Gael Garcia Bernal
The actor and director talks about his journey from stage school to working with some of the biggest names in Latin American cinema, why it is impossible to take the politics out of Mexican film-making and the 'cage of melancholy' that surrounds his country's cinematic tradition
# guardian.co.uk,
# Monday October 16 2006
Geoff Andrew: We're going to be talking about Mexican film-making, Latin American film-making and Gael's contributions and ideas about that. Gael, we know that you decided at a very early age that you wanted to act, but when did you decide you wanted to act in films?
Gael Garcia Bernal: I didn't know I wanted to do films until I started to do them. Very few films are made in Mexico and film-making belonged to a very specific group, a clique. And my parents didn't participate in that group - they were more theatre actors. But it just happened. I came to London to study a three-year course, and about a year and a half into it, I was invited to do casting for Amores Perros. I got a phone call from Alejandro González Iñárritu, the director, and he asked me to read something, videotape myself and send it back to him. I had never done casting before in my life, so I did exactly what he told me to do. After that, I got a phone call back from him saying, "Let's do it." So he sends me the script, and I said yes - well, I was going to say yes anyway. But there was one big problem - my school [the Central School of Speech and Drama, London] didn't allow me to work. In England, they don't let you miss school - if you miss school for three days, you get chucked out. In Mexico, this is completely incomprehensible. So I told Alejandro, and he came up with a very good Latin American solution to this problem - he said that a relative was a director of a hospital and he would be able to get me a medical certificate to say that I had contracted some big tropical disease on my last visit to Mexico. That was perfect because I had no hair when I got back here from Amores Perros and people believed me completely. I only missed one week of drama school, so it wasn't that bad. But my movement teacher told me to take it easy and my classmates sent get well cards to me in Mexico, so it was embarrassing.
A year and a half after that I was invited to do Y Tu Mamá También - the director had helped in the editing of Amores Perros and invited me on that basis. So I came back to school from doing Y Tu Mamá También and people were surprised that a film I'd been in was already playing at Cannes. It felt like a little thing - I asked the producers when I was doing Y Tu Mamá También if they could give me a VHS recording of the film that I could show to my family, because in Mexico and Latin America, when you do a film, you don't expect anybody to see it, especially not in the cinema. They never did give me the VHS recording I asked for, but then I was asked to go to Cannes to present Amores Perros. And little did I know that this film would be huge. I saw it for the first time in Cannes, and it was the first time I'd seen myself on such a big screen. And it had a huge impact on me - it was the strangest feeling. I was completely taken in and moved by the way the film transcended our experience of making it, the way it captured it. Many coins dropped into my brain [the penny dropped] - I understood the nature of cinema. When it's good, cinema can be one of the most important things in a person's life. A film can be a catalyst for change. You witness this and it is an incredibly spiritual experience that I'd never lived before; well, maybe only in a football match. But that's when everything started for me in film. I never thought I would do a film - that all seemed so far away. Honestly, I never thought I would be here, talking to you. I feel such huge pride. I used to come to see so many amazing directors, actors, writers and theorists talk cinema when I was a student, so I am really, really, really proud to be here talking to you.
GA: Amores Perros was a breakthrough film in many respects. It brought Mexican cinema a much higher profile than it had enjoyed in a while, and was followed by Y Tu Mamá También very shortly. Y Tu Mamá También, while on the surface being about two horny teenagers going after an older woman...
GGB: With good reason.
GA: With good reason. But while they're talking about sex, the film is showing you other things, like people getting arrested, living in villages that are much poorer than the backgrounds of the two boys. It's very much a film that tries to show Mexico in a fresh light. It has an almost documentary feel, like The Motorcycle Diaries. You have set up a film company, Canana, with Diego Luna and you've also set up a travelling documentary film festival, Ambulante. Where did this interest in documentary come from?
GGB: I guess the starting point for Ambulante was our very good friend, Eugenio Polgovsky, who did a film as his thesis for CCC, one of the biggest schools for cinema in Mexico. The film is called Tropico de Cáncer. And the film started to do amazingly well - winning festivals and starting to travel. But there was no interest to release it in Mexico. Of course not, because there's no niche for it in Mexico's film infrastructure. But if you create an audience, then you create the demand for such films to be shown, seen and made. So we thought we'd help to distribute Tropico de Cáncer. So how do you distribute a film when you have no money? You tell everybody that it's good and they should see it. So that's basically what we did. And we had a brilliant proposal from a very close friend - he suggested that we make a rock tour, but for documentaries. I was very drunk at the time so it sounded amazing. But it was hard to pick it up and put it into a structure. So we got together 20 documentaries and we were going to take them around the country. How? With what money? That's when we had to start thinking about things that we had no clue how to do. By this point, we had already thought of setting up this production company, Canana. The name, by the way, comes from the bullet belt that revolutionaries wear. I thought it was brilliant at the time. So anyway, we were learning how to set up and run a company. Imagine, Diego and me, we're pretty primitive. We didn't even know how to keep a car running, we didn't know how to do anything. But luckily, one of our best friends, Pablo Cruz, was already a producer, and he helped us build the production company. And Ambulante was a festival organised in only two months. We chose the best documentaries that we had seen - some of them could participate while others couldn't. At the same time, we worked on the promotion and sponsorship, because obviously we had no money to do this. Fortunately we found a really good partner, which was the Morelia film festival. We also got support from Cinepolis, which is the biggest cinema chain in Mexico - they offered a place for these documentaries to be shown, for a week at a time, in cities where documentaries were never shown before. We also went to the press and it all started to happen. It's been successful in a number of cities and next year it's going to be even stronger. Who knows where this will get us, but at least it's creating a niche and demand for documentaries to be seen in Mexico.
GA: You and Diego have both directed, you with Deficit and Diego with a documentary as well. When did you decide that you wanted to try directing?
GGB: I think since I was in drama school, I wanted to direct in the theatre. When you are an actor, you just have to open your eyes and you start to learn a lot about how to survive on set and what's important and how to tell a story. Directing is really about putting yourself out there, to be slapped in a way. You know that in the kitchen, you're gonna get burned. It's very scary but very exciting as well. If you have something to say, you have nothing to lose and you probably learn from the experience. Most probably you'll end up finishing the film, and hopefully - and this is less probable - it'll be brilliant. At the end of the day, who the hell knows whether the story that you tell is going to interest anybody else. So anyway, Diego - it's a shame he couldn't come tonight as he is right now rehearsing a play called Festen in Mexico. Well, Diego found the perfect subject for a Mexican documentary - the life of Julio Cesar Chavez, one of the biggest boxers in Mexico. Mexico's very good at boxing, probably the only thing Mexico's extremely good at.
The film that I did came out of a workshop for a TV series called Ruta 32. We were going to do a series of stories set in all 32 states in Mexico. I wanted to do this because I'm from Guadalajara and I've never seen a film or anything on TV that portrays my city, and it's a city of about five million people. So it was one of those obvious things - why not? But it was very hard to sell that format on TV. "We want to do this series of stories in each state." "What are the stories about?" "Well, one is about how the military is colluding with the drug traffickers. One is about people getting kidnapped at the beach. One is about the kidnapping of a woman at the border in Ciudad Juarez." We didn't get any response from any of the TV stations or private financier we pitched this to. We are still hoping to do this one day, if only to document Mexico at this time. But I had this story that I had written, set in the state of Morelos, south of Mexico City, and that became a film because that was the easiest way to get finance.
GA: Amores Perros is a film that its director Alejandro González Iñárritu has described as political. Obviously what you've been talking about is political. Even Y Tu Mamá También points up inequalities in society, and you are quite a political person outside of your film work. How important is it to you to have a political aspect to your film-making?
GGB: There was this writer, [Georg] Büchner, who said that for him to begin to write anything, his point of departure was not the story, but rather he had to completely understand the politics of it and then develop the story to fit the politics. This was in the 1820s and he died when he was 24 of flu. Imagine, 24. He wrote three plays - Woyzeck, Leonce und Lena and Danton's Death - which are still put on again and again. The story he tried to tell was about the unification of Germany after the French Revolution. At the time, the union was unstable, and the conservative right was winning. He was aching for the French revolutionary ideals to be in place in the new unified German state. He was persecuted and he had to hide and go into exile. And ever since I read him, I understood on a practical level what one can achieve when telling a story. It is truly impossible to take politics out of any story made in Latin America or Mexico. The place demands that you involve its history. It would be very disappointing not to use that wider scope. I think Y Tu Mamá También is a truly involved political film that will be more important in 10 years' time because it is a document of something that was happening in Mexico right after the fall of the PRI, the party that was in power for 72 years. So it is inevitable to be political and I must say it is irresponsible not to acknowledge it. It augments the fiction and it is there to be grabbed and used, without the politics having to be spoon-fed to the audience.
GA: You've been very supportive of Mexican film-makers and film-making, fostering a sort of renaissance. You've also been doing that within the larger context of Latin American film - you've just come from making a film in Argentina. It seems that The Motorcycle Diaries for you, as it was for Guevara, was about getting a greater sense of the common struggle. Was making Motorcycle Diaries important to you in coming to that feeling?
GGB: It was a big reaffirmation of wanting to work, live and travel throughout Latin America, and of wanting to know myself. It was a film where, if I'd been a bit detached from it, it would have been a useless experience. You had to give yourself and transform yourself as the two guys on that journey transformed themselves. Obviously it was a different time 50 years ago. Now we have the good fortune of knowing a little better the history of Latin America. It is more complex, but things have changed for good, and bad. It is a journey that has changed our lives forever. In Latin America, we have the same problems everywhere - in some places it's more evident than others. We have the same inconsistencies, we share the same failed, neo-liberalist dreams. And we share the same sense of disgust with what democracy has given us. But we share the same hope as well that things will work out. And another thing that we share is that we know that money is not worth anything. When I was a kid, I saved money to go travelling. Overnight, my money became worth four times less than the day before. And this was my case, which was really not dramatic. There were people who were starving because of that. Now, we're living in a difficult moment - there're two very clear sides and both are becoming radicalised. The middle ground, the basis of democracy, is losing itself. We have to get back together, and understand and accept that we are countries that were created out of colonial caprices, we are countries that were not necessarily meant to be. It was the church that decided where the countries' borders would be, so there's nothing we can do but keep on searching and fighting. Throughout our history, there's a sense of cycles repeating - of violence, of people with privileges overthrown by those without privileges who want those privileges for themselves. That doesn't mean justice. Still, I hope for the best. I think that by working together is where Latin American cinema can find its place. I think we should work as a bloc: we share the same language - the case of Brazil is different, but we share the same circumstances and we might as well work together. You go to a film festival and you find one stand called Asian cinema - in Asia, they speak so many languages and the cultures are so very different, and there're more people and it's more diverse there. And then you go to the Mexican stand, the Argentinian stand, the Cuban stand, the Colombian stand and you're lost. We should work as a bloc.
GA: You've had great success around the world. You've worked in films that aren't Mexican - not yet in Hollywood but you have worked in an independent American film. Has that fame resulted in any backlash against you in Mexico?
GGB: I've had a really short career really - I feel I have a lot to learn and discover and I want to keep on working and get better at what I do. And travelling, that gives you the experience of working with other people and challenging yourself to do very different characters from the kind you would do if you were only working in your own country. But maybe the backlash in Mexico has to do with the fact that you put yourself out there. There'll always be people who don't like your work - it's common and it's normal. I myself don't like some people's work and love that of others. It is easier to dislike the work of someone when you are separate from it and completely outside; if you have intentions of getting inside, that's resentment, and that's another thing altogether. But when you're separate from it, it is very common and easy to be very clear, for people to be able to say, "I liked you in this, I didn't like you in that." I'm sure this doesn't happen only in Mexico, it happens all over the world. Some people may not like the work that I do - I agree with them - that's completely understandable. But in the meantime, there's something more important - what matters is the practical side of things. I have a strong commitment, with my acting comrades, to making things happen in Mexico and in Latin America. Why? Because that's where we can fly, where we can find ourselves, and get to know how good we can be. We can try out different things: there're a million stories to be told and we've the urge and itch to tell these stories, be true to ourselves and be consistent and keep on doing what we like. So really, that's a nice backlash to have.
GA: We had a panel on Mexican film-making here last week, and Carlos Cuarón, the writer of Y Tu Mamá También who hopes to direct Gael in a film at some point soon, said that one of the things Mexico suffered from was renaissance-itis; you have a renaissance every six years with a new administration, but they never amount to anything substantial. But Amores Perros and Y Tu Mamá También showed that you could reach out to a wider public, and private financing really could work. Do you think after Amores Perros and Y Tu Mamá También something really has changed? That something's really going to happen now?
GGB: In terms of numbers, yes. When we did Amores Perros, Mexico only made six films that year. Now, according to Imcine [Mexican Film Institute] official figures there will be 65 films made this year. So it is a big impact. But I don't know how many of those films will be seen. The point is not just making them but of them becoming reality, of becoming films that are shown in the cinemas. I hope that this new material that is coming along has enough strength so that they become inspirations for more film-makers, actors, technicians, make-up artists, costume designers, etc, to start to work and develop a strong industry in Mexico, that used to exist not so long ago. Also there is the issue of representing Mexico: we're a country of about 105 million. And 65 films for 105 million - we need at least one film for every million citizens. That would be great. And the government, with some very simple tweaks, could help us even more. They are already helping us with a tax break. But it can develop into something more real - they can make adjustments to the law, create a screen quota, they can charge a small admission tax, like they do in Argentina, so that a portion of every ticket sold goes to its Institute of Film-making and that funds films. They have a subsidy there which is proportional to the number of people who see your film. So, for example, if 100,000 people see your film, you get $100,00, and if 100,000 see your next film, you get another $200,000. In Mexico, all that we need is just a push. People are already interested in investing in films, in making them and telling stories. And people are starting to realise that you don't need a lot to make a film. Sure, for a big film, you still need a Hollywood budget. But for a small little film, it is quite immediate the way you can get the money. Carlos Reygadas is a great example. Nobody had heard of him before, he was a lawyer, and then he did one brilliant film, and then another brilliant film, and nobody knew how he got it together. But he's done it in a very independent way and I hope that this continues. And this hybrid, the most difficult hybrid of all, between government and the private sector, is most definitely working.
GA: We're now going to throw it open to the audience. Please don't ask if Gael will read your script, and please don't ask him to marry you.
Question 1: Could you talk a little bit about Chiapas and the Zapatistas, and how that has affected artists in Mexico?
GGB: Well, the uprising came together with Mexico's entry into the North American Free Trade Agreement, a huge devaluation, a volcano eruption and also a political scandal. So that was a very intense year. Politics was on your doorstep and inside your house. And so, your involvement in it was very direct and you couldn't escape from it. I was about 14 or 15 when it happened. There was a war going on, between the government and this armed movement that sprang from this state that we had never heard of, it was so little present in our heads. All of a sudden it put on our whole society's conscience the effects of Nafta and the injustices that were committed. And it brought home to us the intense marginalisation that exists in Mexico. Mexico at that time was living in a fantasy - a kind of honeymoon. I remember this newspaper headline that said "Mexico is about to enter the first world". There were these things that were completely idiotic because the reality was not like that at all. All the power and money were concentrated in very few hands and the rich were getting richer and the poor getting poorer. And the middle class was disappearing completely. So it was a moment to hold on to what was important. And basically, the majority of people protested against a war happening within the country. These protests had a strong impact on the government and made them stop the war. Then negotiations started and that's when the problems began. Negotiations led to disagreements, then they're dropped and then continue again. It is a very horrible situation and like the rest of Latin America, it is a very unjust country. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer and there is little middle ground. It will only implode if we don't do something about it.
Q2: You've played such a diverse range of roles, from murderers to transsexuals to crazy people. I just wondered which one you identified with most, or at least which one you enjoyed playing most?
GGB: You enjoy playing the extremes, definitely. The transsexual part, I loved it.
Questioner 2: You looked good as a girl.
GGB: Thank you. It took a long time to get dressed up and to have that thong, that was the most extreme situation that I have gone through. That was the biggest stunt that no double would do, getting that thong in place. Some of you might be aware of [Spanish screen star] Sara Montiel - she's a very difficult character to imitate, and there's a little bit of her in the Quizas, Quizas, Quizas bit. And it was also very difficult to imitate Sara Montiel among Spaniards - it's like somebody telling me about the best tequila that's not from Mexico. So it was very difficult, and beauty costs, beauty hurts and it takes a long time to get done. But I have to say that the character I most empathise with, or actually most identify with and is most similar to me, is Julio from Y Tu Mamá También.
GA: I was hoping you were going to say Ernesto Guevara.
Question 3: Like you, I am studying acting in London. I'm quite sad to leave Mexico but I couldn't find opportunities there, especially not in theatre and film. Even though I am training here now, will this get me a job when I go back to Mexico? And I'm wondering if I should go back. So what do you think Mexico has to do to keep people in the country, so that they don't have to go away to look for opportunities elsewhere?
GGB: Every day, something like 10,000 people cross the border between Mexico and the US looking for opportunities. Most of them risk their lives while doing this. Shamefully, Mexico isn't a country that provides opportunities equally and democratically to everyone. Although I must say that there is a myth as well about that, because if you have something to tell, you will find a way to do it. You might get frustrated doing it but hey, that's the country we live in. I've been going in circles thinking about this. I've tried to say to myself that it could be better living somewhere else, but how is it better to be an exile from myself? I want the chance to live and experience the country that I come from. I keep struggling and fighting against these very seductive offers that, in the making, require that I live somewhere else indefinitely. It is a shame that it has to be like that. But you are young. If you don't have a family then there's no excuse. Try, at least. Really, it is a place that needs people willing to do something and that are not drawn into the myth, although there is truth to it. That is the reality for the people who come from the Sierra, that drink Coca-Cola all their lives because there is no clean water, and so it is necessary to go to the United States to have a better life. But with you, you're in London now and I don't think you face that kind of extreme situation. I might be wrong, but I don't think you do. So you might as well try it and find out. But really try. Because it is hard, but then it is hard here as well.
Question 4: What was it like working with Almodóvar in Bad Education and how is it different working in Spain versus working in Mexico?
GGB: The food is very different. And the time you start working - in Spain you start working at 10am, while in Mexico you start at 6 or 7am. Don't you find it weird that in poor countries, people work a lot, so when you go into the countryside, you see so many people working in the fields and so many things going on. Whereas when you go to a rich country, you don't see anybody yet everything is done. And everything is clean - somebody's done it, but when do they do it? I never see the people working in the fields and then suddenly you find everything is in neat rolls. I don't know why. In Spain, it is kind of the same. Spanish people take the whole summer off from work - it's great and I envy that. Mexicans can't afford that. So that was very different. And Almodóvar is one of those people who can give himself that luxury, he can start shooting any time he wants, he can hire any actor he wants. He's a great director. He's very specific - he tells you how many steps to take from here to there. If he says it's nine steps, you have to make it in nine. So that creates a tension, but it also creates a world. He's one of the few directors in the world who do that - he creates a very specific world. He did it his way, like Frank Sinatra. He was a minority in a country exploding out of censorship and oppression. I learned a lot from him.
Question 5: Are you involved in any social justice projects? I know that you're using your film company to address injustices.
GGB: There's a great organisation that sprouted in Oxford, called Oxfam, which is a major force around the world. I participate in their projects, I help in whatever way I can, I give them my time when I am able. I also develop things with them which can address economics at a broader level than just at specific country level. It's very interesting working with them, and I have learned a lot and experienced much that I would not have doing films and theatre, and it's incredibly fulfilling. Happily I give myself to that, and to getting the word out there of what's going on. Right now, we're trying to establish a custom in Mexico that all proceeds from film premieres should go to charity. It's very difficult but it's going to happen. There're many other things that I'd like to do but haven't had the time, space and energy to do, so I cannot say at the moment because I haven't done them yet, or else I'll be called a liar.
Question 6: When you came to London, did you always know that you would return to Mexico, bringing those skills back, or did you consider staying here? And also, what did you think of the recent very contested Mexican elections?
GGB: Ooh. When I first came here, my dream, my objective was to work in a theatre company and travel all over the world with the theatre company, be it here in England or Mexico. I always knew that I would go back to Mexico to do things. So that was my goal. Or to keep studying at Unam, the national university. I got in and left because there was a strike - we all left. So I wanted to go back and finish the degree I was doing. But then I turned to films and all this happened. About the election, phew! Of course, I can only speak for myself here. There was a vote, and votes are secret. [eyebrow raised] But I can say that this has been one of the most difficult moments for democracy in Mexico. If they say fraud was committed here, then I believe that fraud was committed long before because there was a dirty war against one of the contestants. By the time of the election, if you were in Mexico and you were in parts from Morelia upwards, everyone voted for Calderon [Felipe Calderón Hinojosa of the incumbent National Action Party]. This is something that people in Mexico City find hard to believe. And whoever won this election was going to win by this tiny margin, from one side or the other. Of course I sympathise with Andrés Manuel López Obrador [of the centre-left Party of the Democratic Revolution] to begin with because it was the party that was much more in tune with my voting preference. But the margin was so tight, and the whole thing went absolutely bonkers, and it was impossible to follow. Right now, it is the time to find common ground, and fortunately they are finding it. Now that they are negotiating in the legislative chamber, they're finally realising that they have more than 50% in common. But they've always had these points in common, but they were too busy hitting the other in the struggle to get into the seat. Now, fortunately, hopefully, election campaigns are only going to be two or three months long, when before it was like two years long. I'm trying to be optimistic, that everything will be all right.
Question 7: Now that you're in postproduction on your own film, can you tell us which do you prefer, acting or directing, and why?
GGB: Acting. Because you observe more, and you have more time to see the sights and enjoy. It is the thing I have the most fun with. Mind you, directing is incredibly fun, too. It's like a sweet venom, once you're bitten you wanna keep going back there. But in the meantime, acting.
Question 8: You're obviously a very politically engaged actor. What are your own plans for your own films, with Canana? What are you going to put in them to transcend the nostalgic feeling that you've put into your acting?
GGB: Well, the film that I've directed is called Deficit. It's not a market-oriented kind of film. Actually a lot of people told me you can't call a film by that title, but that's what it's called. Why? Because it's one of the words that we learned from a very early age - words such as deficit, crisis, devaluation, democracy. Those are words that I heard when I was growing up, so that's what the film's about. About words that have no meaning, yet have such deep impact in our own lives. And about us thinking that we know the meaning of these words but really we don't. At the end of the day, the film is about the end of impunity. I know it's very broad, I won't give you the details because I want you to see it, come on. And Canana is doing pretty well - we have a lot projects coming up. We have one film coming up that we co-produced with some other guys, called Drama/Mex.
GA: It's showing at the London film festival.
GGB: And we also produced a film that's just wrapped, a movie called Cochochi, which happens in the Taraumara mountains. And there are other projects coming along. A couple of them are about to be finalised and I just need to call someone to ask if I can talk about them, but I won't here. But those films may happen. And Ambulante's happening next year. We just want to provide an opportunity to anyone who wants to do a film to come and start a conversation. You asked about the nostalgic feeling in my work - well, that's the nature of it. There is this vision of Latin America as a place of pure celebration, but actually I see it as a cage of melancholy, but melancholy flies a lot and looks like a happy bird. Octavio Paz put it so well, it's a labyrinth of solitude.
Question 9: How important do you consider drama school to be for an actor, as opposed to just trying to jump into the film industry?
GGB: Very important. For me, I'm a strong believer in academia in this sense. I really feel that whoever wants to act really should go to drama school. You should really try it because it's the best place where you can fuck it up real bad and it's the safest place to do that. It's the place to throw yourself out there and give yourself to it: you'll cry and you'll have a very bad time but you'll also have a huge awakening of something. There are good drama schools and bad drama schools, good teachers and bad ones, depending on the day sometimes, and how you receive things. But I think if you're completely open to someone's subjective interpretation of your work, it's incredibly important. Because when you come out of drama school, that's all you have - people's perception of you and your work. You might have an idea of what you're doing, but when you're on stage, you get lost. And that moment of losing yourself, of not knowing what the hell you're doing and thinking that you're going deep into a whirlwind and hoping that someone will catch you at the end, that is called a performance. That's when a director catches you, and that's when the audience acknowledges your leap of faith into something that's so incredibly unknown. This is why drama school is important. It is one of the strangest jobs in the world, but at the same time, it is one of the best, because you get to experience all the lives you can ever imagine, travel a lot, meet many friends, and most importantly, you get to fulfil one of the biggest objectives I had in my life: to meet girls. That was my main reason for wanting to become an actor.
GA: You may not want to go home but sadly some of our staff have to. You can see more of Gael in the closing night film at the London film festival, Babel, and you can go see Drama/Mex at the London film festival. But before you do that, would you please thank Gael Garcia Bernal.
GGB: I want to say one more thing before you leave, just one little thing. Whoever of you wants to be an actor, or film director, or writer or film producer or whatever. Honestly, I used to be sitting back there. I know this sounds like the biggest cliche ever, but it really is possible to tell a story and just go out and do it. Doesn't matter if only two people see it, doesn't matter if you get up on the stage and one of the lights goes out. It is important to tell a story and be faithful to yourself, be consistent. Just do what you like. So hopefully many people will go from here and do a film one day, even if it's in 10 years' time. I am very, very glad to be here and I'm getting very sentimental, but it's so important to me to be here. Thank you so much.
没有评论:
发表评论