SPANISH CINEMA: TAMBIEN LA LLUVIA (EVEN THE RAIN, 2010)—The Evening Class Interview With Icíar Bollaín

Icíar Bollaín's Tambien La Lluvia (Even the Rain, 2010)—Spain's official entry to the Foreign Language category of the Academy Awards®—made it all the way to the Oscar® shortlist. That's a remarkable and rapid achievement for a film that had its World Premiere this past September within the Contemporary World Cinema sidebar at the 2010 Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). Describing Even the Rain as essentially a film about hope, Diana Sanchez synopsized in her official description for TIFF: "Focusing on the continuing exploitation of Latin America, Bollaín shows the inspirational change that is possible when people band together to fight injustice." The injustice at issue being the Cochabamba Water Crisis of 2000 when the Bolivian government decided to privatize the water company, resulting in a 300% increase in water costs and massive civic unrest.

Filmmaker Sebastian (Gael García Bernal) and his crew arrive in Cochabamba to make a cost-effective film on Christopher Columbus's first voyage to the Americas and find themselves caught unaware by escalating local protests against the imposed water hikes. Blurring the line between fiction and film, past and present, Sanchez noted: "Effective on many levels, this film within a film draws subtle parallels between the exploitation of the past and the continued exploitation of Latin America by richer countries and multinational corporations. Bollaín's thoughts on the introspection inherent in filmmaking, or in any work of art, are expressed through Sebastian. He has only the best intentions of denouncing the injustices of the past, but little patience for the present dilemma, especially when it starts to impede his shooting schedule."

At Exclaim!, Christine Estima writes: "This is a bad place we are in, you and I, make no mistake; the world darkens on a daily basis and it seems only a matter of time before the stars themselves go out. Most movies I see take perverse delight in screaming into the void, but while Even The Rain screams, it also attempts to make the void that much smaller." Catching the film at the 2011 Palm Springs International Film Festival (PSIFF), Hollywood Reporter's Stephen Farber considered it stood a good chance of making the cut for an Oscar® nomination: "First of all, it has a bona fide movie star in Gael Garcia Bernal. It also has a strong social conscience that often appeals to the Academy’s liberal wing. Beyond that, its story about the unexpected perils of filmmaking will strike a chord with industry insiders. Most important of all, however, it happens to be an excellent film that will be hard for voters to ignore."

Along with being shortlisted, Even the Rain scored PSIFF's "Bridging the Borders Award" presented by Cinema Without Borders to the film that "best exemplifies the cinema's ability to bring the people of our world closer together." It has also been nominated for 13 Goya Awards (Spain's Oscar® equivalent), including Best Film, Best Direction, Best Original Screenplay, Best Lead Actor, Best New Actor, and Best Supporting Actor. The Goyas, held in Madrid, are upcoming mid-February.

My thanks to Margot Gerber of Vitagraph Films for arranging the time for me to sit down with Icíar Bollaín at the Palm Springs International to discuss her latest. Even the Rain opens in the Bay Area on February 18, 2011 at Landmark's Embarcadero Center Cinema in San Francisco, Landmark's Shattuck Cinemas in Berkeley, Rafael Film Center in San Rafael, and Camera Cinemas in San Jose. Also opening Friday, February 25, 2011 at Landmark's Aquarius Theatre in Palo Alto.

This conversation is not for the spoiler-wary!!

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Michael Guillén: Tambien La Lluvia is a complicated film to discuss and I'm sure it was an equally complicated film to make. So let's first address how different your signature is in this film from your previous feature Mataharis (2007). What motivated you to take on such a difficult and serious project?

Icíar Bollaín: Paul Laverty, the writer, is my partner. We live together. He was working on this project for a long time—something like eight years. He first wrote a script that was a four-hour period film about Bartolomé de las Casas but he found the story too distanced. He wanted to bring it closer to the present and add a different layer. Then he found and became fascinated with the story of the Cochabamba Water Crisis in 2000. He saw similarities between the indigenous resistance against de las Casas and the same kind of resistance against the water crisis. Again, he saw poor people against a modern army and he loved this resistance. In the time of Bartolomé de las Casas it was gold that caused the persecution of the indigenous but now it was water, which has become the gold of the 21st Century. Paul wanted to connect those two things and tell the story of the Conquest from that point of view. Then he developed the vehicle of a film crew on a shoot.

Paul spent three years working alongside Alejandro González Iñárritu on the project but then Alejandro decided that he wanted to make something more personal and he went for Biutiful. So after eight years of watching my partner work on something that never crossed my mind to direct, suddenly the script was available and both Juan Gordon (the producer) and Paul said, "Why don't you direct it?" I felt they were crazy because it was so different from what I had done. It was a big challenge. So then I thought, "Why not?" I liked the script very much. I thought it was original and intelligent, multi-layered, with a lot of things to try to achieve. It was fantastic material. Then they were so confident that I could bring it along that I just decided to go for it. But it was funny because I had seen this script for many years without ever imagining that I would direct it.

Guillén: Let's step back just a bit. You have, of course, done some wonderful acting over the years and I'm always intrigued when an actor elects to become a director. Are you still acting as well?

Bollaín: Yes, when the chance appears; but, it's not that often. The last thing I did was a small part a few years ago in Rabia (Rage, 2009) by Sebastián Cordero. So whenever the chance appears, I take it. I think when an actor asks himself or herself, "How would it be if I told the story?", they become jumpy if they don't do it. As an actor you're telling the director's story but if you ask yourself how you would tell it, then you have to go ahead. That's what happened to me. I always liked writing, even before acting, and then I helped start a small production company. I participated in my partner's shorts and first features and then I started doing my own. I found myself like a fish in water. I really liked the teamwork and found the whole process creative. Somehow acting in itself is isolating. You have to be in front of the camera by yourself and then also you have to depend upon others to choose you and pick you up for a film whereas this way I could be my own boss. Except for Tambien La Lluvia, my other four films were produced by my company. It was a natural thing for me.

Guillén: Outstanding. I have to say, this is such a treat for me because I don't often get to speak to women directors.

Bollaín: Neither do I!! [Laughs.] It's a pity.

Guillén: Within Spain's film production infrastructure, have you found it difficult to be such an accomplished, intelligent female director?

Bollaín: I had a soft entrance through acting. Also, I have worked with prestigious directors who were auteurs, very interesting, even if not necessarily commercial. So I had my little place in the industry and was respected and welcomed. Then I went into my production company and also felt welcome. My first film [Hola, ¿estás sola?, 1995] was small and modest. It was about two girls who tried to make a living by themselves. That film was very well received. My production company was made up of four men and me and I was the first to direct out of the group. I've never felt that being female has been an extra difficulty. Even when Juan and Paul were so sure that I should direct Tambien La Lluvia, I thought, "It's going to be even harder to raise the money with me as the director instead of a man." But I don't think my being female made it harder for Juan; it was hard enough for him just to find the money. So I don't feel that. But I do feel that there are very few women directors and, thus, it's hard to create a continuous career from one film to the other. And because there is a lack of visibility of female directors, producers tend to go to male directors for everything, even to be jury members at festivals; but, for me personally? I can't say it's been difficult. Except for this film, all my films have been modest in their budgets. I never sought millions to finance a film. My films were achievable and then very well received. I think my being a woman was actually celebrated.

Guillén: Speaking of your "little place in the industry" of Spain, you started out by working with Victor Erice on his second film El Sur (The South, 1983). What was it like working with him?

Bollaín: He was fantastic! I was 15 and picked up totally by chance. When I say "by chance", I mean I never expected to be an actress. I never dreamed it would happen. I was studying at the time that he cast among the schools in my area. He saw many girls, me among many, but he interviewed me and then gave me an audition. I happened to bump into one of the most beautiful films in Spanish history. El Sur is a gem. It's so beautiful. I didn't actually realize very much about what was going on. I just enjoyed the experience. I was fascinated. Only years later have I tried to recall how in the hell I did it and how he directed me. Basically, he was a gentle person. He always created a sense of intimacy with the cast and the crew. It felt very easy. I had trouble after in later films where I was being asked to act and I didn't know how to do it! In El Sur, I was guided by Erice. It was beautiful really. He created a lovely atmosphere around the scenes and in creating my character.

Guillén: Which leads me to ask, of course, how you dealt in turn with so many non-actors in Even the Rain? And how you balanced that against working with well-known professionals as accomplished as Gael García Bernal and Luis Tosar? Do you direct one-on-one?

Bollaín: In the scenes with many actors I must attend to the necessities of everyone. For example, some actors are great in the first takes and then they get wasted. Some actors get better with more takes. And when you have two actors this different within the same scene, you juggle. With the non-actors, I tried to make them feel at ease—as Erice did with me—and I surround them with the security of technical professionalism. I try to create a climate. I try to be very close to them. I never leave their side and go away to watch the film on the monitor. I literally remain with them to be supportive. The work of an actor is to recall his own sensorial memories and—because non-actors don't have a technique to do that—as a director you do it with them. You bring them to the mood. Somehow as a director you are doing the technique that they don't have to help them get into the mood.

Guillén: Clearly, casting Gael and Luis in the same film is a marvelous feat; but, I have to say that Juan Carlos Aduviri in the dual role of Daniel and Hatuey was a revelation. I have often said that Magaly Solier is the cinematic icon of indigenous resistance; but, now I have to say she has competition with Juan Carlos Aduviri. His face is classic. Can you speak to what it was like directing him?

Bollaín: We realized early on that we were not going to find him among the actors because there aren't that many actors in Bolivia. He didn't have a profile. So we started casting in the street, door by door, word of mouth. Juan Carlos is a carpenter by trade. He's not an actor. He lives in El Alto and has long been fascinated by film. He started saving his money from his carpentry work in order to pay for his career in filmmaking. He's studied direction. Then he realized that the kids in El Alto would never have the opportunity to study film so he took it upon himself to start a film school, financed by some government money, and—along with others he has brought in—he teaches filmmaking to the young kids of El Alto. It was when he was engaged with that project that we appeared in El Alto casting for Even the Rain. He heard about us but he didn't attend the casting call because he thought, "It has nothing to do with me." But finally someone convinced him to come and he came. I was fascinated by him. He did an improvisation and was very much like he is in the film. He has this look. He's a small man but you would never step on him—there's no way!—he has such dignity. We did a couple of auditions with him and then I told him I wanted him for the role. He said, "Are you sure? I'm not an actor. I can't do this." I said, "I'm sure. I'm going to help you through it because it's going to be difficult for you; but, I'll help you."

The amazing thing about Juan Carlos is that he doesn't speak a word of Quechua—he's Aymara—and that was an added difficulty: he had to speak a language he didn't know. He spent hours in make-up with the hair stylist to be dressed up as an Indian. Physically he's not very strong but he had to run, he had to jump, and when we finished the film I told him, "Only you and me know the effort you've made and how much I have asked of you." Remember: it's a double part! I think Juan Carlos—along with Luis—worked the most in the film. His role was very demanding. I can only be thankful for Juan Carlos because he is fantastic.

Guillén: The film's braided narrative and the fact that several of the actors played dual roles must have made the casting especially difficult. How involved were you in the casting? And what were the qualities you sought for in your actors that you knew would satisfy the requirements of their double roles?

Bollaín: Well, first, I did the casting. I think the idea of playing a dual role is attractive to an actor. For example, Karra Elejalde—who plays Cristóbal Colón (Christopher Columbus)—also played Antón and they were two completely different roles. We had to find someone who could play both roles; someone who had a humane background. Karra has his own backlog of life. All of that is in his face. But then he also had to have the presence of Colón so—when we were auditioning for the casting—we had him do two scenes, one as Antón and one as Colón. The actor who played Antonio de Montesinos (Raúl Arévalo) also played the character of Juan who was a funny, cheery, light guy; but—when he does the scene as Montesinos—he's really in it and serious so, again, we had to try both sides. It was a process of double-casting.

Guillén: Even the Rain truly is three movies in one. It blows my mind to think of what it must have been like to direct three different movies at once. For example, when the film shifted into the historical period, I was thoroughly enraptured by the tone and the visual detail and I kept thinking, "I hope someday Icíar gets to focus completely on a period piece" because I felt you displayed remarkable skill with that genre.

Bollaín: Thank you very much.

Guillén: As the director of the film, how much are you invested in the persona of Sebastian? Are you a similar filmmaker to him? Would you fall prey to his ethical quandaries?

Bollaín: There's a general quality to Sebastian, the director in the film, which I think is common to all directors: you have to be stubborn to direct. There are moments during a shoot when as a director you just want to give up—it's either really late or people are getting really tired—but, you know that the more you push, the better material you're going to get. If you're going to give up, you're not going to get good material and you can't then tell the audience, "I'm sorry but everyone was hungry so I had to cut and I didn't get the right take." Nobody cares about that. They want to see memorable scenes on the screen and—to get those memorable scenes—you have to fight like mad. Having said that—that's common to every director—I don't know what I would have done in Sebastian's shoes. His was a tough situation. But I have questioned myself many times on how far I can push my actors and my crew.

Let me give you an example. Since you asked me how I deal with the non-actors, I did something with Sonia Ovando, the little girl in the film who plays Juan Carlos's daughter, with regard to the scene where she sees the young man getting his arm cut off. I never gave her the script so she didn't know what was going to happen every day. Before her scenes, I would tell her, "Do this" or "do that" because I worried that reading the script too much beforehand would spoil the naturalness of her performance. In that amputation scene, we never rehearsed it. We set up the camera and waited for her to appear around the corner so that what she sees would be the first time she sees it. She had a sense of fear because she knew we were shooting but she was easily in the mood because she didn't know what was going to happen. She knew something bad was going to happen. The actor who played the young man whose arm was being cut off was actually her brother. I cast him in that role on purpose because I knew that was going to mean a lot for her, instead of his just being an extra. So I told her, "Look, something is going to happen to your brother and you have to try to break free from the soldier to help him. You have to fight like mad." With the first take, she was amazing. She was crying and fighting to break free of the soldier. After we cut, she was crying her eyes out and she came to me and asked, "Can I ask you something? How many more times do I have to do this? Because it's really happening here [gesturing to her heart]." That's when I began thinking, "I can push a little but I have to be concerned about the stress on her." So I said to her, "I promise you, we're going to do just one more take." When she returned to first position, the director of photography said, "Are you crazy or what? You need this scene to be really great and I'm not sure about the focus because we haven't rehearsed and I'm not sure about the lighting. I'm not sure about anything. You need to cover yourself and do at least three or four takes." And I said, "Well, I have promised the girl that we're only going to do one more take so you had better focus it and get the lighting right because I don't have the heart to have her go through that scene emotionally again and again." Even though she knew the scene was false, she was stressed out by imagining this was happening to her brother.

Guillén: As a young actress, she was quite compelling, especially in the scene where she was watching the film and her father comes to pick her up on the set and he asks her, "How did it go?" and she replied, "Oh, it was very interesting. It was so sad." This is what's so difficult to describe about the film, because it's operating on multiple levels at once. Who's acting? When are they acting? Which performance is within which performance? Which reality is the grounding reality?

I have to ask the obvious question. Because this is a story about the exploitation of Bolivian extras in the making of a film about the historical Columbus....

Bollaín: Were they paid? [Laughs.] How much were they paid? Were they taken care of? Yes. We were very concerned about that and we knew that would be the first question everyone would ask. We paid them much more than $2 an hour, obviously. We did something that was actually a good lesson for us and it was a lesson that came from them. We contacted some of the main people who participated in the water wars. We cast them from the barrios that still have no water. They're still fighting for water. We first contacted the leaders of those communities and they said, "Well, for us it's great but you have to ask them. We can't tell them to do the film." So we went to their public assemblies where we were the last point on their agenda. They discussed pipes, their schools, for hours it was "Compañero, compañero, compañero" while we were there waiting. [Laughs.] What can you do? After a four-hour meeting they finally said, "And these guys here want to make a film." So we introduced ourselves and told them what we wanted from them and then we left. They kept discussing whether they were going to join us or not. It was a decision that had to be made by everybody in the assembly. They decided, "Yes, we want to participate but we want you to individually pay the extras and also to participate with every community they belong to." They wanted to make sure there was not an inequity, that all the luck was not going to a few and not distributed among everybody, and they wanted us not to pay in cash (to avoid corruption), and to pay in materials. If someone asked for 2,000 bricks to finish building a school, we paid them with 2,000 bricks. Others asked for something to help them with the water, or a truck, and for us this was a lesson.

Guillén: That's what I call committed filmmaking. Bravo.

Bollaín: At first we thought it was a curious thing that they asked us to do that; but, it was what they wanted, and we came to see it was a very good idea.

Guillén: In the past year I have been fascinated by the idea of what constitutes a contemporary film. Your film seems particularly pertinent to this query. Is Even the Rain a contemporary film because of its topic about the water crisis? Or is it contemporary because of the ongoing abuse of indigenous people by multinational corporate forces? Do you have a take on that?

Bollaín: I worked once with the writer Julio Llamazares who said that somehow film is a witness of its time. I believe that's true. Within a film there will always be a documentary aspect. Some films achieve that by not dealing with anything, which is again a witness to its time. Sometimes people don't want to deal with anything and then we have periods of history where the films are all happy-clappy and about nothing. Then we have other times where films are used as weapons. Some films have an extra element of being contemporary because they deal with something that is going on. I think this film does. I mean, when I read the story—apart from the many reasons to do it—I thought that water is central to the advent of the 21st century. It's already affecting millions of people who don't have access to clean water. This film shows one battle but there are going to be many more. There's going to be serious trouble with water shortages. Even the Rain is also contemporary because it's about people from this time looking back and learning from the past, reflecting on the past from the present. In that sense, Even the Rain is like a poem. Poetry is often at the heart of these social issues.

Guillén: It's my understanding that Even the Rain is dedicated to Howard Zinn, who was definitely focused on social issues.

Bollaín: My partner Paul was a close friend of Howard's. Howard was especially close to the script when it was originally going to be only a period film. He loaned Paul most of the books that Paul used for his research. The sad thing is that Howard died a few months before the film was ready. That's why Paul wanted to dedicate it to him.

Guillén: As Spain's official submission to the Academy Awards®, and cognizant of the fact that it is a co-production with Mexico and France, can you speak to what it is about Tambien La Lluvia that represents Spain?

Bollaín: First of all, I think the Academy members liked the film and thought it was well-produced. When a film comes to the U.S. for the Oscars®, you think—not so much what people like here—but what will be interesting for them. If you send a local film that rings lots of bells for a Spanish audience but nothing else—it just has local appeal—that doesn't make much sense. There was another film that came out about the same time as mine that had lots of opportunities but it was deeply connected to the Spanish culture, especially to Spanish history of the last years of Franco. The film made some jokes around it so you have to know what that time period was about to appreciate the humor. So I think why Even the Rain suited Spain was because it was about Colón, which is also a part of the history of the Americas, not just Spain, and because it was about the water wars in Bolivia, a neighbor of the United States, whose interests are intimately tied to Latin America. So all of that played into Spain deciding to submit Even the Rain to the Academy Awards®. But the basic thing is they liked it.

Guillén: Let's discuss the character arc of Costa (Luis Tosar). His was the most dramatic change of heart within the narrative. Can you speak to how you worked with Luis to achieve his transformation of character?

Bollaín: This is my third time to work with Luis. I find him to be a magnificent actor, probably one of the best in Spain, if not the best. Costa was a subtle role to play. To come from being a cynical, politically incorrect bad guy (I laughed a lot at some of his first lines) to becoming someone committed to what is going on around him had to be subtle, or else it would be crude and obvious. I felt it was amazing that with so little Luis expressed so much with his eyes. What I tried to do was to never leave my focus on him, even though so many things were happening in the film. I had to find moments for the audience to be alone with him to see what he was thinking. The audience needed that. The good thing about Luis is I could tell him, "I don't know the answers. I don't know how Costa changes. But let's try to find the answers together." He goes, "Okay!" So it's like we went arm in arm into every scene trying to find little things to reveal the change.

Guillén: How long was the shoot?

Bollaín: Eight weeks.

Guillén: How much of that was spent in rehearsal?

Bollaín: I don't rehearse much. I like to sit down with the actors for three or four days and go over the script, have them ask all their questions, make their suggestions, many times we adjust dialogue they're not comfortable with. I rarely have much time to rehearse on my shoots but on this film I had none so I said, "Look guys, it's now or never." That's how I work. I don't insist on rehearsing scenes over and over because if anything fresh comes, I'll lose it. There's no camera rolling. So I prefer to leave most of that for later on; but, I give the actors a general sense of what their characters are all about and then with that information the actors go and do their own work. Then we shoot it.

Guillén: My final question: it seems to me the film's situating metaphor was this cross that, first, is being flown in to location, which reminded me briefly of....

Bollaín: Fellini?

Guillén: Yes!

Bollaín: I haven't seen it but everyone mentions it.

Guillén: But then also the dramatic scene where it is being erected. Was this based on historical fact? Since Howard Zinn researched this and Paul worked with Howard, was this an actual historical event?

Bollaín: The truth is that Colón in his diaries writes about how he was looking for land and he would sail around what turned out to be an island. Then he would spot more land and, again, would sail around it and discover it to be an island. He became desperate trying to find the mainland. But as he was doing this, he was putting up crosses on every hill. He put up about 20 crosses on his first voyage. Every place he disembarked, he would put up a big cross on a hill so you could see it from the sea. It's there in his diaries. It became very monotonous: "We landed. We put up a cross. We landed. We put up a cross." [Laughs.] Colón was obsessed with religion.

Guillén: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me today.

Bollaín: It's been a pleasure.

Guillén: As a student of Latin American archaeology, I have studied the Spanish contact a lot; but, am especially impressed with how your film connects it with the present.

Bollaín: That's Paul's genius. I don't know how in the world he connected the Water Wars with Colón; but, it's a fantastic connection. I think if you make a period piece, there is a distance for the audience. This way there is no distance because you are back and forward and the same. I was very lucky to be offered this script.

Cross-published on Twitch.

SF INDIEFEST 2011—Michael Hawley Previews the Lineup

The 13th San Francisco Independent Film Festival, better known around these parts as SF IndieFest, hits town this Thursday with two weeks of outsider cinema. Although 2011's line-up contains more "high profile" films than is customary—fear not—most of this year's roster still hails from the outer limits of international indie-dom.

Things get going on opening night with the local premiere of Gregg Araki's Kaboom. Araki made a name for himself in the 1990's with a series of nihilistic youth manifestos (The Doom Generation, Totally F***ed Up, Nowhere) and then shocked the world with 2004's uncharacteristic and accomplished Mysterious Skin. Three years later came the woefully under-seen stoner flick Smiley Face—possibly my favorite comedy of the last 10 years. Kaboom is said to be a return to the spirit of those earlier anarchic works, but executed with greater directorial chops. The plot defies easy summarization, so let's just say it involves college students, sex, drugs, mind control, cults and the apocalypse. The film premiered at last year's Cannes Film Festival (MUBI's David Hudson compiles the largely favorable reviews here), where it copped the inaugural Queer Palm, Cannes' newly created LGBT award that apes Berlin's Teddy and Venice's Queer Lion. Kaboom will open at a local Landmark Theater on February 18, but a ticket to IndieFest's opening night will get you a personal appearance by Araki, plus entry to a blowout party at CELLspace with three live bands and a free drink!

Another opening night highlight should be the on-stage introduction of Araki by none other than Joshua Grannell, director of last year's All About Evil and reverse alter-ego to local cine-drag icon Peaches Christ. In a recent e-mail missive, Ms. Christ admitted to being a long-time Araki fan and called Kaboom "super weird and sexy." Both directors employed Thomas Dekker in leading roles, and Peaches gushes that, "yes, it's true, Kaboom opens with a full frontal nudity shot of Thomas in all his glory." Furthering the Peaches/IndieFest connection will be a special co-presentation on Saturday, February 12 of 2004's Seed of Chucky, with star Jennifer Tilly and writer/director Don Mancini in attendance. This event will happen at the Victoria Theater, with all other IndieFest screenings taking place at the Roxie Theater two blocks down on 16th Street.

IndieFest13 closes with the latest from Spanish cult director Álex de la Iglesia (The Day of the Beast, A Ferpect Crime). His The Last Circus (alternately known as A Sad Trumpet Ballad and Balada Triste during 2010's festival circuit) nabbed second prize at the Venice Film Festival, which proved almost as controversial as the Golden Lion bestowed upon Sofia Coppola's Somewhere. This bloody disgusting fable about Spain's fascist past tells the tale of two circus clowns battling for the affections of a beautiful acrobat. MUBI's David Hudson gathers up the reviews from Venice and Toronto, which range from Jay Weissberg's Variety nay ("Loud, tedious and unattractive in every sense") to Richard Corliss' Time Magazine yay ("Beginning in carnage and soaring into surrealistic tragicomedy, Balada Triste is a film hellbent on madness and in full control of it.") Other reviews reference everyone from Alejandro Jodorowsky and Frank Tashlin to James Whale and Tod Browning, making this the IndieFest film I'm most dying to see. While The Last Circus allegedly has U.S. distribution through Magnolia Pictures, you won't find it mentioned anywhere on their website, leading me to suspect this might be our only chance to catch it on a Bay Area big screen.

is said to be a return to the spirit of those earlier anarchic works, but executed with greater directorial chops. The plot defies easy summarization, so let's just say it involves college students, sex, drugs, mind control, cults and the apocalypse. The film premiered at last year's Cannes Film Festival (Another IndieFest film with U.S. distribution whose theatrical release seems unlikely is Jorge Michel Grau's Mexican cannibal movie, We Are What We Are. IFC Films will be releasing it on VOD February 18, but none of our likely local exhibitors (Landmark Theaters, the Roxie, YBCA) are listing it on their upcoming calendars. In this combo of domestic drama, social commentary and full-on horror film, a family of Mexico City cannibals struggles to survive when its patriarch dies and stops bringing home the "bacon." After premiering at last year's Guadalajara Film Festival, the film made stops at Cannes (screening in Directors Fortnight) and Toronto, eventually landing a slot at the ultra-selective New York Film Festival (where MUBI's David Hudson collected these reviews). Also screening at IndieFest from IFC Films is Heartbeats, Canadian whiz kid Xavier Dolan's follow-up to 2009's multiple prize-winning I Killed My Mother. Dolan once again directs himself, this time as a guy competing with his female best friend for the attentions of a dim Adonis. Heartbeats appeared at last autumn's Mill Valley Film Festival and is scheduled for a Landmark Theater release on March 18. Reviews have been mixed, but given that I Killed My Mother was one of my 10 favorite films of 2010 (it had a single screening at Frameline), I have no intention of missing it.

IndieFest has always had a soft spot for exploitation films and I was thrilled to find that they'd programmed Machete Maidens Unleashed!, a movie I've been salivating over since learning of its existence during the Toronto International Film Festival. This documentary about made-in-the-Philippines exploitation films of the 1970's and 80's comes courtesy of Mark Hartley, the same guy who gave us 2008's rollicking Not Quite Hollywood: The Wild, Untold Story of Ozploitation! I'm a sucker for that era's jungle-set women's prison movies like Black Mama, White Mama and The Big Bird Cage, and judging from the trailer, it looks like I'll be getting my fill of clips and wild production tales from the likes of Roger Corman, Jack Hill and fave character actor Sid Haig. In a tip of the hat to neo-exploitation, IndieFest will also be showing the fabulously awful-looking Nude Nuns with Big Guns from director Joseph Guzman (Run! Bitch Run!). Asun Ortega stars as Sister Sarah, a nun who extracts bloody revenge on the motorcycle gang who kidnapped and held her in drug-addled, sex-slave captivity. It takes a stronger man than I to resist a film with the taglines "Hell hath no fury like a nude nun with a big gun" and "This Sister is One Bad Mother."

For the second year in a row, the IndieFest folks will be running a SF Winter MusicFest in conjunction with the film festival, with over 40 bands performing live at CELLspace. I'll leave it for the young'uns to savor the song stylings of groups like Shit Outta Luck, Nihilist Cunt and Sistas in the Pit. Meanwhile, IndieFest will be featuring seven new music documentaries, two of which I've previewed and strongly recommend. Pascal Forneri's Gainsbourg, the Man Who Loved Women is a 2010 made-for-French-TV doc that's a perfect companion piece to last year's phantasmagorical biopic—and my top film of the year—Gainsbourg (vie héroique). The focus here is on the provocative singer / songwriter / superstar's relationships with the women in his life, both musical and personal—or as often as not, some combination of the two. Interestingly, the director skipped the talking heads approach to bio-doc filmmaking and has constructed his film entirely of archival footage. Voiceover commentary is layered over these materials by all the pertinent players, including wife and daughter Jane Birkin and Charlotte Gainsbourg, Brigitte Bardot, France Gall, Françoise Hardy, Juliette Gréco and Vanessa Paradis. And oh what archival materials! As someone who's spent days trolling YouTube for clips of Gainsbourg and his pop music progeny, I can attest that much of what's in this film in super-rare. My only complaint is that none of Gainsbourg's brilliant lyrics are subtitled in English. This is understandable given that his penchant for poetic, intricate wordplay would have made this too massive an undertaking for a film that will certainly never see US/UK theatrical or DVD release.

Another terrific documentary, especially for armchair ethno-musicologists, is Dominique Margot's Toumast: Between Guitars and Kalashnikovs. Toumast means "identity" in the language of the nomadic Tuareg tribespeople who've inhabited the Sahara Desert for millennia. The film focuses on their struggle for autonomy in the post-colonial era, and how it's evolved into a musical liberation movement. At the center is Moussa Ag Keyna, former freedom fighter and now guitarist and lead vocalist for the group Toumast. He shares the film's musical spotlight with Tilwat, an energetic collective of marginalized female musicians and vocalists from Mali, a country that has been especially ruthless—along with Nigeria—in its oppression of the Tuareg people.

The only other film I've seen in this year's IndieFest line-up is Jeanne Labrune's Special Treatment, which I caught at the Palm Springs International Film Festival a few weeks ago. Isabelle Huppert stars as a high class prostitute who specializes in staging elaborate fantasies for her customers. She's also looking to get out of the business and has a taste for pricey antiques. Sharing that passion for objects d'art is Bouli Lanners (Eldorado), a miserable shrink who hopes that a call girl assignation will cure his contentious marriage. For its first hour, Special Treatment zips along as a slick, snarky satire that lampoons both psychiatry and prostitution. Unfortunately, it descends into a maudlinness that's laughably ingenuine, based on all that has preceded it. Still, the film is a must-see for Huppert fans, and not just for the outlandish costumes she gets to wear (my favorite being the 1950's housewife drag, replete with curlers, polka-dot "Lucy" dress and a lap full of crocheting).

I've only covered 10 of the 35 features and none of the five shorts programs being screened this year, so be sure and check out the rest of what's on offer. Some interesting possibilities might include a documentary about a Petaluma Ugliest Dog contest (Worst in Show), a doc about the founder of EST (Transformation: The Life & Legacy of Werner Erhard) and a film created entirely from imagery lifted off the video game Grand Theft Auto IV (The Trashmaster). IndieFest has also become legendary for its parties, which this year includes the 8th Annual Big Lebowski Party, Superbowl XLV: Men in Tights, a Roller Disco Wrap Party and February 14th's Love Bites: Power Ballad Sing-a-long, which is IndieFest's very own anti-Valentine's Day event. Finally, for those who go to film festivals to watch "film," I've been informed that the following movies will be shown in 35mm, with everything else being digital: Kaboom, Fuerteventura, Special Treatment, Heartbeats and We Are What We Are.

Cross-published on film-415 and Twitch.

PSIFF 2011: CAMERAMAN: THE LIFE & WORK OF JACK CARDIFF—A Few Evening Class Questions For Craig McCall

Thirteen years in the making, Craig McCall's documentary profile of cinematographer Jack Cardiff reveals an impassioned artist who literally painted with light and dramatically transformed the art form of cinematography through his chiaroscuric B&W lighting and his early experiments in Technicolor. As detailed at the film's website, 54 years after first winning an Academy Award® for his stunning Technicolor work on Black Narcissus (1947), Jack Cardiff became the first cinematographer to receive an honorary, Lifetime Achievement Oscar® for contributions spanning a 70-year career. Though responsible for the camera work that distinguished some of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's best loved films, including the aforementioned Black Narcissus, A Matter of Life and Death (aka Stairway to Heaven, 1946) and The Red Shoes (1948), Cardiff went on to work with Alfred Hitchcock, Lawrence Olivier, Richard Fleischer and John Huston, eventually directing several notable films of his own, though remaining relatively unknown to the general public. Craig McCall's Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff (2010) effectively and entertainingly redresses that oversight.

No less passionate than his subject, Craig McCall and I fortuitously sat next to each other at the PSIFF screening of Matias Bize's La Vida de Pesces (The Life of Fish, 2010), struck up a conversation, and shared several more exchanges in the press lounge throughout the run of the festival. A true raconteur, McCall had stories aplenty about Jack Cardiff and the many individuals interviewed to effect his engrossing portrait; individuals who—as Mark Adams suggests at Screen Daily—"help give the documentary a real sense of real insight and gravitas." Eager to praise Cardiff, such luminaries as Kirk Douglas, Lauren Bacall and Charlton Heston offer fascinating remembrances that account for why Telegraph reviewer Sukhdev Sandhu wished the film could be longer, and with Martin Scorsese on board to provide valuable cinephilic context, McCall's documentary is definitely winning, earning the favorable Cannes reviews rounded up by MUBI's David Hudson. The first to agree to an interview, in fact, was Kirk Douglas, which was especially noteworthy because it was held shortly after Douglas had regained his speech after suffering a stroke. Douglas generously invited McCall into his home.

McCall explained that he didn't know who Jack Cardiff was when they first met by chance in the mid-'90s. Cardiff took an interest in McCall's clockwork home movie camera, which was similar to one Cardiff had used to record candid moments with the casts and crews of numerous productions. It was an instance of being in the right room at the right time and Cardiff made McCall laugh, which he liked. McCall felt Cardiff had the energy of a film school graduate and was impressed with his enthusiastic storytelling, which could range from Marlene Deitrich to Sylvester Stallone in the same sentence. Over a glass of red wine he would say to McCall, "Let me tell you a story" and then "let me tell you another story" while pouring a second glass of red wine. McCall found himself relaying Cardiff's stories to others so frequently that he decided he might as well chronicle them in film.

Describing the cumbersome process of editing his ample footage to a distinct narrative line that emphasized Cardiff's passion and artistry as a cinematographer rather than a straightforward catalog of his filmography, McCall likewise spent years securing rights to film clips from admittedly famous movies. "There's no straight path to the studios," McCall advised. Even with money, a filmmaker can't get whatever clips he wants. But McCall dug in his heels and the benefit of having to wait so many years is that—when permissions finally came—McCall was able to use restored clips. After this laborious process of securing the clips, McCall brought a working print to Los Angeles and screened it for Cardiff and Richard Fleischer, among others, and—though surprised by some bits—Cardiff genuinely liked the film, and gave McCall a hug when he heard the audience laughing. Adding value to the documentary over and above its generous usage of film clips are Cardiff's paintings, his photographs of beautiful actresses, and his on-set home movies, elements which created visual layers that spoke to the way Cardiff fused his various artistic expressions into cinematography. Without a formal education, Cardiff broke some of the conventions of his time to achieve his art and McCall felt this made him an accessible subject, let alone an inspiring one.

* * *

Michael Guillén: Craig, congratulations on a fantastic project. I'm impressed that—not only do you single out the artistry of cinematography by profiling Jack Cardiff—but, also that you are suggesting the artistry of the interview format. I'm intrigued by your choosing to include yourself within the frame, in contrast—let's say—to someone like Richard Schickel who purposely strives to keep himself out of his documentary profiles. Can you speak to why you chose to include yourself?

Craig McCall: I thought it would be a bit cold not to. Jack becomes electric within a conversation so I literally wanted the audience to see him talking to me when we were joking and at ease. I didn't really want to be in the film—I thought I was going to be behind the camera—but, when he tells stories they don't come across as easy out of conversation. It's a bit like Jack standing next to a Turner painting—which you see a little bit of (though I cut most of that out)—because Jack was more easygoing when we were talking about painting rather than him standing next to a Van Gogh or a Turner. That was the way it went. It seemed that when I was behind the camera, he stiffened but when I was standing next to him or walking beside him, he was more comfortable telling his stories. All those stories we filmed while we were walking were literally told during a 30-minute walk where his mind triggered and he just started remembering things.

Ordinarily, with most TV commissions you have to be in and out and get as many photographs as you can, as many bits and pieces; but, I had the luxury as an independent filmmaker to ask Jack the same question three times and I got different answers each time. That allowed me to weave quite a detailed tapestry.

Guillén: Were any of your interviews scripted?

McCall: No, they were all impromptu. I tried not to feed Jack questions unless he absolutely insisted; but, I tried to explain why I didn't want to do it. Some people feel put on the spot that way but I explained that I was not asking in a journalistic way and that everything would be edited. I did all of the interviews myself except for Moira Shearer. Someone else had to go on that day and then she grew quite ill afterwards so I was never able to interview her myself. Some of the interviews were very short and some were very long.

Guillén: Can you speak to Martin Scorsese's involvement in your film? I'm aware that Scorsese attributes the influence of The Red Shoes on Raging Bull and that he engineered its restoration.

McCall: Scorsese was my last interview. I went out to see him twice and he didn't turn up twice while I was interviewing other people, which was expensive. But I tell people that at that time he was being asked to do 20 interviews a week, okay? He can't do them all. But what I will give him credit for is that he just doesn't do the big ones; he selects. I also think you have to be persistent with him. If you just go away after a couple of weeks, then that's the end of that. I waited two years. I didn't deal with him at the Venice Film Festival because I was in a kilt, even though his assistant said, "Do it now. He'll remember!"

Guillén: Frequent allusions have been made to Cardiff's The Red Shoes to gain insight into Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan. Have you had an opportunity to ask Aronofsky if he actually cribbed from Cardiff?

McCall: I was in Poland a little over three weeks ago where they showed my documentary and The Red Shoes at Camerimage, a film festival that honors cinematographers. Aronofsky and his DoP Matthew Libatique arrived to receive an award for Black Swan. Apparently, Aronofsky had never seen The Red Shoes but watched it after he completed his film; but, several people in the room saw similarities. I haven't spoken to Darren directly about that and didn't have a chance to ask Matthew about it. I think Matthew had seen The Red Shoes but Darren hadn't. I know this topic has been raised but I would be reluctant to speak about another filmmaker's path. I don't think the pressures of being a ballerina are that different now than they were in Cardiff's time. The world of prima ballerinas is so unusual to most of us and the pressures put upon them at their peak allows us to draw parallels from different times, which has happened here. I think it's interesting that they work off of each other. I don't see them as combative.

* * *

Picked up for North American distribution by Strand Releasing, Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff will be screened in San Francisco at the upcoming Mostly British Film Festival on Saturday, February 5 in tandem with Cardiff's Oscar®-winning Black Narcissus. Further, in mid-February at Toronto's BELL Lightbox, Cameraman: The Life & Work of Jack Cardiff will premiere within a program of retrospective screenings that will include Michael Powell's A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus and The Red Shoes, John Huston's The African Queen, Joseph L. Mankiewiecz's Barefoot Contessa, and Albert Lewin's Pandora and The Flying Dutchman.

Cross-published on Twitch.

GLOBAL LENS 2011: A USEFUL LIFE (2010)—The MUBI Interview With Federico Veiroj ("Cinema Is Dead / Long Live Cinema")

In early December the Global Film Initiative (GFI) officially announced the Global Lens 2011 Film Lineup, and the series—now in its eighth year—premieres January 13-28, 2011, at the Museum of Modern Art before embarking on a yearlong tour of over 35 cities across the United States and Canada. The series will be simultaneously released throughout the year on Virgin America airlines, and selections will also be presented in Washington, D.C. in January as part of a newly established partnership with the Smithsonian Institution. Launching the series in New York will be Federico Veiroj's A Useful Life (La Vida Útil, 2010), which charmed audiences at the Toronto International and went on to win top awards at the Havana Film Festival. I'm personally delighted that GFI has championed this project, first through grant support and now with distribution through its Global Lens series. On the occasion of this great news, I'm revisiting the conversation I held with Federico at the Toronto International, originally published at MUBI.

Uruguayan filmmaker Federico Veiroj was born in Montevideo in 1976. In 2000 he obtained a Degree in Social Communication at the Catholic University in Montevideo, coursing one semester at VCU (Virginia Commonwealth University, USA). He has been directing and producing short-films since 1996. He has also worked as an actor in many Uruguayan short-films and as script supervisor in Juan Pablo Rebella and Pablo Stoll's features 25 Watts and Whisky. He has followed up his first feature film Acné with the cinephilic valentine A Useful Life (La Vida Útil, 2010).

A Useful Life was the first film at the 2010 Toronto International Film Festival I heard applauded at its press screening, confirming as Diana Sanchez had written in her program capsule that "for anyone who loves cinema in its purest form, this film will be a revelation." As Sanchez synopsized: "Federico Veiroj's thoughtful and delicate second feature contemplates the value of outmoded occupations with this evocative (and alarming!) depiction of life at the end of a cinematheque."

At an admirably unassuming 66 minutes, Daniel Kasman dispatched to MUBI: "Federico Veiroj's wonderfully trim and sensitive record of working at a place—and that place happens to be a cinema—is another elegiac entry in a micro-genre being slowly carved out by such filmmakers as Tsai Ming-liang (Goodbye, Dragon Inn) and Lisandro Alonso (Fantomas) which explore the soon-to-be-abandoned spaces that will soon be inhabited only by the ghosts of cinema."

At Variety, Robert Koehler described A Useful Life as "delectable", adding that "what begins as a seemingly dry work directed purely at cinephiles evolves almost invisibly into a droll romantic comedy, and marks a clear step forward for Veiroj. ...There's a certain perfection to Veiroj's conceit that's entirely winning and convincing, due in no small part to [Jorge] Jellinek, whose character evolves from a shy, ungainly creature into a man on the town. This certainly marks one of the most dominant and sustained lead performances by a professional film critic; it's part of a recent phenomenon that includes Glenn Kenny in Steven Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience and Mark Peranson in Albert Serra's Birdsong."

An enthusiastic and grateful Veiroj met with me to discuss his heartfelt project.

* * *

Michael Guillén: La Vida Útil felt more intimate to me than your previous film Acné in the comfortable embrace of its lustrous black and white (even though I understand it was originally filmed in color?) and what Variety critic Robert Koehler has noted as "a late-'50s/early-'60s retro feel." Can you speak about that?

Federico Veiroj: Yes, I can. There are two things. The first thing is that, obviously, in La Vida Útil I am talking about a world that I belong to—not only the world of cinema, which we all belong to—but, the specific world of the Cinemateca Uruguaya, the place where I grew up as a filmmaker, moreso than through my university studies for example. Also, I have worked at cinematheques, not only in Uruguay but also in Spain at the Spanish Film Archives. In Uruguay I used to collaborate with their cinematheque and—instead of climbing double-decker buses in the cities—I went to cinematheques to watch movies like everyone else who loves movies. This film reflects my world. I can't say I know a lot about cinematheques in general, but they are places that I visit and like a lot and I have many friends who work at film archives. So maybe you feel the film is intimate because I'm into cinematheques?

The other thing is that—now that I have seen the film as a spectator and received feedback from enthusiasts like yourself—La Vida Útil has something that makes the cinephilic audience feel they are part of the main character Jorge as well. We all have rituals we indulge when we go see movies we like at our favorite cinematheques and moviehouses. We all love to feel emotional watching movies. That's what we all want. Even in my case, though I am a filmmaker, I am first a spectator; that's what I like more. Maybe the intimacy is my fault? I made the movie about this subject, of course, but maybe the fault—and I mean good fault, right?—lies within you because maybe my film connects you with other films you've seen, other places you've been to where you've watched films, such that you can understand the plight in the film? You understand what is happening in the film. In my case, of course, I identify with all of the characters and there are little bits of me throughout the movie and I'm talking about a subject I know and like; but, I think for the film to work there has to be some similar contact within the person who is watching it. I love having that dialogue with someone who is watching the film. I appreciate it a lot.

Guillén: You're saying, then, that within cinephilia itself there is an inherent shared intimacy? And that's what your audiences are relating to when they watch this film?

Veiroj: I think so. I'm not the kind of person who is all "cinephile" and all that—I'm more like the average person who goes to see movies in the cineplexes—I just love movies, I love to watch movies, I like to investigate them, it's the thing I like most; but, yeah, the film relates to other people who do the same thing. That's beautiful. But since films are related to emotion, anyone who feels emotion at the movies is going to connect to this film, more than someone who doesn't really like to watch movies or isn't used to watching movies. You don't have to be a cinephile to enjoy my movie, even if it is telling the story of a man who is working at an archive. As a filmmaker, I wanted to tell a story that was open and available to everyone, to anyone who loves movies, and not to close it off to any specific cinematheque, even though it seems to be about the Cinemateca Uruguaya—but it's really not—and even though there are people who are working at the real cinematheque or have worked at the real cinematheque who are in the movie—but it's not really their story—I wanted to play with that dialogue also. What I like about my own film is that it makes a very small subject more universal perhaps?

Guillén: Clearly, one of the main reasons I loved La Vida Útil is, as you say, because I love movies like so many others love movies; but, where its narrative especially spoke to me was in this idea of losing a livelihood and having to come up with an alternate purpose. Myself, I've only come to films in any disciplined and conscious way within the last five years or so. Before then, I worked my entire adult life in the legal field and the state judiciary. This was how I knew myself. How I identified myself. Unfortunately, about six years back I became ill and, as a consequence, was constructively discharged from my position with the Courts, much against my will. You can imagine what a crisis of identity this was for me. That's why that sequence when Jorge leaves the cinematheque after it has been officially closed down nearly sang to me in its desultory aimlessness, in his trying to gain some bearing as to what to do next, in how to fill his time and—as the film's title lays out—how to discover and reconstruct a useful life?

That moment when he is waiting for his love interest Paola (Paola Venditto) to finish up with her classes, filling his time by contemplating the carp in the pool, is an image redolent with wistful anticipation and an almost awkwardly-discovered reappreciation of the world. It was my favorite image from your film. It possessed the same awareness captured by M.C. Escher in his 1955 lithograph "Three Worlds."

Veiroj: [Smiling] Yes, that image is beautiful.

Guillén: I'm glad we agree. [Smiling.] So let's talk about the visual look of your film, not only its intimate use of black and white, but also its 1.33 aspect ratio that you and your DoP (and co-writer) Arauco Hernandez utilized to further that intimacy.

Veiroj: As I said before, when I make a film I never forget that I am also a spectator. When I begin thinking about a film I want to make, I imagine myself as the spectator sitting in the audience watching the film on a screen in a theater. In this case, I had an old script about a young guy working for a film archive in Spain who returns to work at a cinematheque in Uruguay; but, I put that story aside to film Acné but—while working on the distribution for Acné—I met Jorge Jellinek, the main character of La Vida Útil. Meeting Jorge made me start thinking about this old script because his face and body seemed related to that story. I couldn't resist rewriting that script for Jorge, for those places, that man, and—I don't know—as the imaginary spectator in my own mind, I saw it in that square format and in black and white. I know it can be seen as an homage, as a way of working in the old days, or something like that and maybe my intention was a little bit that way; but, more, it was a way to present something to get the emotion I wanted in the spectator. Can you imagine this story in Cinemascope or in color? No! This story was for a square format and for black and white. If you met Jorge in real life, you would see that he is a black and white person. It's nice!

People who go to see films at film archives and who are into films don't make a big distinction between color films and black and white films. They go to see films, period, and even if it is a silent film, you can say, "Okay, it's black and white, it's silent, or this or that" but you don't see it just because it's in black and white. But I know that today making a film in black and white and in a square format is a comment in itself, of course, because nowadays we aren't as used to black and white films. But I said, "Okay, why not? That's how I want to see this film, that's how I imagine it", and since it was a project I had started making on my own, producing it myself, spending money that I didn't have but was expecting to get from the previous film, and using film stock I had won at the AFI festival in Los Angeles, and because I had friends and people to help me do it, I said, "Let's go!" These people came aboard because they liked me and they liked the project and, therefore, I didn't have to compromise myself in terms of marketing associates whose decisions I would have to consider. The length of the film is less than 70 minutes. I know that's not good for theatrical distribution but....

Guillén: It works!

Veiroj: Yeah! But I was free not to have to make it a little bit longer just to make sure I could get it shown theatrically. No. This film was made so free and it will remain free until the end. I know it's not a marketable film. But I'll write another story and fend for money one more year and a half, which is about the amount of time it takes to make a South American movie, and I'll do it like that in the official way. But with this movie, we were able to make it in the time we wanted with the people we wanted in a very special way.

Guillén: I can't speak for its marketability because I'm not informed enough about such things and, truly, not as interested as perhaps I should be; but, I predict this film will have an affectionate critical success and—among festival audiences—a measure of popular success as well.

Veiroj: I hope.

Guillén: As a cinephile with at least a limited awareness of how cinematheques are run, there were distinct pleasures I could sift from the film, which I noted were being equally appreciated by the audience around me. In the first half of the film especially you set up the quotidian and rather unglamorous practice of maintaining a cinematheque. Diana Sanchez details "selecting, projecting and introducing films, programming retrospectives and cultivating an audience"; Robert Koehler notes "searching for reels in the (hardly climate-controlled) print library, tracking the steadily declining membership roster, meeting with Martinez and staff to discuss problems or promoting the cinematheque program on local radio"; and Danny Kasman spots such "quiet, succinctly considerate detail[s]" as "the maintenance of theater seating, the retrieval of film cans in a tight archive hallway, and the way programmers will nod to a projectionist to start the film after an announcement." The specific instance where Jorge is checking out the auditorium seats is droll and hilarious. My audience loved it.

By film's end, however, when the cinematheque closes and Jorge has that moment of transition we talked about before, instead of a sense of despair over what has happened, there's more a sense that—because the monotony of overwork has been interrupted—Jorge gradually recognizes the chance to lead a real life. He purposely leaves behind his briefcase with his personal effects from the cinematheque after getting the haircut he hopes will better woo Paola. After waiting all day for her classes to end, he suggests they go see a movie. What a resolution to this crisis! What were you actually saying there? Were you saying that—as admirable as it might be to devote one's life to a cinematheque—it might also be an unsatisfying substitution for a more engaged life?

Veiroj: I'm saying two things. First, as you observed, the film is structured in two parts. As the script was originally written for the first part, we had included scenes of Jorge's domestic life alongside the depiction of his daily work; but, I decided I didn't want to do that. I thought it would make it like any other movie on this subject. I decided to make the first half a complete unit in itself that focused just on his work. Then in the second half of the film, the idea was to save our hero once he has lost his work. By the second half, we believe this man has to continue his life and that it should be connected to something he believes in, something he is sensitive to, another life worth living. The question we asked ourselves was: how could we do that? We thought of many things but it was important to make the right decision because, after the first half of the movie—boom!—we knew that the audience would not be happy if we left things like that. We knew we had to give Jorge a rebirth that would somehow not go against the first part; but that, instead, would deepen the first part. The idea was that the rebirth would come out of him. He's leaving behind the world he knows but, out of what he knows, comes his new life.

Guillén: In effect, the man who loves heroes in films becomes the hero in his own film; i.e., his own life?

Veiroj: Yes. It's a Quixotic impulse to live his own film. He was in love with film in the first part and we, as spectators, went along with him and his activities—we appreciated his devotion to movies—but in the second half we get to see Jorge as a man reborn.

Guillén: With his love of cinema intact but reconfigured?

Veiroj: Yes. We decided the way for this man to survive the death of the cinematheque was through cinema. Not cinema by way of a reference to this movie or that movie; but, cinema in itself as a way of communicating emotion. If within you there is only a negative critic, you will watch that second half and think, "What happens? Nothing!" But actually a lot happens to Jorge in that second half. Our challenge was to keep the audience sitting there for the second half of the movie as engaged with Jorge as they were during the first half and to represent his transition through beautiful images, like the one you liked of the fish in the pool. So we edited the structure of the film like that and then we brought in the music. The idea was that the man who worked in this doomed cinematheque should not end up being a waiter or a shoe repair guy. No! That would be a stupid resolution. That would be a resolution we've already seen in other movies. We don't need that. What we needed was to save that man, to treat him like a hero for all the work he did at the cinematheque, and movies were the only way to save this guy. That's it.

Guillén: Speaking of the music, I must ask you about that profoundly appropriate song about the two horses. Was that written for La Vida Útil? Or does it have its own unique history?

Veiroj: No, it was not written specifically for La Vida Útil. I've known the song for many many years. It's a song based on a poem by Leo Masliah. He's an author and an actor as well as a musician. He's a very special person, great of course, is known for his sense of humor, and this particular song was from a poem written in 1980-81 during the dictatorship in Uruguay. That song at that moment from that artist represented something more than just the past. It was like a Proustian way of seeing and relating to the past. Though I lived through the '80s in Uruguay, I was not so active—I'm not a political person anyways—but I know what the song represents. I connected to its themes of the loss of innocence and how one must leave the past behind in order to grow. These are themes you must handle with great care because we all share a lost past—such as these abandoned cinematheques where none of us will go to see movies anymore—and when we shot that sequence for the film, we shot it in silence because I already knew that I was going to use that song.

Guillén: You've taken great care with the song; it's exquisitely placed in your film. Another moment I wanted to address in La Vida Útil is Jorge's lecture on lying to the law students. Again, this spoke to me because of my personal disillusionment with the law when everything I had believed about justice turned out to be a lie. Can you speak to that scene?

Veiroj: Yes. Two things. First, since the credits are in Spanish you might not have noticed that Jorge's "lecture" was written by Mark Twain ("On the Decay of the Art of Lying"). I don't know how old the lecture is but he delivered it to a group of university students. The idea was that we wanted to have the sensation that Jorge is saying something that is maybe from a movie, maybe from somewhere else, and I liked the idea that it was like bad acting, like an actor trying to remember a monologue. I liked that sensation in that moment, you know? Because after he delivers the text, you are led to believe what he is saying. It's also talking about his own life, that he is lying at that moment, but that cinema also lies, which linked back to the first part of the film where Frank Norris—the author of Erich von Stroheim's Greed—is talking about truth. It also links back to the first part of the film being almost a documentary, something like a real testimony, whereas the second part becomes more of a fiction, more lies. We thought it was perfect.

Second, it served as a middle step for Jorge to go crazy as the protagonist of his own movie because—without that sequence—maybe you wouldn't believe his dancing on the stairs or his transformation into a new character? That was the idea. We needed a text and a way of shooting it to slowly believe his transformation of character and so that—as a spectator—you are discovering new depths to that man.

Guillén: I'm glad you reference your film's inclusion of the clip from Erich von Stroheim's Greed (1924) because lately I have become interested in various practices of cinematic citation. In your film, Jorge's partner at the cinematheque Manuel Martínez Carrilo (playing himself) is fulfilling his duties as projectionist and screening McTeague (i.e., Greed). In fact, Robert Koehler in his review for Variety singled out that scene as "a particularly charming moment that captures the film's cinematic heart and soul." Why did you choose Greed to include within your own film?

Veiroj: I wanted to use von Stroheim's Greed because, as I mentioned earlier, the prologue (by F. Norris) is about the truth, and because it is one of my favorite silent films. Even if we hadn't shown that specific scene in La Vida Útil, I would still have liked that Greed was part of the film by way of its subject. The cruelty and jealousy in Greed, shown at that small film theatre, and with the intertitles read by Mr. Martínez ... it was the combination of those elements, plus the fact that I knew that at the cinematheque that film was in 16mm (in that screening cabin there's no 35mm). So, it was a mixture of items. Maybe I could have equally used Murnau's The Last Laugh; but, it would have had too obvious a relation with my story. Obviously, Murnau was a very important friend to me while I was making La Vida Útil (the fantasy ending at the end of The Last Laugh is, for me, one of the best moments in cinema). But even if we hadn't used a single specific sequence or reference to another film, there were atmospheres or influences that were close by during the process: the character of Guglielmo Bertone played by Alberto Sordi in Guglielmo il dentone (1965), Akira Kurosawa's Ikiru (1952), and the Argentine film Tutte Cabrero (1968) by Juan José Jusid. And obviously, American classics were present....

Guillén: You also included a film Febrero for the sequence in which the director visits the cinematheque (to somewhat disastrous effect). Is Febrero a real film or one created for purposes of the scene?

Veiroj: [Laughs.] Febrero is an invention. Gonzalo D. Galeana, the actor of that sequence, is a good friend who likewise co-wrote some parts of the second half of La Vida Útil. He also directed short films (at a film school in Cuba). He is a close friend and is the only person that I would say, "I would like to produce a film by him." He is really talented but sometimes lazy. So, we invented Febrero, and I wanted him to take on the role of its director because I am always saying to him that he has to make movies. He was the art director on my previous film Acné, and worked with me on Whisky, 25 Watts, El custodio, and others.