Writing

Literary fiction “fell on me” without even experiencing a “vocation.” I had no choice but to write to free myself from what was sprouting inside me. Until then, I was a happy reader. Since then, if a book captivates me, the enjoyment is enhanced, but if I dislike it, my boredom, discouragement, or anger are much greater.

It is difficult to describe such an activity idealized by those who do not know it. Joseph Conrad was right when he said: “My wife does not understand that I am working when I look out the window.”

I started by writing short stories, some of which were collected in a book (Seven Voices), and then I returned to a long-winded story, deeply rooted and of slow emergence. The writing process was consolidated thanks to numerous historical, and I don’t know whether to call them anthropological, readings, to give birth to the novel entitled The Circle of the Winds set between 1791 and 1806 in the Great Plains of the United States.

On the other hand, without knowing how, step by step, I wrote more than fifty articles published in the film magazine Positif.

The Circle of the Winds

Synopsis:

In 1791, a tormented aristocrat, who rejects the French Revolution and flees from justice, crosses the ocean and enters the Great North American Plains. What begins as a flight becomes a spiritual journey that confronts him with his own prejudices. During the journey, he will detach himself to open himself to another form of consciousness.

The protagonist painfully witnesses the greed of the European and American powers, the nascent capitalism, the colonial expansion, and the slavery that he himself defended. Together with some natives, he will see how the siege is already tightening on them and on a sacred nature that will soon be subjected to devastation.

The Circle of the Winds is an immersive and epic western where two worldviews collide. Reading it is meditating about freedom, equality, and love consolidated by time.

Seven Voices

Rafael González Castell Award

Synopsis:

In Seven Voices, the narrator’s voice is stripped away so that his characters live in the first person. He had to find for these stories the thoughts and feelings of men and women of very different ages, social, geographical, and historical backgrounds. To reach the affective nakedness that reveals the deepest emotions, it was important to trust introspection, thanks to which the characters affirm their vitality in spite of the wounds. In the search for all of them, a certain tension towards the ideal, the fragile, and the primeval emerges. In Seven Voices “all voices, be they untuned voices, voices shrouded in fear, haughty voices, broken by emotion, harsh or cheerful, all voices merge into a musical matrix.

The attached PDF contains Seven Photos and Dear Victor. These two monologues are part of the seven stories gathered in Seven Voices.

The screenwriter and director in me is drawn to character-driven stories, scripts that avoid dramatic acrobatics, formal adventures, openness to the imaginary, and auteur cinema expressed within established genres.

At the start of my projects, a matrix image and a character emerge, never a plot or a theme. I discover them later once the characters gain strength. I can only write what I visualize, which is why I consider myself more of a screenwriter-director than a pure screenwriter.

My stories can be set here and now, in distant countries, long ago, or in the near future; all of them, according to the professionals who have read them, stand out for their brevity and sobriety, for their contained dramatic intensity, and for a certain lyricism.

I tend to rewrite the sequenced treatment a lot. As Hitchcock said, “Once the script is written, all that remains is to add the dialogue.” Of course, it worked in his case, but not all screenwriters and directors have the same needs.

As long as the foundations are not solid for me, it makes no sense to write a dialogued continuity. Unlike many authors, I do not advocate writing many versions of the script. An “overwritten” script leaves less space for staging, to the point that sometimes the films are mere filmed scripts.

Years ago, I read something in Elia Kazan’s copious autobiography that caught my attention. The filmmaker, who had read the original manuscripts and typescripts of playwrights on their way to fame (Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Clifford Oddets, William Inge), came to the following conclusion: “when a play is good, it is good from the start.” Until then, I naively believed in the infinite powers of rewriting. For some time now, I have shared Kazan’s conviction.

I have discovered that in my case, one must not seek but wait. If I search eagerly, it is a futile effort produced by a rational will that inhibits. When the contours of the story, its structure, and above all its tone and rhythm, finally take shape, the work becomes intense and the course, clear.

As an author, I observe changes in my work. Increasingly, the implicit montage of the scenes guides my way of constructing them. On the other hand, in the most recent scripts, women and ecological reflection are protagonists. Although I live in a large city, it is usually nature that inspires me, the city very rarely.

My scripts have been selected to participate in workshops or meetings such as Madrid CreaLab, Casa de América, Equinoxe, la Maison des Scénaristes, the SGAE, the online market of the Cannes festival, or Cinenido.

The time has come to turn them into films.

Les voix de l’ombre

La ópera ha dejado en el cine una impronta duradera y sutil que no consiste tanto en inspirarse en libretos, filmar conciertos u óperas en sí, sino en adoptar estructuras musicales heredadas de la ópera, en utilizar personajes que remiten al melodrama, en darle prioridad a la voz, especialmente la voz femenina, como un recurso musical. A menudo aquella voz sumida en la sombra oculta su esencia musical. Artículo publicado en abril de 2012 en la revista de cine Positif (nº 614).

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Entrevista a José Luis Guerin, el “flâneur” órfico

La senda elegida por José Luis Guerin sigue siendo solitaria, sorprendente y estimulante. El pasado mes de junio mantuve con él una conversación que trata de seguir sus pasos, comprender sus planteamientos y algunas de sus preguntas relativas a su quehacer. En otras palabras acercarse al pensamiento de un cineasta que se siente atraído por l’avant-garde y l’arrière-garde.

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Folie et sainteté

En este texto traté de acercarme a la delgada línea que separa la locura de la santidad y cómo aquellos directores de cine fascinados por la primera también lo son por la segunda. Desde Alain Cavalier hasta Andreï Tarkosvki, pasando por Roberto Rossellini y Lars Von Trier. Forma parte del dossier que coordiné en 2009 junto a MIchel Ciment dedicado a cine y locura.

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Les Sentiers du silence

A partir de “2001, una odisea del espacio” el silencio se adentra con mayor profundidad en las películas de Stanley Kubrick, cada vez más enigmáticas para ofrecer al espectador experiencias sensoriales inusuales. En el artículo adjunto trato de valorar cómo se manifiesta el silencio e su obra.

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Le Pays de la soif

Aprovecho que la editorial Circe publica la traducción de la biografía de Karen Blixen escrita por Dominique de Saint Pern para compartir el artículo que dediqué hace años a la adaptación cinematográfica de “Una historia inmortal”, el magnífico relato de la gran dama de las letras danesas. Esta enigmática y hechizante película sigue siendo desgraciadamente una de las menos valoradas de Orson Welles. Era sin embargo una de las películas favoritas de Gabriel García Márquez.

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La Valse des lendemains orphiques

En julio/agosto de 2015 la revista Positif rindió homenaje a Alain Resnais que falleció en marzo de 2014. En lugar de que fuera un tributo inmediato el comité de redacción prefirió concederse tiempo. François Thomas, coordinador del dossier, me sugirió escribir un texto breve sobre el período que se extiende desde “Hiroshima, mon amour” (1959) hasta “Je t’aime, je t’aime” (1968).

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Mosaïque Indienne

Aprovecho que el museo Thyssen acoge hasta el mes de febrero de 2016 la exposición titulada “La ilusión del lejano Oeste” para compartir este artículo que dediqué hace años al tratamiento de los indios en el western.

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Edvard Munch, Sleepless lights

The exhibition called “Archetypes” hosted by the Thyssen Museum (Madrid) gathers eighty paintings divided into nine chapters: Melancholy, Death, Panic, Woman, Melodrama, Love, Nocturnes, Vitalism and Nudes.

The visitor eager to get something more than an overview of the painter’s life will enjoy Peter Watkins’Edvard Munch (1974) which is a gem of a movie, as far as I know one of the very best films ever made about art.

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Suprême renoncement

A lo largo del año 2015 Martin Scorsese ha sido objeto de una constante actualidad: homenajes, publicaciones, DVD, así que deseo compartir en esta sección blog el artículo que dediqué a “La edad de la inocencia”, película no menor, todo lo contrario, aunque menos valorada que otras, sino tratada en modo menor.

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Tan lejos, tan cerca

Hasta el 07 de febrero de 2016 el museo Thyssen-Bornemisza acoge la exposición titulada “La Ilusión del Lejano Oeste” comisariada por Miguel Ángel Blanco. El visitante se adentra en el lejano territorio del Oeste americano cercano para aquellos que siguen cruzándolo por medio de viajes, lecturas o ensoñaciones. A continuación comparto algunas de mis impresiones. Un ciclo de proyecciones acompaña la exposición a partir de diciembre. Que nos sigan embriagando las Montañas Rocosas exploradas por Jeremiah Johnson (Sydney Pollack, 1972) y nos hagan reflexionar las contradicciones de un indio blanco en Desapariciones (The Missing, Ron Howard, 2003).

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Les fleurs de leur secret

Desde hace más de veinte años Alberto Iglesias compone bandas sonoras para películas dirigidas por el cineasta Pedro Almodóvar. Em este artículo repaso los momentos más destacados de su colaboración.

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Pinturas de paz

El museo Thyssen de Madrid acoge la exposición titulada “La ilusión del lejano Oeste” donde se pueden ver algunos lienzos pintados por Karl Bodmer que, junto a Georges Catlin, aportó uno de los primeros y más valiosos testimonios sobre los Indios de las Grandes Llanuras.

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Michael Cimino said that literature generates thoughts and cinema sensations and feelings. I think I understand the filmmaker’s conviction and I share it. If a film provokes reflection, welcome it, but it can be awakened by a look, a gesture, a voice, a light effect, a musical fragment, or a sound.

From my point of view, the literary work immerses us in a journey, which we can undertake again at our whim, when the script condemns us to remain in a frustrating threshold.

If there is style in a script, it must be perceived in the tone, in the tempo, and even more so in the gaps in the story, necessary for the promise of a film to be fulfilled. It is still a score, of ungrateful reading, that does not come to life until it is interpreted.

With regard to writing articles, they help me to clarify my reflections on cinema, although I dedicate too much time to shaping and pacing them.