwing themselves on their knees thanking the border patrols who rescued them. I kind of got them into it. As a matter of fact, I took the entire crew to a place where the undocumented immigrants are getting ready to leave. Also, shooting in the desert gets everyone tired very easily – long extremely hot days. By the end of the shooting everybody was exhausted and ready to leave the desert. They were so tired that they didn’t act. Also most of them weren’t professional actors – the only professionals are Gustavo Sánchez Parra (who plays Negro) and Evangelina Sosa (who plays one of the migrants.) The rest of them were brand new or with some theatre experience.

P.G.: Gustavo, how did you manage to create this character through his eyes rather than its actions?

G.S.P: (laughs) well, that’s why El Negro gets what he wants. If he manages to hide his feelings, the rest of people won’t realize what is going on with him. Sometimes, he can’t do it, but generally he tries to control everything. When things get out of his hands, he acts fast to show who is in charge. He feels that the immigrants and even his assistant are getting off his path, so he puts a mask himself to hide it, and that premise was a kind of character’s father or guidance. He suffers a transformation during the film, but even if he reaches its goals, who knows if he will be able to escape his way of living. It was very interesting to me to try to be constantly subtle, without many violent actions like the audience expects, firm and convincing. He knows what he wants and he takes the decisions, without caring if he hurts somebody, though he realizes that he can also save lives.

P.G.: Death appears since the beginning for any of those who cross the desert, either as destiny, challenge or as a fact that somebody always die in these journeys. Does this extreme theme make it easier or more difficult in order to write or act?

P.U.: The physical death is easier to describe than the emotional death, so, for me it was a lot easier. Not that I wanted to kill so many people, but there were real cases where near eighteen people died in the same trip. In the Arizona desert the largest number I remember was fourteen at once. So, it’s not like I was exaggerating. I could never write what exactly happened, because it’s too much.

G.S.P.: My character confronted death for a long time; he’s used to it. When everybody freaks out if they find a skeleton, he doesn’t. He already killed and saw people dying. The fascinating side of this character is when he faces the opportunity to save a life. This is the point where his whole interior shakes, that’s where he can live the terror caused by his old actions.

P.G.: Pedro, can you talk about your new project, “The Beast”?

P.U.: It also deals with the immigration issue. During the time that I was in post-production I was traveling a lot between Arizona and Mexico City, doing a documentary on the construction of the wall and its effects in the environment and wildlife. During those days, a friend of mine asked me to go with him to conduct a series of television news reports in order to sell them to Spanish networks. He was suggesting to ride along the “train of death”, also called “the beast” – a train that comes all the way from Chiapas to Sonora, in the Northwest of Mexico. He wanted to do it for the last few hours of the trip, but I told him that I wanted to go all the way to Guatemala, in the beginning, and ride the train with all the migrants for weeks. He thought I was crazy, because it’s so dangerous. So, finally I decided to do a documentary film, and he went with me. I took the role of first camera, but also I researched a lot in advanced. Then I traveled with the people in the train all across Mexico. I followed the people from Central America who made it to the U.S. – one lady to L.A., another guy to Texas, and the last guy to Memphis. I even visited them when they were working. Unfortunately one of the persons died, a couple of women were raped, I got arrested, etc. It was pretty sad to know that we talk so much about the Mexico/U.S. border, but not many people talk about the Mexico/Guatemala border. I can tell you that as a Mexican I was ashamed about the Mexican government closing its eyes, and how the authorities abuse the Central Americans more than the U.S. border patrols abuse the Mexicans. The problems in Mexico with illegal immigration are twenty to thirty times bigger than the immigration problems here, but we don’t talk about it. In Mexico is very easy to hide this, so I decided to tell this story. This time, the film is more dramatic, more realistic and sadder. But it’s a documentary; nothing to do with fiction at all.

(Written for Remezcla)

XXY: Interview with Lucía Puenzo

First conceived by her husband Sergio Bizzio as a short story titled Cinismo, Lucía Puenzo’s first feature film tells the dramatic story of Alex, a hermaphrodite facing the challenges of her medical condition and the prejudices of a small Argentinean town, all in the midst of the crisis of being a 15-year old teenager. So far, XXY has won fifteen international prizes including Cannes, Athens, Bangkok, Cartagena, Edinburgh and the Goya.

Thirty-one year old Puenzo, daughter of famed Argentinean filmmaker Luis Puenzo, has published several novels such as El Niño Pez (Beatriz Viterbo, Tusquets, 2004), 9 minutos (Beatriz Viterbo, Tusquets, 2005) and La Maldición de Jacinta Pichimahuida (Interzona, 2007). Lately, she collaborated with her father writing the screenplays for his film La Puta y la Ballena (2004) and Rodrigo Fürth’s A Través de tus Ojos (2006).

I had the opportunity to meet Lucía through the MoMA Press Office, which first debuted the film in New York at its annual New Directors/New Films, presented by Lincoln Center Film Society, and through Film Movement, one of the few U.S. distributors devoted to independent Latin American films like Mexico’s El Violín or the Peruvian Madeinusa. Lucía had just arrived from Buenos Aires that morning, and straight from JFK to the Film Movement headquarters in Manhattan to do press, with no time to sleep or eat. Nevertheless, she was spotless, excited about her film in spite of having finished a previous interview, and extremely kind.

Pablo Goldbarg: Beyond the genetic codes, the film title appears on screen as an XXX, and then the last X has a mutilated leg. What does the title represent for you?

Lucía Puenzo: Well, one of the ideas was exactly what you just said. Having those three “X”, and having one of them being mutilated had a lot to do with the idea and name that is given to these surgeries: normalization. The ideology behind the surgeries lies in that word; if we are all “X” some have to be mutilated. And, of course, the idea of women and men. There was an internal conflict to decide if I had to use that title or not because the title doesn’t respond exactly to the diagnosis of Alex (Inés Efrón), and it was part of my own conflicts: Having an extreme medical realism or making a fiction out of the subject, even with a lot of investigation and many months of research. The script was so dense, filled with medical information that it had almost become a documentary. At some point, I decided to make a respectful fiction and because it was respectful, I was able to use a title that wasn’t exactly the diagnosis.

P.G.: Alex is so special, like the turtles we see in the beginning. It’s not only because of her sexuality, but also because she is a homeopath, a vegetarian and she even has a pet lizard. I wonder if Alex is the maximum expression of being different.

L.P.: We worked that idea a lot with the actress Inés Efrón when we started thinking of this little Alex growing up in a place that wasn’t her own city. She had been put there when she was very small, in a place that she didn’t know. She was very lonely growing up in this place, so she made her own world, her own toys from things she found in the beach. In a way, I thought this character had to be very peculiar, not because of her physical condition but because she was a very lonely child. I spoke with a lot of parents and doctors about growing up with this secret. Many parents, whether the children had been operated or not, tell them to be careful about speaking about this with others, and this makes a lonely child. That loneliness creates a very fearful character, or a very strong character such as Alex.

P.G.: Kraken (Alex’s dad, played by Ricardo Darín) talks about the day Alex was born. He remember saying: “She’s perfect”. What is perfection in a society like Argentina or many other modern ones?

L.P.: What I like about a father saying that is that anybody can find anything perfect. It’s a very strong word, like a maximum. Perfection can be found anywhere, what a father sees, what a lover sees, if it’s perfect, that’s all it counts. I was playing with such a strong word on purpose, almost to question what is perfection, because in this society everything seems to be divided in a binary. When a third part comes into the question, conflict arises and the problem now is what do we do with three? So, the meaning of the word is related to that: I can see perfection in another place.

P.G.: How can Alex survive in a macho Latin American society? I wonder if she should she move to Europe instead of Uruguay, or if she would have more fun with people that hide behind the “macho” icon?

L.P.: Actually, when I started writing the film I was quite surprised with how open- minded Argentina is about these issues today, even more than in some European countries. There have been a lot of step forwards, even legally. Not only we have now gay civil unions and adoptions between gay are also legal, but also today the inter-sex organizations are for any person no matter what sex they choose, and you can even change your name under the new sex. That was a big surprise, and also how the film has been received. I also had my prejudice in a macho society like Argentina. I met some inter-sex activists after the film, and not before, which was good for me, and they agreed. It would have been more political, and it wouldn’t have been good for the sake of the story. Actually, something I realized when the film was done is that this big fight about inter-sexuality begins when the film ends: they decide they will defend this body as it is, and the fight begins there.

P.G.: It is still very difficult to find a fair representation of gays in mainstream media like television or films. Did this bring you even more obstacles, or did this unusual and untreated theme present you with a window of opportunity?

L.P.: What happened with XXY is that gay communities also adopted the film. They recognized themselves in many ways. The other main character, Alvaro (Martin Piroyansky) is a young virgin discovering his homosexuality but he is so terrified by his father that he can’t even talk about it. When he connects with desire and what he wants after desiring Alex and not caring what she is, he is stronger. That character made a great connection with gay communities, also unexpectedly, because it wasn’t something I looked for. The polemic that arises in the film is then what is the real subject of the film. One day an inter-sexual friend told me, and I agree, that the most interesting part in the film is not the freedom of choice or inter-sexuality in itself, but the place that desire has in the story. The film is really about desire, and if you connect with desire you are saved. Any person that connects with what brings them pleasure and makes them alive will be fine.

P.G.: Desire plays a constant fight with image, and we usually try to balance what we really want and what people will think about it. Why is it so difficult to choose desire instead of image?

L.P.: In a way, that is embodied by the family that comes from Buenos Aires. They are a very adapted family, father and mother are very beautiful, and they seem to be the normal ones, and actually they are the real dysfunctional family en la intimidad. The other family, the “freaks” with no place in the world, they really care about each other. Many times people are afraid of not belonging. You need to be very brave to not care about what society rules. It’s easy to say it, but when you meet people that every day of their lives they are fighting to belong, that’s courageous. They do it every single day, and you should take your hat off.

P.G.: Literature and cinema have been borrowing elements from each other for many years, but they are still different worlds in so many ways. Being a novelist, what advantages or disadvantages did you face when you had to adapt Cinismo to the screen?

L.P.: Everything, everywhere, all of them! (laughs). It was very hard. Sergio Bizzio is my husband, so that was a new difficulty. But the good thing is that he told me the very first day: “You have to absolutely betray my story and make it yours. If you make an adaptation that is faithful to me it won’t be good.” I was very comfortable in the area of literature because I always wrote novels and even screenplays for others, but then when I started to imagine that the story would be directed by me it was very hard. I knew about words but not about film directing. It was a lot of learning, like walking on eggs (laughs). The big surprise was that once you have the script and think about how to shoot it, you must then run a team. That’s a big challenge and a key difference between literature and cinema: solitude vs. teamwork. A big percentage of a director’s work is to have a happy and passionate crew. That was a huge learning experience.

P.G.: In another interview you mentioned the influence of John Cassavetes. His last biography is a recent and amazing book by Marshall Fine called “Accidental Genius”. I wonder if you, being you a novelist first, if you’re also a filmmaker by accident?

L.P.: Maybe! (laughs) Many times, when my husband and I are writing novels we say that we can be everything: the actor, the director, the editor. You can create a Hollywood super production on paper and nobody will tell you to make something smaller. You have a lot of freedom and you’re able to be on your own and do whatever you want. Especially in art cinema that you don’t have a big budget, you’re always fighting and it creates anxiety. You want to tell a story but you know you have difficulties in every way. I think I became a filmmaker because I couldn’t help it. (laughs). One day I was with my husband and I asked him if he would give me his story to write a script, and I started writing without thinking I would direct it; probably a friend would do it. But then the support from Cine Fondation, the Residence at Cannes Film Festival made the whole thing to take another turn. After that some co-producers came in, and it became a more serious film. I had planned to shoot it with a few friends in Uruguay with a camera I had at home. So, yes, it was kind of by accident. Then I liked it and now I’m gonna make another one. (laughs)

P.G.: Can you please tell me about your experience in the Residence at Cannes, and why do you think those European film funds support so many Latin American films?

L.P.: Cinéfondation changed a lot of thinks. For the last twelve years I’ve been working as a writer for other people, so in my everyday life writing my stories was at the beginning of the day or at the end of the day. During the rest of the day I had to write for living, so many times it was tiring to write my own stuff. The Residence at Cannes was the first time in my life that I could write for myself during the whole day, and explore something that I wanted to do for me – I wrote a novel and XXY. It’s strange but when you are earning your money to live, you don’t have the time for yourself – let’s say I need five months for my project. Then after the support from Cinéfondation, other major co-producers like Fond Sud came to the project and XXY was turned around. It wouldn’t have been the same film without that support. The same happens with the support of other film funds like the Huber Bals from Rotterdam Film Festival: they change the destiny of a film. We asked the people at Cinéfondation when we started to meet them and being close to them “please tell us a real reason why you’re doing this” (laughs). It’s not only about giving; they should be taking something back... They are looking for directors that are interested in them too: they create faithfulness. Cannes took my film to one of the sections, then I won a prize, and I will never forget everything that happened with the film there. If I must choose where I want to submit my new film, it will be Cannes. I will be forever grateful.

P.G.: Argentineans will always remember Norma Aleandro saying “...and the winner is” in 1986 [when Luis Puenzo’s La Historia Oficial won an Oscar for Best Foreign Picture – first and only time in Argentinean cinema history]. You were two steps away from repeating your father’s story as the official Argentinean selection for the Oscars this past year. How do you feel representing your country in so many other film festivals in the world?

L.P.: It was amazing what happened in all the international film festivals. The first time that I watched XXY with an audience was in Cannes. I was there with Inés Efrón – her first time out of Argentina, and we were like in Mars (laughs). We didn’t understand what was going on. In a lot of festivals it was interesting to see the different reactions from audiences, i.e. in Bangkok or Japan. In the case of the Oscar, I have to confess I was happy nothing happened (laughs). The best thing that could happen to me as a first time director, who wants to keep on shooting the second, and the third film peacefully, living in Argentina was this: making the first one and being ready to shoot the second one (laughs), nothing else. I remember Volker Schlöndorff, who is for me a hero, saying about his first film The Tin Drum (1979), that it was his best dream and worst nightmare, because he won so many prizes. He continued making films, but people used to ask him “when you will make another Tin Drum?” Sometimes too much is bad.

P.G.: Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to find new directors like you.

(Written for Remezcla)


XXY 

Cinema Village 

22 E 12th St
(212) 924-3363
www.cinemavillage.com

Opens on Friday, May 2
Showtimes: 1pm, 3:05pm, 5:10pm, 7:15pm, 9:20pm

HFFNY 2008: Interview with Carole Rosenberg and Diana Vargas

The ninth annual edition of the Havana Film Festival New York (HFFNY), which runs this year from April 10th to the 18th , will show a selection of both classics and emerging Latin American films at Quad Cinema. As always, the HFFNY presents a unique opportunity to see Cuban films that make its premiere in the US before – and could probably not even show if it wasn’t for this festival. At the core of HHFNY’s mission, around 15 filmmakers each year from all Latin America to be present in panels, Q&A’s and other events. This year, the festival will honor Cuban director Juan Carlos Tabío, Cuban actor Luis Alberto Garcia and American documentary filmmaker Estela Bravo.

I had the pleasure of sitting down with two key people that make the HFFNY happen: Founder and Executive Director Carole Rosenberg and Programming Director Diana Vargas. Carole, an art collector and longtime supporter of Cuban culture and affairs, is also the President of American Friends of the Ludwig Foundation of Cuba (AFLFC), an organization that fosters exchange between Cuban and American artists and educators. Diana Vargas, originally from Colombia and a filmmaker herself, is a tireless advocate of Latino cinema and Latino culture in New York. Besides spearheading HFFNY, Diana is also involved in Cinema Tropical, Queens Theatre in the Park, and Nueva York, a CUNY TV program in Spanish.

Over a tasty breakfast in Carole’s Upper Manhattan home that made me forget about the rainy and cold New York weather, Carole and Diana spoke to me about this festival, unique not only in its groundbreaking content but also for its inherent political tinge.


Pablo Goldbarg: How did the idea of starting a New York version of the prestigious Havana Film Festival come about?

Carole Rosenberg: In 1999, the Cuban director of the International Festival of New Latin American Cinema – which is also known as the Habana Film Festival and takes place every December - came to New York for the first time. I took him to the Anthology Film Archives for a new filmmakers’ screenings, and the idea to have a Cuban film festival in New York was dreamt up. Why Havana? As part of my cultural exchange activities with the Cuban and American artists and at the Festival de la Habana, the idea of creating a Cuban film festival in New York and inviting Cuban directors seemed enough of a reason. After the first HFFNY, which was only a Cuban film festival, we thought it made more sense to present Cuban films in the context with Latin American films as does the festival in Havana. This program is the biggest program of the AFLFC.

Diana Vargas: People tend to think here that Latin American cinema started with Amores Perros or Y tu Mamá También, but there is a long history of Latin American cinema – in fact it’s more than a hundred years old. We thought we should show the audience the trajectory of how Latin American cinema, that’s how we started to combine the classics with new releases.

P.G.: What are your criteria when choosing the films? How much do you depend on the repertoire of the Havana Film Festival in Cuba?

C.R.: Our aim is to premiere the latest award-winning films by the most recognized filmmakers in Latin America, as well as new directions by emerging filmmakers and great classics.

D.V.: We want to show a wide spectrum on the films being produced in Cuba – by ICAIC (Cuban Cinema Institute), the young filmmakers and co-productions with Spain, France and other countries. But because of the restrictions on how to get the films here, sometimes it gets very difficult. One of the things Carole has done with the Ludwig Foundation is also to provide ways in which filmmakers can subtitle their copies, something that many times keeps those films from being released in the U.S. Sometimes the films screened in “Festival de Nuevo Cine” (Habana Film Festival) come to the US first because distributors here keep an eye on those releases, especially on the hot filmmakers like [Argentineans] Carlos Sorín, Pablo Trapero and the ones in Brazil. Now, there is a new phenomenon: Latin American films are hits in their local box offices – which didn’t use to happen, for example, in Bolivia or Guatemala. Those are films we want to share with our audience, because have a special value: they show a country and its culture.

P.G.: Why do you think that Cuban films are not that well-known around the world, even with such a ground-breaking film school and tradition?

D.V.: The Cuban cinema was very important opening a path for Latin American cinema in the sense of a political concept – not only about politics, but the use of cinema as a cultural tool, for any country. Julio García Espinosa, a leading Cuban filmmaker, said that a country without cinema it’s a country without history and without memory. There is another part: the industry. Cuban cinema (and the rest of Latin America) is a little behind in terms of knowing how to deal with the product. In Europe, especially in Spain and France, Cuban cinema is well-known. In fact, some Cuban actors have made a career there, like Mirta Ibarra, Jorge Perugorría, Luis Alberto García… But this cinema hasn’t been able to create a star system. They are famous actors in their countries, but there is no industry to create a buzz around them so that people maybe go see a movie just because of the celebrities. But the market is changing and theatrical releases are not so important anymore, with DVDs and TV.

C.R.: I do think Cuban cinema is getting recognition all over the world, winning prizes at film festivals. It’s just here in this country, because of the relationship and inability to bring the films here. That’s one of the reasons we try to bring as many of the Cuban films, classics and new releases.

P.G.: Why do you think that in the past 20 years Latin American cinema has captivated world wide audiences more than ever?

D.V.: Before, Latin American cinema was very political and socially-oriented, with Tomás Gutierrez Alea [Cuba], Miguel Litín [Chile], Fernando “Pino” Solanas [Argentina]. Those kinds of filmmakers had a commitment with society, they wanted to change those social issues like poverty or inequity through cinema. But then, the new filmmakers were influenced by MTV, the internet and a world where everything goes faster. They are producing stories that are more related to the world in general, and not only to their countries. They are stories that can touch anybody in the world.

P.G.: Why is it so difficult to distribute Latin American films in the U.S.?

D.V.: Right now, we are in a transition because the new technologies. The classical system of “theater release first” is unclear now, and the distributors don’t know what to do. To distribute a film right now takes a lot of that cash and they are not willing to do it. It is changing and getting better: you can find DVDs and TV stations dedicated to Latino cinema, and people refer now to Latin American cinema in a different and more interested way. Another problem is the clearance. In Latin America you probably use a Beatles’ song, and then your film comes to the U.S. and it turns out you have to pay for that song what you spent for the entire crew of the film, so it’s a learning process.

C.R.: It’s more probable probably you’ll find a Latin American film in art houses. It’s not a great distribution like in 25 Multiplex screens, except once in a while for an unusual film, maybe by a very well known director.

D.V.: When the European Union was formed they decided that art is culture and can’t be treated as a product. So you need special laws to avoid people treating a film like any other product. Those things don’t exist here. To be screened in an art house would be fine if they were more, like in Europe, or if you get subsidize at least you could use money for promotions and compete a little more with bigger films. The theater owners don’t want to lose money.

P.G.: The New Children / New York Youth Program is one of the best initiatives in any U.S. film festival. When did you start it, and what is the plan to follow up with the young filmmakers?

D.V.: Our program has filmmakers ages 13 to 23 years old. We are trying to show that cinema and art in general can change your life. A few kids from Bushwick (Brooklyn, NY) are presenting their second films. At last year’s screenings, when they saw they were able to answer questions from the audience and people were so enthusiastic, they worked for the whole year to produce the second part, so it’s going to be very nice. I hope these kinds of initiatives are repeated in other festivals.

C.R.: A few years ago, we were working with the Center for Puerto Rican Studies and a Cuban project through the AFLFC. We were featuring Puerto Rican cinema and they asked us if we would be willing to give the awards to the seventeen kids that won the Learning Leaders prize. To see those children dressed up, coming to get their awards – and they actually got their awards that can treasure forever, it was a very heartwarming experience for me, to sign those awards, to be there and see them get them... The New Children New York Youth program just seemed natural, because it will make a difference in the future of these children’s lives.

P.G.: What will happen in the next edition of the Havana Film Festival in Cuba this coming December ’08 in this new era after Fidel? How will it affect the HFFNY?

D.V.: The festival itself (in Cuba) always brings films that are controversial, so I don’t think about a change in that sense. But one thing that affects the film right now is that filmmakers from the U.S. can’t go there. Beyond that is like any other festival in the world, with its own criteria. People tend to criticize but I’ve been to other Latin American film festivals, and what they do there with the little resources they have is amazing. Now that I know how to suffer a film festival from the organizational point of view, I can say their work is incredible.

C.R.: It’s a very important international cultural event, and in this new era there will continue to support it because of the magnitude and the quality. In terms of affecting the HFFNY, there will be a change only if the cultural exchange is opened up allow Cuban and American artists to freely travel between the two countries to promote the exchange of cultural and artistic ideas. Not only the Americans can’t go there, but also we can’t get visas for the Cuban filmmakers to come and participate in our festival because the American government is not issuing those visas. When we were able to get these visas it was incredible to attend a panel and have this discussion between the filmmakers and the audience. I can remember one panel we did “Meet the filmmakers”, where many of these important filmmakers hadn’t met each other in person before. And it was interesting to see their reactions discussing their problems with distribution or various issues in the industry. When a group of people get together it makes the problem a little bit easier to resolve. That’s what I think some of our panels directed toward the industry and the filmmakers have accomplished.

P.G.: What is that special ingredient you need in your festival so when its over, you can say "mission accomplished"?

D.V.: Carole is an educator by heart, so she is always pushing us to have the educational component. We’re increasing the free events each year. It’s beautiful to see people asking questions, raising hands so the director can explain directly a particular scene. Even for me, and I’ve seen the movie before, when a director answers those questions, the movie changes in perspective. The program at the Metropolitan Museum is amazing because we have been bringing films and animations for kids. In the beginning we had 70 people and now it’s closer to 300. It makes you feel proud.

C.R.: In January, people were already making reservations for the Met program. For me, the cultural exchange between the Latin American countries and the U.S. is important. To feature emerging talents in the U.S. film industry is important. We are always very proud when we see that a film we showed gets picked up. We are also very happy when we hear from the public that they’re seeing films that they would have never had an opportunity to see. That’s how we feel the mission is accomplished.

P.G.: How do you envision Latin American cinema in the next twenty years?

D.V.: In those countries where they had no cinema, they have filmmakers now and also schools – one of the keys to have more films coming. Those films are getting recognition by their own people. One of the problems before was that they were acclaimed in international festivals, but they weren’t successful in their own countries. So, what is the point in making a film if your own people don’t go to the theater? Rodrigo Bellot’s Quién Mató a la Llamita Blanca is a Bolivian film is now a huge success in Bolivia, with two indigenous actors in the line of Bonnie & Clyde. It’s the first time in Bolivian history that around ten thousand people approached the theaters. People are expecting their own films, which is very important. In Latin American we are learning also how to present the movie from the marketing point of view.

C.R.: Latin American countries are focusing more on supporting the art and culture, in a way that they can present themselves to the rest of the world. As long as the countries help new filmmakers develop by putting money into film schools, they will start to be seen more and more around the world.

P.G.: Please define the Latin American cinema in three words.

D.V.: Witty, repentant and risky.

C.R.: Innovative, cutting-edge and sexy. Now you have the Latin and the American points of view (laughs).

(Written for Remezcla)

More information:
Havana Film Festival New York 2008

Paint It Black, Say It Loud: An Interview with Tata Amaral

Queridos lectores,

ha sido un gran año lleno de proyectos, crecimiento, y especialmente muchos escritos. Aunque el año nuevo ya está llegando, REALFIC(c/t)ION es aún un blog jóven viviendo su octavo mes. Estoy orgulloso de compartir con ustedes la entrevista con Tata Amaral que fue recientemente publicada en la prestigiosa Cineaste, y creo que también es una manera maravillosa de cerrar el año 2007.

Les deseo lo mejor, y feliz año nuevo.

- Pablo Goldbarg

Dear readers,

it has been a great year, full of projects, growth, and especially many writings. Though the new year's eve is right here, REALFIC(c/t)ION is still a young blog living its 8th month. I'm proud to share with you the interview with Tata Amaral recently published in the prestigious Cineaste, and I think it's also a wonderful way to close the year 2007.

I wish all of you the best and a happy new year.

- Pablo Goldbarg

Paint It Black, Say It Loud: An Interview with Tata Amaral

Interview: Jorge Gaggero

While Live-In Maid (original title Cama Adentro) was released in the U.S. I met Jorge Gaggero, its writer and director, thanks to Cinema Tropical. We had a very long conversation in a traditional American diner on 9th Ave & 33rd St to talk about Argentine traditions.

Wednesday, July 18th, 2007

Pablo Goldbarg: This is your first feature. Tell me please how the story came up, and how did you get the funds and actors.

Jorge Gaggero: In August of 2000. I studied in the U.S. at the American Film Institute. I was coming back to Argentina, and it really came just before this big economical collapse. And I was coming back to make mi first film. I realized that I couldn’t afford to make a very complex and it would be the one I would be making next (laughs). I remember I thought about this relationship for a while. I was at a party and the whole story appeared in my head, and I started writing it and checking if my idea would be possible to become a movie. I was always interested in this kind of relationship, because in my house there was a maid, and in my best friend’s house also, and it was a very strong figure for us as kids; they were very important. Our parents were professionals working outside the house, and we spend a lot of time with them. Also it was a way to learn about another world, another culture. They came from other provinces or countries. I thought there wasn’t a place in cinema for them, and there weren’t many movies thinking about this theme or relationship, at least these particularities in Latin America. I started writing the script and it took me two years. When I finished it we sent it to Norma Aleandro. I thought about making a smaller movie, because Norma Aleandro at that time was the biggest actress in Argentina, but she read the script and she loved it, and she wanted to be part of it. That helped in a way to get some finance. Then the other challenge was to find Dora, the other character. My idea was to look for real maids. I wouldn’t find in an actress all the things that I wanted. Perhaps you could do it if you have a few years to train an actress, but it was impossible with our budget in Argentina. We casted like a thousand women all around the country—maids and housekeepers. We were lucky to find her in San Luis. She was a real maid just coming from work, and it was great. I think both women made the film.

P.G.: So, tell me about the experience of working with a non-professional together with one of the most professional actresses in Argentina.

J.G: In my short films I worked many times with non-actors and I was confident about it: if you cast well, it will gonna happen. And if you go slowly too, because with an actress you go through it in the set and you do the thing. I took like a year to know her (Norma Argentina). One month before the first day of shooting we met every day and worked. For me it’s one of the most interesting things about movies: the power to understand the uniqueness of each person and try to find the way to work with them, in a way that helps them for better. It was completely different the way I worked with Aleandro and Argentina. Aleandro is an actress, writer and she directs theatre. It was more like an intellectual work with the text and finding coincidences and other things. With Argentina was more instinctual and more aware of sensations, bodies, and making her confidence about her capabilities to spread things. Aso I worked with her to understand Dora’s different facets and moods. But she was such an intelligent woman, at the age of 66 to have that challenge it was really great. It would be fascinating f I would make a movie about all the changes that she had since I met her as a maid and now.

P.G.: What can you say about going to Sundance and Tolousse, two of the film festivals that Live-In Maid participated and even received awards?

J.G.: I couldn’t go to Tolousse but I was able to go to Sundance, which was very supportive of the film since early stages. I sent the script to the Screenwriters Lab (Sundance/NHK), it was finalist, and then when I had the movie ready they also wanted to screen it. It was the first year it was an international competition in Sundance, and it won the Special Jury award. In a way it helped the movie to come to the US today. I never expected that. It’s getting a lot of reactions in the US. Sundance is a nice place. It still has some kind of warm about the real thing of making movies. I hope it never lose the spirit.

P.G.: Talking about the experience in the U.S., your movie was picked up by Film Forum, and then it had an amazing review in the New York Times. I wonder if that’s a kind of flattery and pride for you. Can you tell me a little more about this current trip to New York?

J.G.: Yes, it’s really overwhelming. You make a film and you never expect this kind of reaction. I like the greetings and the things that happened. At the end, well, I deserved a little part of that. You have a great team, great actresses, I worked so hard… the film was possible for so many persons: people who worked, who saw it, who recommended it…To be here right now is amazing. It’s probably the most interesting thing. The critics are really useful to get the film known, and the film is still alive in some people. It’s about communication. When you feel that the critique is different and it catches some of the emotions in the film it helps people to find the movie, or the critic has the talent to express some of the things that shocked them it’s very important, because it’s the only way for these small films to reach its audience. I feel blessed. Also this city… New York always responds to these movies very nice.

P.G.: You said in another interview that you need to live a dialogue with the audience to finish the process-- with the film. How was the reception of the film in Argentina?

J.G.: In Argentina it was very well, it was kind of strange, because it was an opening with only ten copies and all the theaters were packed. The interesting thing is that it was a movie that people went to the bars and kept on talking about it in a way. I squeezed in some bars and it was amazing. Also it was a movie that in Argentina some people segregated, because if you have a big actress for some people it’s not an independent film anymore. There is a pre-judgment in it. But the people that really saw it got a nice energy. You have to get into the movie. I wanted to work this very thin path of the complexity of this relationship without being too “teacher”. I wanted to leave it with no conclusion, to leave it to the people to talk about how they see both characters, how much they see about their friendship, how much exploitation they see (laughs). In a way I wanted the audience to feel the movie, to get emotions, and reflect about these two women and their conditions. It was a challenge and I think I afford to make it. That’s the best thing… then, who knows? Now it’s public…

P.G.: What can you say about arts in general –in this case, film—as a response to social crisis?

J.G.: Always it’s inspiring. You reflect some things you try to live and happen next to you. In my case is “ten blows away”. I made two movies and they happened--God bless-- where I used to live, but I think in the film the crisis is an excuse. We always live in some kind of crisis. That pushes you forward, and that’s a good thing. At least something it’s common. The most important thing is that you have this external situation, and everybody thinks it’s external and how we could be as a country in this situation. In the film, what I wanted to achieve was to think about how much of that crisis are us. How much of Beba is the crisis? It’s not because the crisis, it’s because of Beba! (laughs), or something that Beba does… the crisis always pushes you a little bit further. You can’t hold it anymore and something breaks, and that’s good. It’s the consequences of something you built, in a way, or you let people build. My cinema tries to explore how everyday life affects us --the good and the bad ones (laughs). In everybody there is racism, in everybody there is violence. We are constantly fighting and trying to understand. I like character-driven stories; my cinema is very intimate.

P.G.: This story, as you say, is very character-oriented. Probably the screenplay and the acting are the most important elements you have in this film. Did you imagine that since the beginning or did you suffer some kind of transformation during shooting?

J.G.: Of course it suffered transformation, thanks God, because otherwise it would be so boring to make a film if you know from the beginning what you want to have. Yes, you have intuition, and you want some things aesthetically. But the good thing it’s that the process of filmmaking is so open until you finish the movie. And it still is after, depending of how you see it (laughs). I imagined this kind of energy, this mix of drama and humor. I tried to not have any pre-judgment about how the movie should be. First feature, two women touching the 60’s, an apartment, it was hard to me… the critics saying “what is this young guy doing with these themes?”. It was a strange first film, but I really believed in it. It’s that: to not have pre-judgments and enjoy it, and let all the energy and life get into it, and try things, and make new things. I’m really happy and proud. It was better than the ambition I had about it, probably because I let everybody contribute to it.

P.G.: Why did you decide to not use music?

J.G.: It was one of the most difficult decisions. I haven’t heard it, and that’s it. Even the producers wanted to put music at one point, but I refused it. Also when I tried music in some scenes I realized –perhaps because I didn’t find the right piece—that if I put music in this film I cut a lot of layers beneath this complex one-to-one. Music could drive me to a comedy or a drama or something else, and I didn’t want to drive to any secure place. Music is art in itself, and sometimes it could be misunderstood. Instead of complementing a moment or making it more interesting, it could suppress it. It was happening with this film. I love some films with music, and I love music itself. But you have to hear it or you have to find some work that really goes with the spirit of the movie and it’s very difficult.

P.G.: The storyline has a particular slow transformation. How did you work with the rhythm and tell me about some influences that you think may affect this?

J.G.: Rhythm is everything for this movie, because the plot is so small, and it’s built with even smaller things. In the editing we found the final rhythm. It was thought in the shooting. The screenplay was really careful about it, with all the speeches and silences. It creates all these moments and these pauses. Even with no music, I have a better ear than a good eye (laughter). Part of this was produced in the editing… About the influences, I always thought in John Cassavetes for this movie, in the way relationships happen in his films. I love that intensity and they way he understood relationships and human beings. Perhaps other influence and his humor is Roman Polanski, like in The Tenant. I have in mind these directors but I didn’t pretend to make similar films. Also I watched Joseph Losey’s The Servant, and I had to see all these films related with the film, but I never wanted to go there, and the references are more intellectual, and how you understand things. Aesthetically I wanted to find my own way.

P.G.: Tell me about the lessons you learned in your first feature, and your next project.

J.G.: Perhaps the only lesson is that filmmaking has no rules. To work hard on an idea, trying ideas as deep as you can. Let the shooting surprise you anyway (laughs). In a way, again and again with my shorts, things started to feel less fearful about the whole thing. It’s about digging and persisting, and if you do that it could be good or bad but you make it, and you finish the process, and it’s about that process. Each film has its own process. Then, be ready for the next one, although it’s not easy either. The next project is called La Seguridad de los Perros (Dog Security), and it’s a very challenging and different movie. It has eight leads and different stories. It happens in one neighborhood--close to where I live. It’s a very different film from Live-In Maid. I’m looking forward to try some different films.

P.G.: Thank you very much, you were very kind.

J.G.: Thank you.

Related note:

The Parable Of The Live-In Crisis

Interview: Camila Guzmán Urzúa

While The Sugar Courtain (original title El Telón De Azúcar) was released in the U.S., I was lucky to have the opportunity to interview its creator Camila Guzmán Urzúa, thanks to Cinema Tropical. We had a telephone conversation between Paris and New York to talk about... Cuba.

Wednesday, July 18th, 2007

Pablo Goldbarg: Tell me about the experience of making an autobiographic piece

Camila Guzmán Urzúa: I think it’s common that the first film is a very personal film. Actually, before I wanted to make the film I had an obsession trying to recuperate my childhood’s country. Then, when I decided to make a film about it, I just didn’t find any other way to make it. It was about my life, so it would have been too weird not to talk about myself, because finally I’m part of that experience too. When the subject is maybe further away from your life, or not related in a direct way, you have no need to put you on the film. But to me, it didn’t work in another way. That makes it more difficult, because at the same time you are exposed… it wasn’t easy.

P.G.: You had a challenge working in all the stages of the film. You were the writer, director, editor, cinematographer and producer…

C.G.U.: I didn’t have a choice. All the way through making the film, I always wanted to have a producer and I wanted to have somebody with me on the boat. But it wasn’t the case. I made the film completely independent. That has a lot of advantages, but also disadvantages. At some point I was on my own, just doing it. If I had known what it meant, I’m not sure I would have done it. Once I started, especially after the shooting I just couldn’t give up. The only way to go forward was doing it on my own, in my own computer at home, in my free time. So, I wouldn’t recommend it (laughs). I would definitely have a producer, at least… I hope. At some point an editor is very important. Those were the members of the crew that I missed the most: the producer and the editor. I was lucky enough to finish the film with an editor. I’m sure that helped a lot for the final structure of the film. Because at some point you’re so inside the film, and this one even more because it’s your own story that you lose perspective. Sometimes I had to stop for a few months, and then carry on, and that gives you some perspective with your head out, and then you start again. But it’s never as good as having an editor next to you. At the end of the film I worked three to four weeks with an editor. The film owes a lot to that final editing work.

P.G.: Can you please tell me about the research process to find the whereabouts of your friends in school?

C.G.U.: Almost all the people in my film are my real friends from childhood and teenager years, and I never lost contact with them. When I left Cuba, my mom and my sister were still living there for a while. So, I kept going back for holidays whenever I could, to see family and friends. I was always in touch with them. In 1999 it was the first time I went to Cuba with the idea of making the film. I spent four or five months over there. At that time I reached all the people that I usually see. There was one friend that I did look for her but I couldn’t be in touch with her. Since then I knew who would gonna be in the film, and since then I told them about it, and they liked the idea. They were my friends from life. When you make a documentary you must have people in front of the camera, you need people that express themselves in a right way. People that aren’t worried by the presence of the camera and people that aren’t shy. I had that in mind when I started deciding who would gonna be in the film and who would gonna get involved. I had some friends that were extremely shy and would never be in a film. I kind of chose those that would like to be filmed. I don’t like it (laughs). There was also one friend that was on the project and by the time I started shooting he wasn’t there anymore. And with my friend from Miami, I started filming her sister because she was already gone by the time I went to Cuba.

P.G.: When did you feel the need to make this film?

C.G.U.: It was a weird process, because when I left Cuba I didn’t know if I would come back. I left just before the crisis started. I left my childhood’s country as it was in 1990. I went back in 1991 and things haven’t changed that much. Then I went back in 1994, and I heard about the Special Period before and all that. But it’s never the same when you go there and see it personally. So in that moment was just before the crisis of “Balseros”. It was a very weird period in Habana. I was very, very shocked by the new reality at that time. And it was then when I started to have this kind of need of recuperating the country of my childhood that wasn’t there anymore and had been real. And people were beginning to forget about it, in a way. I always thought that somebody was going to make it. At that time I didn’t know that I was going to direct films. I was studying filmmaking but doing photography, and I didn’t want to direct. Time went by, and in 1999 I decided to make the film, because I realized that Cuba had completely changed. Living outside of Cuba I realized that people didn’t know about it. Everybody was surprised when I used to say that I was happy when I was in Cuba, and I had a happy childhood. For me it was important to keep that in a little box, somewhere in my heart. I had this kind of necessity. My country disappeared, and it was important not to forget it.

P.G.: Do you still think that a new type of society is possible in Cuba or in another country?

C.G.U.: Yes, yes. We lived that life for about twenty years, and it was a pretty good one. Comparing with the rest of the world, in Cuba we grew up in a… (whispers) very unique way. Especially with positive things, I think. I do believe that that society is possible. Then we had always the problem of economy. How we finance such a State. Then things became more complicated. But it’s possible.

P.G.: Was your film shown in Cuba? Tell me about the reactions or possible reactions to the film.

C.G.U.: Not yet, because I’m waiting now for it. We subscribed the film for the Habana International Film Festival for this year 2007. I’m still waiting for the reply. The idea is to have a screening in the festival. About the reactions… I don’t have a clue (laughs). I want it to happen because I’m very curious myself. There are big audience and enormous theaters in Habana.

P.G.: How did you get permits or support to shoot this kind of story in Habana? Did you get in touch with the ICAIC (Instituto Cubano de Arte e Industria Cinematográficos)?

C.G.U.: The film was supported by EICTV in San Antonio de los Baños (Escuela Internacional de Cine y TV). I was able to have all the authorizations and permits to shoot the film anywhere in Habana. Actually the only “real” permission that I needed was to film in the schools, but the rest of the times when I filmed in different neighborhoods or houses or even in a protest, but nobody ever asked me. I had all the accreditations from the film school, and we were officially authorized. But at the same time I didn’t have to show anything at all in the streets. I didn’t get in touch with the ICAIC because I didn’t have any money or production structure behind me either. I decided to approach first the film school. The ICAIC, as far as I know, and maybe I’m wrong, must co-produce or you must pay a production fee. It’s more complicated, a kind of institutional thing or co-production company and all that stuff that I didn’t have. So, I had a grant here, it was more an associative thing, and not a production company at all. I went to the film school first, they supported me, and I stayed with them.

P.G.: You have a story in your family about exile when you had to leave Chile. Then, in some way you repeat the decision of leaving your home country--this time Cuba--in search of a better condition. Can you please talk about that?

C.G.U.: I never thought about exile when I was living in Cuba. My own exile began after I left Cuba, and never before. But there is no comparison at all between how my parents left Chile, and how my generation left Cuba. There are absolutely no points in common. The experience of leaving Chile was very dramatic and violent. I didn’t have that experience when I started my own exile. I was born in Chile, even though I don’t have a very strong connection with that country. So, I see my parents’ exile and my own exile quite separately.

P.G.: How did you choose the aesthetics and form of your documentary?

C.G.U.: I don’t know. I can’t tell you. When I was in film school two persons influenced me: on one side Frederick Wiseman, the American filmmaker, who started “direct cinema” in the 60’s. On the other side was, Ken Loach, the British filmmaker. Even he make fiction films, his style is very close to documentaries. But I’m not sure if my film follows their styles. They marked me a lot, especially from an ideological and moral point of view. They are such unique and extraordinary figures. But I don’t know… I used to do photography when I was younger. My camera work is much related with intuition, especially in this film. I made it unconsciously, particularly when I was shooting. There was a lot of intuition.

P.G.: Are you working on new projects or ideas in film?

C.G.U.: I have new ideas, but actually I didn’t have the time to write yet. An old filmmaker told me once that good ideas not always make good films… (laughs). So, I prefer to write it before talking about the next one, because I’m not sure yet what is gonna be.

P.G.: Thank you very much. It was a very touching story for me. I was in the Habana Film Festival last year for first time, and I didn’t know about many things of the golden era and your generation, so congratulations with the film.

C.G.U.: Thank you very much.

Related note:

Missing Habana

Tribeca x 4: João Moreira Salles

During the 6th Tribeca Film Festival I had the pleasure and honor of interviewing some of the filmmakers, actors, producers and festival executives. Next there is an excerpt from the interview with João Moreira Salles, director, writer and producer of Santiago.

Durante el 6º Festival de Cine de Tribeca tuve el placer y honor de entrevistar a algunos de los cineastas, actores, productores y ejecutivos del festival. A continuación, un extracto de la entrevista con João Moreira Salles, director, escritor y productor de Santiago.

Pablo Goldbarg: When you start the film we see emptiness: a house, furniture, walls. I wonder what did you feel when you came back to your house revisiting the past?

João Moreira Salles: When I made the film in 1992/93, the house was empty. The house was abandoned in a sense. My mother had left the house, and the house was left to the cockroaches. And when I filmed the house there was this idea… when I say it, it sound pretentious, and it’s not literally on the film, but for me the house represents to certain idea of, not Brazil, specifically Rio de Janeiro, a city that at some point was very cosmopolitan. A lot of things were happening in Rio, cinema nuovo, bossanova, the best writers, those who re invented the Brazilian literature, they were not from Rio, but they had move to Mina Gerais and they were writing in Rio, the best poetry was being written in Rio. So, Rio was in a sense a city that had ambition, and the ambition was to be part of the world. In a political, economical and social way--the Paris Hilton social way--I think that the house represented that too. The fact that it was a house where Presidents from another countries would pass by and stay, people from the economic world outside of Brazil, the Rockefellers, etc. they would go and stay there. In a sense the house was also part of this idea of Brazil and Rio that had the ambition to be part of the world. Now, in ’92 this whole idea had completely disappeared. Rio was a city in decay, the house had lost its sense, my family was disintegrated, my father and mother had separated and divorced, my mother was already dead when I filmed, so the whole idea of the house and everything that happened in the house was an idea of the past, and that past was a glorious past in a sense. So, for me the empty house, and the way the house was left to its own chance and bad luck was also the idea that I had about my own family and my own city. A couple of years later I made “News From a Private World”, so you see in such a way there’s a connection.

P.G.: There is an amazing discovery about Santiago’s 30,000 pages of writing, and such richness inside. You probably remember when living there that Santiago was special (about the books, the dancing…). When did you know that you would do a film about him?

J.M.S.: Of course in 1992 when I decided to make a film about him it was a very traditional film, a film about someone else. The same way you make a film about a pianist, or a scientist. You make a film about another person, and you’re not in the film. Why Santiago? Because he was very interesting, he was part of my upbringing and childhood, and also he represented this idea of something that was out of place at that time. The same way that the house didn’t make any sense in 1992, Santiago didn’t make any sense either. The ideas that he had, and his idea of the world didn’t make any sense in 1992. Rio became a very violent city; Brazil had impeached the President; the inflation, and the whole idea about a very quaint noble aristocratic, even enclosed place where you can live without taking notice of Brazil... I mean you can live in that house and think that you were living in the first world, but that whole idea came down in the ‘90s, which is good. I’m not saying it’s bad. So, Santiago was also that person who represented something that is out of place. The film is about things that are out of place. But in that time I didn’t pay attention to the 30,000 pages. At that time I just wanted him to fill up the empty house with his stories. And his life, the things that he did with his own spear time was not a fair amount interest for me. And I didn’t film the papers. The only thing that you see in the film, that has been recently shot, three years ago, is in fact the papers. So, in ’92 it was a certain kind of film about Santiago, about the whole idea of the city that was going down the drains. In 2004, the film became a film about my relationship with him, and with the idea of time, and memory and loss. Which is something that for me it’s always there. This is something that I think a lot about. Of course, his papers are an expression of that. So, therefore I paid attention to the papers much, much later.

P.G.: Talking about the relationship with him, I imagine that a lot of people ask you during Q&A about you giving him specific orders during the film. Of course, as a director you must give them to the subject in terms of reaching your goals, but I wonder how did you deal with that knowing that he wasn’t the butler anymore, and you had a different relationship during the shooting?

J.M.S.: I really don’t think that at the time of the shooting the relationship had change that much. Although he wasn’t the butler anymore, I treated him as such, and I didn’t notice it at that time. I thought the relationship was very fair, but it was a very unfair relationship. Someone has the power and someone not. But one thing that I said about that is that he’s not only the object of the film. He is also the subject of the film. He has his own ideas, he has the power to be angry with me, to stop the shooting, to say cut. So, in a sense he reacts. I think this tension between someone who orders and someone who accepts some of the orders and do not accept others makes the complexity of the film. The film is made out of this tension of me trying to direct him, and he accepting and not accepting at the same time. At the time that I shot in ’92 I didn’t have any conscious about the way I was treating him. Not at all.

P.G.: How did you decide the cinematography? The narrator explains the need to search for a perfect frame. There are a few beautiful shots like the movement of hands. How did you choose a visual concept for this kind of poetry in a way?

J.M.S.: This is one of the problems of the film: it’s too beautiful. A large part of the way I related to Santiago was not due to class or power. It was due to aesthetics. It had to be beautiful. This is what I thought filming was at that time. You have to frame perfectly, you have to light perfectly, and you have to control the environment you have. For me now documentary is just the opposite. It’s not that you won’t frame well, but you will frame the way that you’re able to frame, because documentary is urgency for me now. If you don’t have lights you don’t need them, you just go and shoot. I would never do a take two, even less a take three. So, at that time, cinematography and the beauty of the shot was as important, if not more important than what was actually said by Santiago. And that’s why everything is so, so particularly chosen and perfect. The camera is always on a tripod and it doesn’t move. You always have a door between the camera and Santiago, or a curtain, or an element. His kitchen is a kind of dressed up in a sense. It’s documentary almost as fiction, with a kind of intervention that you have in fiction. And at that time that was very important for me, and also very important for the cinematographer, Walter Carvalho who then went on to make the first film my brother made. He shot Central Station also, but before that he was filming black and white, in fact Carvalho convinced my brother Walter to do it in black and white because of Santiago. The film is called “Foreign Land”. It’s a beautiful film. I actually think it’s my brother’s best film. It was shot with the same camera, with the same stock footage, so for me and for him those aspects of the film--photography, framing—were very, very important. Even more important than what Santiago was trying to say, and this is one of the things that I criticize in the film today.

P.G.: Thank you very much, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Santiago explains when the newsman asks if they are shooting a movie, that actually it’s not a movie and you are embalming him. It captures most of the things the film is about: Santiago is a character, you are capturing many moments in time, and if technology allows it, it’s eternal. So, thank you for that.

J.M.S.: Thank you very much.


Nota relacionada (related note):
Finale Allegro Imbalsamato

Tribeca x 4: Salvatore Stabile

During the 6th Tribeca Film Festival I had the pleasure and honor of interviewing some of the participating filmmakers, actors, producers and festival executives. What follows is an excerpt from the interview with Salvatore Stabile, writer and director of “Where God Left His Shoes”.

Durante el 6º Festival de Cine de Tribeca tuve el placer y honor de entrevistar a algunos de los cineastas, actores, productores y ejecutivos del festival. A continuación, un extracto de la entrevista con Salvatore Stabile, escritor y director de “Where God Left His Shoes”.

Pablo Goldbarg: When did the homelessness theme trigger in you the need to make a movie?

Salvatore Stabile: Well, first, the creation of the movie… I really wanted to make a movie about a family, first. I never intended to take the cause of the homeless. I was always intending to make a movie about this family. About a family who is struggling to survive in the darkest time of their lives, and they come to realize that in the end, as long as they have each other, they will be OK. That’s what I started with in the script stage. The whole thing about homelessness, which is the theme of the film… when we started shooting the movie, we started to receive donations for clothing, then people started sending toys, furniture, and then food, and then gift cards, because we’d asked people and we told people that we’re going to help some homeless people out. And what happened was that we ended up getting a warehouse full of all of that stuff. And at the end of the shoot the most rewarding thing for me was that the day after we finished shooting, myself and four other crew members of mine got into this truck, we loaded the trucks up all the stuff and we started to go around New York City and pulling up to homeless shelters and just giving it away. And it was the best experience of the film for me. That was the most rewarding. Shooting a movie is wonderful, and working with John was wonderful, we had a great crew, we had a great cast, but there was nothing more rewarding than seeing these people, the thankfulness in their eyes when you hand over all these jackets, and food and clothing, and then from there we decided to continue to charity, and we’re going to continue to do it this year hopefully, and also we’re donating… I’m donating part of my back end for sure, my producer, all back ends towards homeless, so we figured it, you know, we are trying to make some type of difference, and hopefully that helps.

P.G.: It’s very interesting to see that Latinos are struggling in your film, and Italians are trying to help. I wonder, in a city like New York, how important is what the immigrants are doing. Beyond family values, what is the role of other cultures in this city and in the U.S.?

S.S.: I never wanted to make a movie about race. Being Italian I thought that I couldn’t come at all on Latino culture because I’m not Latino. We started with the fact that it’s just a movie about a family. So many Italians are portrayed in movies as gangsters and bad guys. I never intended it to be a comment on race or culture, you know, that we have an Italian-American that is trying to help them, because there is another Italian-American who didn’t want to help them. Essentially from the beginning I tried to find the best actors for the roles around John. You know, the film has made a statement without me intending to make a statement, and I think that could be taken as something that is beautiful. Hopefully people take different things from it.

P.G.: It’s a truly independent film. I know that you were working with the “Made in NY” incentive. Can you please tell me how it was working with all kinds of support, not only from the city but from churches, other organizations and locations? How was the “indy” experience?

S.S. People think New York is a difficult place because the traffic and people. I made two films and I worked on various television shows that were shot around the city, and I have friends who are independent filmmakers. Every time I shoot New York it’s the most welcoming experience, from the Mayor’s Office to locations. Everybody tries to make it possible for you to achieve your vision. And it’s very, very easy to shoot here. It allows independent films to flourish. I mean, everywhere you point your camera you have a beautiful shot. So, the city itself lends a beauty that you can find nowhere else. You cannot replicate New York anywhere else in the world. And the Mayor’s Office… we had, I think, fifty locations on a 25-day shoot. I had the best location manager who was working with all the offices. We never had a problem. There wasn’t one problem whether blocking off the street, cars, there was nothing I’d seen from the director/producer stand point that was a problem from the city. The other thing: we had so much support from the Trinity church who helped us. We made donations to their church, and they also helped with the homeless. When you connect to the right people in the city, there are so many people who want to help, and when they’re given the opportunity to help, that’s where the city shows how generous it really is. You really need to pin people down. “Hey look, I need your help, this is our cause”, and I think people are overwhelmed and happy to do it. But if you don’t approach them in a very direct way, you know, they just go on with their day and they forget. The support we had from Trinity church, the Mayor’s Office, the MTA… Albertine Anderson who runs the Film Division for the MTA was so accommodating to us. We had two children on the subway, so we needed special security. I hear stories of so many filmmakers “stealing” shots on subways, but we didn’t want to do that and put the kids in jeopardy. So, we made sure everything was done properly, and without her office we wouldn’t haven been able to do it. As you know, the train is the most important part of the film. I mean, the subway scenes in the beginning and the end, through out the middle. To me, growing up in New York city, the train is a home, 'cause you travel on it so much, it’s almost like your living room for two or three hours a day, so it was very important to me to film it correctly, to have full access to the train, and they provided that, and I’m very grateful.

P.G.: Your first feature (Gravesend, 1997) was ten years ago. You wanted to have some kind of maturity to make your second feature, and we see it. How was dealing with the expectations and patience, and how did you know that you were ready?

S.S.: I knew, after I made my first film, I heard enough filmmakers saying “the first one is important in a sense of getting recognition, and people will see what kind of talent you have, but your second film, if you mess that one up, you know, that’s the one that could really, really hurt you”. When I finished my first film I was nineteen, twenty years old. I didn’t necessarily know what I was doing. You know, I had some instinct. Everything was made with instinct. When the film came out, I received a lot of praise and a lot of negativity, and I handled both really well. I talked to my producer and I said: “you know, it’s very important to me to get an education. I made a film that showed some promise, but I really, really needed to learn my craft”. And I spent five to six years just writing for TV shows, and staying behind people who were very talented. And the reason I chose television is because you’re always in production, you’re always behind a camera, shooting thirteen or twenty-two episodes a season, and I’ve always been privileged to work with some of the best people on TV. I worked on shows like Rescue Me or The Sopranos or numerous other shows. When I wrote the script I was looking for something that I believed in. I didn’t want just to make a movie. I had several opportunities over the years to make many films on Hollywood or horror films, but I always wanted my second one to be very personal. Something that no matter what anybody says I’m sure this film will be praised, and will be criticized but at the end of the day that doesn’t matter to me, because I made a movie that is about something that I believed in. It’s so special, and it’s such an important cause behind it… no matter what anybody says about it, it could never be a failure. So, the wait for ten years was a great thing for two reasons: one, my craft. Two, I chose the right piece of material to do and really to continue my career. So I’m very fortunate.

P.G.: Thank you very much for your time and your movie. I can tell you that the shoes were on your set. I'm sure.

S.S.: Thank you, I feel very blessed. Everything has been amazing, from the production, to Tribeca, to everyone involved, to all the charity. I'm truly blessed.

Salvatore Stabile's picture property of Vulcan Productions © 2007

Source: http://wglhs.com/TheDirector.asp

Related note:

Shoes On The Set