Agustín MendilaharzuWhere Amateurs Shine – A Grand Entrance for Many: Interview with Agustín Mendilaharzu about El Pampero Cine and Clementina Hamed Sarrafi August 2024 22 Years of El Pampero Cine Issue 110 During the global lockdown, the film industry faced significant disruptions that challenged filmmakers both creatively and logistically. However, El Pampero, a collective renowned for its resilience in low-budget filmmaking, adapted resourcefully. Agustín Mendilaharzu, previously less prolific as a director within the group but the main director of cinematography, seized this period to make his directorial debut with Clementina, co-created with his partner, Constanza Feldman. Clementina captures the essence of the pandemic through an evocative narrative and choreography, at times reminiscent of Buster Keaton’s films. It features a woman, portrayed by Constanza Feldman, who navigates odd and absurd situations induced by COVID-19 with generosity and gentleness. Infused with humour, the film celebrates the unsung virtues of its protagonist, reflecting a profound sense of innocence and altruism. Another character in Clementina, played by Agustín himself, is a man out of focus, trying to centre himself amidst self-centeredness, timidity, and frustration caused by the situation. This character contrasts starkly with the real Agustín, who is quite the opposite, as I have come to understand him more closely over the past few months. Initially, when I contacted him for this dossier, I imagined a man who seldom gave interviews in English, always behind the camera capturing spontaneous or staged moments. Or perhaps someone like his character in Extraordinary Stories — a silent but very sensitive figure, absorbing the landscape around him as he navigates through a river of strange mysteries. I wondered if this perception mirrored how Agustín seems to be the most low-key among the four filmmakers of El Pampero, always quietly observing and participating in the collective’s adventures. Interviewing Agustín was a profound experience; he calmly, patiently, and gently explained the essence of El Pampero, emphasizing that one does not need to be an auteur to make films. At El Pampero, the filmmakers embrace a certain level of amateurism (or being against extreme professionalism) that allows them to undertake a variety of projects and be freely creative. The best way to describe Agustín might be to liken him to his role in the documentary Clorindo Testa as Mariano Llinás, who seeks his friendly advice to critically approach his creations. This was similar to my experience, as I received insightful information about El Pampero and how Clementina was made. Agustín is known for capturing the beauty and essence of El Pampero movies using a simple Canon camera, rather than high-tech equipment. His ability to connect with people and navigate challenges seamlessly helped me immensely. He provided insightful advice about the filmmaking process and El Pampero’s unique approach, emphasizing the joy of teamwork and creativity over individual auteurship. beyond caring for his family and others, including me, he also helped connect me with other members and navigate obstacles, always providing helpful suggestions and support. Agustín Mendilaharzu, born in 1975 and having studied Diseño de Imagen y Sonido at FADU, Universidad de Buenos Aires, has been a pillar of strength for this dossier. Our interviews, conducted on two occasions with a long interval, as he has been extremely busy with his family and jobs, revealed his deep concern for his family and how important they are to him. This interview also showcased another side of him as a knowledgeable man in cinema—being an actor, stage director, writer, and teacher at Universidad del Cine for nearly 20 years, where all three other Pamperos studied. His guidance extended beyond professional insights into personal advice, suggesting I balance my time between my newborn baby and my passion for film, which demonstrates his thoughtful and caring nature. Over these few months, I must confess that I have developed a deep connection and profound friendship with him. Now I understand how Clementina may not truly represent him and why I am eagerly anticipating his next movie, although he believes a movie doesn’t belong to one person and that participating in a team can be as rewarding as directing. Family is very important to your group. When I correspond with you, Alejo, Laura, Walter, and Rafael, it’s clear that you all spend a lot of time with your families and children, away from the industry. Did you all start families around the same time? How do you manage the balance between family and work? In fact, in my case, I am the last of the Mohicans! I was the last man standing. I’m 48 now, and my daughter, Luisa, is about to turn one year old on Monday. So, I was the odd one out in El Pampero. I was the undefeated bachelor until I met Constanza. Then the pandemic and the lockdown happened. During this time, while working on our first film together, Constanza mentioned the possibility of having a child. For the first time in my life, I said, “OK, let’s go for it.” But I think it’s just a coincidence that everyone in our group has kids around the same time. Of course, our lives influence each other’s, but this wasn’t planned. It just happened that way. Because we spend a lot of time together and do many things together, raising our kids together has been a way to continue our work and friendship. Luisa is much younger than the other children in our group. For instance, Laura’s child and Mariano’s son are closer in age. Walter’s oldest son is one of Mariano’s son’s best friends. This close-knit environment allows us to support each other both professionally and personally. Many feel that family hinders creativity, but for you, it seems to enhance it. When I spoke with Alejo, he was very concerned about spending time with Cleo (his daughter) during our interview, which I appreciated. It’s rare to see artists who prioritise family as much as you do. Well, it’s also because we have supportive partners who understand our work. Our spouses are artists themselves: actors, theatre directors, dancers, or choreographers. This mutual understanding is one reason why we can maintain this balance between family and work. Another important point is that we have always been against extreme professionalism. We defend our way of doing things that stays close to how we were when we were students and amateurs. This approach allows people who didn’t initially see themselves as filmmakers to become filmmakers. For example, Ezequiel Pierri, who never thought of himself as an actor, became an actor. My wife, Constanza, had almost no experience in filmmaking and became a director. Luciana also transitioned into media. This doesn’t mean our films are of low quality. Instead, we strive to get the best out of our ideas while clinging to our amateur spirit. But we are not young anymore. We balance being responsible with our work and rejecting extreme professionalism. It’s like we are growing some kind of organic product, but not of an expensive or exclusive kind. We aim to create democratic art. There’s a beautiful idea I took from El sol del membrillo (Dream of Light, 1992) by Víctor Erice. The film is a portrait of painter Antonio López, and at some point he talks about being an artist with a “wide-range door,” meaning his art is accessible to many people. I like to think that our work also has a big door through which many people can enter. Despite this spirit of amateurism, you and El Pampero have become quite famous. Many actors and actresses working with El Pampero, like Laura Paredes and Elisa Carricajo, have become stars in independent Argentine cinema. Yes, in our movie, but it still remains something that… You mentioned the term “independent cinema,” and I think it’s correctly used. For instance, if you look at Laura Paredes’ Instagram account, she probably has around 5,000 followers. While she is becoming quite famous and popular among certain circles, she isn’t a famous actress in the conventional sense. I don’t want to complain or sound dissatisfied with where we are now. What I’m trying to say is that we stick to the idea of doing things in a way that doesn’t betray the essence of the amateur filmmakers we were when we started. Again, it would be irresponsible for people our age and with our background to claim we are still amateurs—we are professionals now. Our films are being presented at the most important festivals around the world. Agustín Mendilaharzu and Mariano Llinás filming a scene for La Flor I was curious about your approach to filmmaking, particularly your emphasis on maintaining an amateur spirit. How much were you and your group influenced by the filmmakers of French New Wave? There’s a phrase from a book by Éric Rohmer called The Taste for Beauty that I found very enlightening. He said that film critics all over the world try to find what is common among all the New Wave films. He thought the only thing that could truly be said about all the members of the Nouvelle Vague is that they wanted to make cheap films. This is what he said—that they were young people trying to make films with limited resources. Of course, this resonates with us. We have managed to produce films with very limited resources throughout all these years. We learned to do things in a very homemade style, and the perfect proof of this came during the lockdown. All of a sudden, the cinema industry was on its knees because people couldn’t gather to make films. Although some continued to make films, they were very limited in their formal aspects. However, El Pampero managed to send out a number of films that were very ambitious formally. It was like a Darwinian process of adaptation. We had been preparing ourselves to resist a natural disaster like COVID-19. We were so well-prepared to face something like this that, for a moment, we were the only ones really making films, or at least it felt that way. While others needed even a small structure with cameras and lamps, we continued to create with our homemade style. We managed to be ambitious from our homes, being the whole crew ourselves. For instance, when we launched Clementina first as a series in chapters on the internet, people were amazed. It was during the strongest moment of the lockdown, around December 2020, and they couldn’t believe what we were doing. They were surprised by our formal ambition and how neatly everything worked, at that moment when people couldn’t gather to make films anymore. This is a very precise example of what all the years of development with El Pampero have allowed us to do. Let’s go back to the beginning. How did you join El Pampero? How did you become engaged with cinema, and what types of movies did you like? My mother and Walter Jakob’s mother were friends before we were born, and they got pregnant at the same time. So Walter is practically like my brother. We were playmates during our childhood and, as an extension of that, we became artistic collaborators in our youth, and we still are now. Through Walter I met Mariano, who was his school mate, and we immediately became very close friends. Then we both started studying filmmaking. Although we pursued our careers together, we didn’t study in the same place—Mariano studied at Universidad del Cine, where Alejo and Laura also studied, and later Walter as well. We always thought about our films together, went to the cinema together, so we could say we really studied cinema together. In those years, we were very omnivorous with our movie-watching habits. We watched all kinds of movies. Of course, it was the VHS era, but there were also very nice cinema clubs in Buenos Aires where you could see film prints of classic movies. Buenos Aires is probably one of the most important cultural capitals in the world, which we are always very proud of. We had our first film experiences together during that time. Mariano, who is a very determined person, decided to put together a group of friends to give some shape to the kind of work we were doing. This was the start of El Pampero. At first it was Mariano, Alejo and Agustina Llambí Campbell, who is now known as the producer of Argentina, 1985 (2022) and other films by Santiago Mitre, and soon I joined in. After a while, Agustina left, and Laura stepped in. It started as a business among friends. We were doing very amateur jobs initially. We started getting more and more jobs, and simultaneously began working on our first films, like Balnearios by Mariano, in which I collaborated…. Your name appears twice in the end credits of Balnearios, both as a cameraman and a researcher. What’s the story behind that? By that time, Mariano and I had been working together in everything we did, but none of those works were meant to be premiered in cinemas. So, when Mariano started working in what would become his first film, he kept some kind of loyalty to me and found a spot for me in the film. I wasn’t a professional cameraman yet; I did some camera work in a very amateur way. I also did some research, particularly for the Mar del Sud episode, about that old, forsaken hotel. I was the one who showed Mariano that hotel because it was a place I knew from summer vacations with my family. When I learned that Mariano was preparing a film about bathing resorts, I told him he definitely needed to know the story of this hotel. When Mariano decided to include that in the film, I did some research to put together the history of the hotel, which involved a crime and many other strange events. Mariano then rewrote the whole thing, respecting some of the actual facts and adding some creative elements. Extraordinary Stories So what happened after Balnearios? Later, Laura joined us because Agustina left, and Mariano was keen on working with Laura since they had collaborated on a film called El amor (primera parte) (Love (Part One), Alejandro Fadel, Martín Mauregui, Santiago Mitre, and Juan Schnitman, 2005) where I also worked as an incidental actor. When Laura joined, our group felt complete. After that, things became more serious for all of us. We started committing ourselves fully to El Pampero and began to truly believe it was something substantial. Initially, it was hard to convince people that we are a real production company, but as we kept working, it began to take on a life of its own, beyond just our will and desire. Then came our first movies, the first festivals, and the first confirmations of our work. BAFICI (Buenos Aires International Festival of Independent Cinema) was always a very important launching platform for us. Coming back to my own experience. In the early 2000s, I started studying drama. I went to an acting studio with Walter. We were fascinated not only with our drama lessons but also with the incredible strength of Buenos Aires’ independent theatre scene. Back in those days, it was really something to be seen. You could go to see around 200 very good plays in one weekend—of course, not physically, but there were a lot of independent theatre spaces popping up. I think this was the result of the country having impressive artistic development amidst tremendous economic decay. People were getting together to escape the terrible reality we were living. The independent theatre scene was a perfect example of this. Lots of fantastic theatre artists—actors, playwrights, directors, set decorators, etc.— were getting together to create plays, and no one seemed to care about the fact that they were not earning their money from those plays, but from jobs unrelated to their artistic pursuits. Being as we were young, it was a great inspiration for Walter and for me to witness that powerful movement and to see how our own generation was getting involved in it. Eventually, we also started making theatre. After so many years of being a cinematographer, actor, stage writer, and play director, you are now recognized as a film director. What does this mean to you? How do you feel about this new recognition? In my country, I am generally regarded more as a theatre person than a filmmaker. This probably changed a bit after I shot Clementina and “got my director’s ID card”, so to say… Before that, I was not so much credited as a filmmaker, although I always felt like one. I was collaborating on films directed by my friends, and for us, it was always about collective work… There’s this idea I always struggle with—that films are by somebody. While this can be more accurately said about certain kinds of films, I don’t think it describes correctly our work at El Pampero. There is, of course, a director, and the director is the most important person in each project, but I reject the idea that a film is solely by one person. I understand. There’s one thing I want to ask about cinematography. You mentioned that you never saw yourself as a cameraman or director of cinematography, but you ended up doing it anyway. How did you transition into this role? Once, in answer to a similar question, I quoted a member of a very important rock band, who said that he didn’t really feel he was a guitar player, that he had been one as long as that band had existed and had stopped being one when they had split up. A few days ago I read about another guitarist in another important band (don’t think I spend my time reading about guitarists) who said that his style was the result of the style of the other musicians in that band, the way he had found to complete the sound of the band. I am part of this band and, for that reason, I signed the photography of several films. All of them had great artistic acknowledgement, yet I never received an individual award for those works. Although it may sound like a boutade, this, for me, is a source of pride. I love it when I am congratulated for a film I photographed, but I am not interested in being congratulated specifically for photography. I don’t really have any professional pride as a DOP. In fact, I don’t consider myself a professional DOP, but rather someone who learned the necessary skills of a trade to ensure the functioning of a group. That group does very ambitious things with very modest material resources, and my cinematography tries to accompany that. I have done some outside the group, but always in films that adapted to my way of working. The truth is that the same could be said of my colleagues. We all have important participation in all the films. Laura is the producer of everything we do, Alejo is often the editor or the editing supervisor, Mariano is always meddling in the structure… We are all always meddling in everything. That’s the reason why we are a group. Is the group’s camera yours? Yes, since the very first day we understood that the new technologies allowed people to make films with pretty inexpensive cameras and that owning our own shooting gear would grant us the kind of independence and freedom of action we aimed for. Clementina Let’s talk about Clementina. You mentioned that you were the last in your group to start making movies, and Clementina emerged during the COVID situation. Each of you made a film during that time—Alejo made his film, Laura made a movie on her farm, and Mariano worked on several projects, including Corsini interpret a Blomberg & Maciel (2021), where everyone is seen wearing masks. Could you elaborate on how Clementina came about and your experience making it during the pandemic? First, I should clarify that Corsini was not made during the lockdown. The movie Mariano directed during the lockdown was Lejano Interior (2020). Corsini was shot after we were allowed to move around again, with lots of care, but not during the strictest part of the lockdown. So the question is: If there wasn’t any COVID, would you have started making a movie, or did the situation drive you to it? I really don’t know, but what I can tell you is that I was not feeling the eagerness to become a film director. I don’t share the idea that you make a film only when you direct it. I have been making films all these years with my friends. The role I occupy in those movies makes me feel that I’m somehow a co-creator, which of course doesn’t undermine the director’s importance. As I said before, I’ve long struggled with the idea of calling a film “a film by” someone. In Spanish, it’s even worse because we say “una película de”, which means “a film that belongs to”. This is simply false, and doesn’t reflect the collaborative and cooperative way we make films at El Pampero. I don’t think films belong to one person or are made by one person alone. This doesn’t come from a desire to claim authorship instead of the director, but from a recognition of the collaborative process. I’ve seen situations where a DOP or a producer subtly directs the film instead of the director, but that’s not what I’m advocating for. My personal dream is that El Pampero is seen similarly to how people see The Beatles: you know which song was by John, Paul, George, or even Ringo, but it’s always The Beatles. If this dream comes true, I’ll be happy to occupy Ringo’s place. Maybe your friends, like Alejo or Walter, encourage you before Clementina by saying things like, ‘You have a good idea, go direct a movie’? No, I shot a short film in 2005, which wasn’t bad, and that was a result of Mariano pushing me to do it. Clementina also started as a short film and evolved into what it is now due to the insistence of my friends. In the early days of El Pampero, they frequently encouraged me to direct a film. Eventually, everything fell into place in our small organisation, and people stopped pushing me. When Clementina arrived, it brought some changes to El Pampero. For example, it made it possible for Cahiers du cinéma to include me in the list of Argentine filmmakers to be considered. If I hadn’t directed Clementina, they might have had more trouble including my name because film criticism and theory are still very focused on the work of directors. This is part of the legacy of the auteur theory, which posits that the director is the author of the film. While that was instrumental in tilting film production towards art, I believe it’s time to reconsider the idea that a film is the work of a single person. Politically, this has implications I disagree with. Having made films for more than 20 years, I feel authorised to protest against this incorrect way of naming things. My partners in El Pampero often mock me for the way I insist on this. Walter and I even made a theatre piece that deals deeply with these issues. It doesn’t reach any definitive conclusion but presents different perspectives, much like an Éric Rohmer film. The truth is that I’m very happy that I directed Clementina and that the film exists. I don’t think anyone else but Constanza and I could have created such a particular object. However, I wouldn’t consider my life a failure if I never directed another film. Right now, we are planning another project because we’ve gathered some material, and it’s good for our relationship to keep working together. After our short French tour with El Pampero, I was happy to learn that people are waiting for a second Clementina film. For all these reasons, I think I will make the effort to produce a new film. It brought a lot of good things to our lives… Then consider my name among those who wait passionately for your second feature… (laughs)… But again, I still think of myself as one of the four El Pampero filmmakers, both before and after Clementina. This is a political statement. I believe a group of filmmakers is not just the sum of four directors’ names. Back to The Beatles, I don’t think anyone would mistake them for a group of four songwriters. Similarly, no classical music enthusiast would describe a Herbert von Karajan concert as solely his work. They would recognize the contributions of the composer, the orchestra, the concertmaster, and the singers. Clementina In our personal chat, I asked if you thought Laura followed Mariano’s approach in Trenque Lauquen, blending genres like Historias Extraordinarias and La Flor, resulting in a more complex structure and narrative compared to her first two movies. Within this context, regarding your film Clementina, the story is simple, but the form is very prominent. It reminds me of Alejo’s Castro, which is plotless but develops through action sequences that make everything interesting. Were you influenced by Castro or any other works at El Pampero? Alejo’s films opened a door that allowed the existence of a film like Clementina. When I started shooting Clementina with Constanza, we consulted Alejo all the time. I learned a lot about mise-en-scène from Alejo because he has a total obsession with movement, rhythm, and the formal aspects of film composition. Alejo is a master at turning a simple camera setting into a complex ballet of movements and rhythms. When we started shooting Clementina inside the apartment, there were superficial coincidences. We were also a filmmaker and a dancer/actress working together, which wasn’t a conscious decision, but there was an evident similarity. Alejo’s work with Luciana took the possibilities of cinema to a level that few can match in the history of cinema. Alejo had already explored movements, rhythms, and choreographies that could replace traditional plot elements in conventional films. This gave us confidence that such an approach would work for Clementina. I like the idea of traditions. I don’t think a person starting to write in Buenos Aires nowadays needs to have read Borges to be influenced by him, because Borges is part of our cultural tradition. We are never truly working alone; we build on what our predecessors have done. This is something I’m very proud of when it comes to El Pampero. Many young filmmakers today might not realise they are influenced by El Pampero or that they can do what they are doing because we opened a very heavy and difficult door for them. Alejo’s films operated similarly for Clementina. They illuminated a path and opened a door that I didn’t need to invest a lot of energy to open because it was already there. It created a new system that isn’t just a consequence of our heritage, but I acknowledge and am happy that this heritage is present. In Clementina, the personal items like records and dolls seemed to reflect your experience during COVID. Despite your character being out of focus, the signs of depression and intimidation were evident, while the female character was more active and lively. No, I think we were just trying to make the best of what we had and what we could do. We were locked in this apartment, and we had to work with the elements available to us. The apartment has a strange collection of objects, and it’s clearly a space shaped by a bachelor who used to live there alone. In real life, when Constanza was compelled to come to my apartment and live there, she was forced to struggle to turn that space, which was full of my presence and my stuff, into a space that also felt like her own. As the lockdown grew longer, it became her house too. This idea of a girl struggling against a space that doesn’t belong to her, and needing to conquer it because she has to stay there, became the basis of what we started shooting. The space had to become as friendly to her as possible because there was so much trouble and danger outside. She had to turn that house, that fortress, into her own nest. All the effort she had to put into contradicting the history and weight of all those presences in the house formed the foundation of the first episode. Then, we had a meeting with El Pampero through Zoom, similar to how we are talking now. We used to have weekly sessions in those days to discuss the direction of our work in such a complicated context. Agustín Mendilaharzu & Constanza Feldman behind the scenes of Clementina Clementina With all those dolls and everything, all the settings, are those yours? Yes, those are my collections. It’s like that scene in Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982) with the character JF Sebastian (performed by William Sanderson). He’s a geneticist, a man that can create life. And when the replicant played by Daryl Hannah enters the apartment, she finds that the geneticist has brought to life a lot of very basic and simple creatures meant to give him some company. This great collection of living creatures that have completely taken over this man’s house speaks to us about his creativity and talent, but also about how lonely he is. As I mentioned before, we had to make the best out of our situation. I showed the first short, unfinished and without sound treatment, to my friends, and instantly they said, “This needs to continue. This cannot end here. You have brought to light a whole world of characters and circumstances. This can never end here.” We made a re-enactment of that zoom meeting, which turned into a scene that can be seen in a short film we did with Constanza, called Diario de Clementina. Unfortunately, it’s not yet available with English subtitles. Please send me the film. I really want to watch it because I can see what’s going on. It’s more than just the dialogue; I can understand your actions and what you’re doing in that situation. In this particular film, we speak a lot. There’s a long voiceover where we explain and narrate how we made Clementina. I can send you a document with the text in Spanish. You can then use a translator to understand it better. So, as I was saying, we were somehow compelled to make a second episode, and then everything in the building started to crumble. I couldn’t meet my father, who was ready to die in the hospital, and I couldn’t see my mother, who is elderly, or my brother and nephews. But my house was full of workers entering every day, which was completely absurd. We tried to capture that and turn it into a film. Then came the third episode, dealing with water problems during a sanitary emergency when we didn’t have running water. Finally, we had to move because the person renting my apartment was leaving, and it was pointless to keep paying rent. These circumstances sparked each episode of Clementina. We weren’t trying to send any particular message or statement about how to face the pandemic and lockdown. It was the result of our circumstances and our way of working. I’m a writer of comedies, of course you haven’t seen my work as a playwright and theatre director, but Walter and I… I was wondering if your stage plays with Walter have been translated into English. I know some of Rafael’s work has been translated…. Yes, Rafael is an extraordinary playwright, and it’s absurd that he’s better known as a movie actor. For me, he’s like a modern Shakespeare. He could even win the Nobel Prize someday. He’s a living genius who has been making high-level theatre plays in Buenos Aires for ages. You should be very happy to have interviewed him because he’s a very important artist (he laughs)… Regarding the plays written by me and Walter, some of them have been translated for subtitles at festivals, but they haven’t been published or staged in other countries like Rafael’s plays. I can send you the text if you’re interested. I now understand how Clementina formed from whatever you had during COVID. I read in another interview that you were out of focus because you had to be behind the camera. It was mainly you behind the scenes, and the reason was interesting. Yes, because if the focus shifted from Constanza to me, it would imply that a third person was there, and we wanted to make it evident that it was only the two of us. The film reached such a neat and polished final shape that I don’t think many people realise it was shot by just two people. We put so much attention into every moment that every second had to be perfect. I’m proud of the result, but it does hide the fact that it was shot by just two people. Clementina Poster Does the name Clementina refer to one of the saints? When I saw your posters with those saintly figures, I thought about the character as a modern interpretation of a saint. The female character helps you, fixes the ceiling, and even gives bread, resembling a Jesus-like figure in a new context. The music also plays a significant role. Can you talk about the title and its significance? No, the name Clementina wasn’t chosen for that reason, but I like your interpretation. Although it wasn’t the engine driving the film, if someone in heaven or another spiritual realm asked me if this interpretation is correct, I would say yes. I’m happy that such interpretations are possible. I am very fond of mediaeval painting, which is predominantly religious in Western or European art. I love the way these images are organised, often with a central figure, usually a saint, surrounded by smaller frames depicting episodes from their life. These images are called “Lives of Saints.” We were inspired by this repertoire for the poster. When I gave references to my painter friends, I asked them to try and copy the “Lives of Saints.” This inspiration was significant in shaping the visual presentation of the film. This is something nobody else knows, so it’s an honour to share it with you, about the third episode, the one with the water. In our first version, the third episode ended with Clementina making a drawing that depicted her as a saint who had rescued the building. This is the first draft, where you can see the truck, the guy working with the hose (which becomes a dragon she’s fighting), and Clementina with the aura of a saint. The talkative neighbour is also depicted, along with the building. Then we made this more detailed version, which took us about a month to complete, but it ultimately didn’t make it into the film. It’s titled “Clementina Salvadora”, Clementina the Saviour. In this version, you can see the building, the two of us taking pictures of the people working, the truck, the guy with the hose, and the talkative neighbour with the bucket. Clementina is shown with the dragon. This was a significant amount of work, but it didn’t make it into the final film. It was part of the separate episodes we initially edited, but it was eventually left out. You might be able to use it in your next movie, like Alejo uses material from previous films in new projects. He keeps everything and eventually finds a way to incorporate it. Here’s all the things we drew for Clementina, stored in these folders. Clementina Could you talk about the role of music in Clementina? Like other El Pampero films, your film is very musical. All of you seem to integrate music deeply into your work. I can’t remember any of your movies without significant musical elements. Your composer, Gabriel Chwojnik, mentioned he didn’t create new music but remixed old records. The points of connection between La edad media (The Middle Ages, Alejo Moguillansky and Luciana Acuña, 2022) and the lockdown were evident. There was this sensation of a plague coming to punish sinners, and we had a new, faceless enemy to fear. People were trying to understand how to behave and interpret the situation, much like in mediaeval times. We started listening to that record you see in the film for no clear reason, but it resonated with the themes we were exploring. It’s a European repertoire played by Argentinian musicians in the 70s, recorded here. For me, that record is a significant cultural feature in the history of my country and city. It’s something very beautiful that a group of audacious people could create. As we listened to that record obsessively, we realised that mediaeval music hadn’t been used much in films. It presented a fantastic opportunity. The idea of two people locked down in their house, listening to that strange music, with Clementina dancing to it, fits perfectly. So the majority of the music comes from that record. But Gabriel did write a couple of pieces for the film. He composed and arranged an important piece—the one you hear at the end of the first chapter—and two short pieces in which I myself played the recorder. What was the story behind bringing Alejo and Laura Paredes in as Russians in the movie? It’s funny seeing them with those moustaches and working jackets. What was the idea? Was it just for fun? It’s a bit embarrassing to admit how silly the reason was. Mariano always names his cars and cameras. For some reason, when he bought the van he now uses, he decided to name it “Sputnik” after the Russian satellite. He hired my brother to create a graphic design with the name “Sputnik” and had it plotted onto the van. When we needed to use the van for the film, it already had the “Sputnik” plotter, so we had to justify why the van was called Sputnik. We invented this Russian family living in Buenos Aires. When we had to move, we actually needed some help because we couldn’t afford a moving company. So I hired Alejo, who not only acted but also helped move our stuff, loading everything into the truck. What you see in the film is a mix of fiction and real life happening simultaneously. Alejo also made a brief appearance as a Russian officer/spy in La Flor… Yes, absolutely, but that moment was very brief in the 14-hour movie, and hardly anyone remembers it except for the devoted fans of El Pampero (laughs). Clementina Clementina The life of the Clementina character seems to continue in Mariano’s movie Clorindo Testa, especially in the final part. Could you please explain how Clementina and Mariano’s film relate? I noticed she and a dog were suddenly in the car with them, but I didn’t catch their relationship. The reason Constanza was included in that film is that we needed to shoot the final scene away from Buenos Aires, and I didn’t want to leave Constanza, who was in a very advanced stage of her pregnancy, alone in Buenos Aires. So she came along, and Mariano decided to name her Clementina in the film, as if she could somehow be the same character moving from one film into another. However, Mariano later regretted this decision as her presence was unexplained, which your question highlights. This is why we shot the scenes in the car where she asks about meeting ‘Florindo,’ and Mariano corrects her with ‘Clorindo.’ As for the dog, it’s our dog, Toto, who belongs to Constanza and me. He will be a protagonist in our next film. (At this moment, Agustín’s daughter comes and wants to play with her father.) Seeing your child reminds me of your short film The Clap, which you made during or after Clementina. It had a very formal approach, and the story was intriguing. What was the story behind that film? Yes, the music was by the same group, Conjunto Musica Ficta. Was it because your child was born? The film showed your child walking, and then you edited it with those doors… We were asked to make a trailer for a festival in Paris where Clementina had won the previous year. It is a festival of Latin American films. Clementina won the Special Jury Award, and Trenque Lauquen won the Audience Award, so the two major prizes went to El Pampero. Did you make it using your family footage? No, the footage was produced specifically for this. It was completely planned. We shot it here with Constanza, our dog, Luisa, and a couple of friends who helped move the doors. Alejo and Luciana helped us put together all the footage we had shot. We edited it at their house in about three hours. I wish I had more space and time so we could discuss many references in El Pampero’s work, such as Tintin and Latin American literature, as well as your experiences as a director of cinematography and actor. Yes, I wish we could discuss more, but we must work within our limitations, as we always do in El Pampero. Regarding Tintin, Mariano is a huge fan. I’ve followed his enthusiasm, and together we’ve developed a visual style inspired by Hergé. His ‘ligne claire’ theory has been central to our work, more as a visual matter than a narrative one, although it influences the themes as well. You should ask Mariano about this—he’s the one who introduced me more profoundly and enthusiastically to the world of Tintin and his creator, so I embraced this visual style… La Flor From left to right: Gaby Ferrero, Santiago Gobernori, Esteban Lamothe, Agustín Mendilaharzu, Agustín Gagliardi, Mariano Llinás, Matías Feldman, and Laura Citarella behind the scenes of La Flor Since we still have some time, I’d like to ask a question that has stayed with me over the years. In the final moments of La Flor, who was the man seen sitting calmly with a dog in the meadow, after everyone else had left and the film had concluded? That’s Agustín Gagliardi, a central character in La Flor. His contribution to that film and to some other Pampero projects is hard to explain. We owe the completion of La Flor to Gagliardi. He is also an actor, appearing in episode 4, in The Gold Bug and at the beginning of Trenque Lauquen. His wife is the fantastic DOP Inés Duacastella, also a central Pampero collaborator. Agustín is a genius and a close friend. He served as assistant director in episodes 3, 4, 5 and 6 of La Flor and, most importantly, coordinated the post-production of the entire film. You mentioned him regarding the final sequence of La Flor. We were closing that huge film, everyone was exhausted, we had a deadline to meet and we still had a handwritten title sequence to do. So Agustín and I took the job and did it together and credited it as Agustin Nitsuga, which is a palindrome, of course. I’d like to ask something I ask all members of your group. How do you see the current situation for artists in the new political and economic climate? Although El Pampero is independent from government funding, these conditions still impact your cultural activities. How do you view the state of El Pampero and your career under these new policies? The situation is completely new for all of us. I’ll try to sum up my thoughts. The current president won the election with a series of promises to the voters. He had no political history or backing from a party or tradition. He’s a completely new character, so you can easily understand that he won because people were voting against the old regime, not necessarily because they were especially fond of him. His promises can be summed up with the idea of needing to “cut the fat” from the economy, targeting what he sees as unnecessary institutions taking money from the public funds. The government is in a very delicate situation in terms of results. They are applying policies meant to restore the health of the economy, but the results are not visible in the short term. To keep the voters’ spirits high, they found a surprising way of maintaining enthusiasm: attacking artists. This is something I never expected to see. Their rhetoric is very simple, promoting the idea that Argentina’s economy has sunk because of privileged sectors of society living off state donations. According to their theory, this made Argentina poor, while other sectors remained rich in a comfortable and frivolous way. They are constantly promoting the idea that artists are part of the problem, blaming us for the country’s economic issues. The President himself uses his social networks to personally attack certain artists. Fortunately, our group hasn’t been targeted yet, and I don’t think we will be since we are small and not very well-known. It’s a completely new situation—the sensation that society, or at least part of it, hates us because they were told we are responsible for the failure of Argentina’s economy. As for the future, I really don’t know. Mariano mentioned that everyone is working twice or three times as much as before, and this is completely true. Even so, the money we make is not enough to reach the end of the month. Middle-class people are spending their savings to make ends meet, and we’ve drastically reduced our expenses—daily life, journeys, leisure activities—everything. People are not going out for dinner or enjoying the usual activities anymore. So, how is the situation with theatre? Are people still going to see theatre performances? And what about the cinema industry, whether independent or mainstream? How are people dealing with cinema at this stage? How are they responding to cinema now? I don’t speak so often about the situation now because I’m Luisa’s father, and I spend most of my time at home taking care of her and thinking about her. I’m not in regular conversation with the organisations or the whole sector; I only speak to a few friends. They are tremendously worried because the industry is completely paralysed. Fortunately, some people in the industry have savings to rely on, but they are very concerned about their future. They don’t know what they will do to make a living, and there isn’t much light at the end of the tunnel. There’s a great state of alert, but there are so many pressing issues in the Argentine economy that it’s unlikely the government will address the cinema industry’s problems in the short term. It’s not easy to be optimistic about that. Despite numerous demonstrations, protests, public letters, and support from important figures, the results are not visible yet. We cannot expect a quick response to all these requests from the industry. It’s been quite touching to see the international community backing up the Argentinian claims and struggles, but I don’t think the current government will be moved by these sentiments. This is also challenging for other film industries, like Iranian cinema. I admire how you’ve maintained creativity and friendship, supporting each other despite sacrifices. Walter, Rafael, and others believe in preserving creativity, and this solidarity is key to surviving difficult conditions. Is there something in production? Can we expect a new film from El Pampero soon? Yeah, I don’t know much about the festival strategies because I’m not too involved in that aspect. I really don’t know where they are planning to show the stuff we’re making now. Some of what we’re doing can be shared, and some of it still needs to be kept secret. Right now, I will be shooting with Mariano soon for the second part of Corsini. He probably mentioned something about it to you. Alejo has just completed a new script, which is quite original for him since he usually doesn’t write a whole script before shooting. It’s a script he co-wrote with Mariano. I haven’t read it yet, but they are both very proud of it. Laura, who is going to be the executive producer, has read it and is very enthusiastic about it. Laura is also supposed to be shooting something soon, but I can’t specify too much on that. As you noted, we are taking great care of our families. However, my and Constanza’s current challenge is finding the energy at the end of the day to dedicate to shooting or thinking about new projects. So far, we haven’t succeeded in that. We thought it would come, but it’s been tough. We thought we would find a balance a bit sooner in Luisa’s life, but she is about to turn one and a half years old, and we still haven’t succeeded in including shooting in our daily tasks. The shoot would be a domestic one, like Clementina, but it’s very difficult. The lockdown was completely helpful for making a film like Clementina because we didn’t have many other things to do besides shooting. We weren’t meeting people, going to parties, birthday celebrations, or family gatherings. I also wasn’t participating in other films directed by members of my group, which also takes time. All these elements allowed me to focus solely on our shoot. Clementina doesn’t have a very strong plot; it’s a delicate film where the game is defined by the detail we put into each scene. That takes a lot of time. We were the set decorators, wardrobe designers, DOP, actors, and everything else. That unique moment in history allowed a film like Clementina to exist. Now, we’re trying to reproduce those circumstances in a more conscious and intentional way, which isn’t easy. We want to include Luisa and Toto in our new film, along with other actors. We’re still figuring out how to do that while managing our lives in this complicated moment, where we need to squeeze every place where a coin can drop from and make the best of our economy. Agustín Mendilaharzu & Laura Citarella filming a scene for Trenque Lauquen Recently, Trenque Lauquen was chosen as the best movie of the year by Cahiers du Cinéma, and your film was included in Sight & Sound‘s top 30 films list. It seems cinephiles worldwide are now focusing on El Pampero. With increased invitations to France and special magazine features, what are your thoughts on this recognition? What does it mean for your group? Do you think this attention will change anything for El Pampero, and how will Laura’s success impact the group? OK, it’s a very difficult question because there are two sides to it. When I think about what I expect to happen after this success and attention given to Trenque Lauquen, I hope the group doesn’t change much. I hope we can maintain this strange equilibrium, this balance, that I think should be the goal of every serious artist: to remain both the same and never the same at the same time, to stay in a state of permanent change. So far, we’ve done well with this idea of staying the same while constantly evolving. But the new attention from the international film community gives us more authority. It’s like we’re no longer a group of spoiled brats insisting on doing things our own way, like a garage rock band. These ideas, which kept us marginal, now need to be taken seriously. For instance, if a member of the film community in Argentina wants to address a letter to the government, they will call El Pampero to be part of it. If a trailer is made to showcase the historical importance of Argentine cinema, they will include footage from El Pampero’s films. Nothing that aims to highlight the importance of Argentine production will exclude material from El Pampero. This wasn’t necessarily going to happen before Trenque Lauquen. This recognition tells those who have treated us poorly over the years to reconsider their views. It’s a form of validation, saying, “Look at what we’ve achieved despite what was said about us”. I don’t think it will change us intimately. For example, Laura is about to shoot something new and doesn’t even want to upgrade the camera. She wants to use the same camera she has at home, keeping things very domestic. So, I think this success won’t affect the way we do things. However, having reached this point, we project a new image to people, and we need to be responsible with this new image. We may need to be more formal when including collaborators and take on a bigger responsibility. Also, we’re older now, and it’s not as easy to insist on certain ideas that might have a teenager-like attitude when you’re pushing 50. Our productions now receive a level of attention that requires us to adapt. What you’re explaining makes me think of Mariano. Gradually, he has become one of the busiest members of your group. Since Extraordinary Stories, he’s taken on ambitious projects like the four-hour period movie and La Flor, which is a 14-hour film. He’s now more involved in international projects, writing for both Argentine and international films, and is becoming known as a famous screenwriter, possibly more than for his recent documentaries. Mariano seems to avoid too many interviews, focusing more on his creative side rather than explaining his work or ideas. Do you think this is accurate? Is this something you’ve observed as well?” Yeah, there’s a lot to be said about that. I think Mariano was the first in our group to understand the risks of paying more attention to the para-artistic, material aspects than to the artistic ones. Being the brother of a famous actress and the son of an important figure in the Argentine artistic scene of the 60s and 70s, he was early on tempted by the possibility of becoming part of an artistic aristocracy in Buenos Aires. This involved going to dinners, dressing well, and engaging in a sophisticated but frivolous lifestyle. Very early on, he recognized the threat this posed and was very serious about avoiding it. Up to Argentina, 1985, he was solid and consistent in this attitude, focusing on his art and avoiding the trap of sculpting his public persona over his artistic creations. After Argentina, 1985 was released, Mariano started paying more attention to creating a public character. He has become a sort of authority, often consulted not just about filmmaking but also about Argentina’s recent history, especially the military dictatorship. He has read and researched a lot on the subject, making him a knowledgeable voice. This shift has made him a public figure, something he wasn’t before. He’s handling this new role consciously and wisely, but I don’t know where it will take him. For instance, yesterday, I called Mariano to help me move a second-hand closet I bought. He came with his gloves and his car, and we ended up covered in dust. He’s that person who helps a friend move a closet, but he’s also the person you might find in a fancy restaurant, invited to talk about an important project. Mariano Llinás & Agustín Mendilaharzu Being more in the spotlight brings different pressures and responsibilities. You mentioned not planning to upgrade your camera or change the aesthetic of your filmmaking. It’s interesting because everyone from El Pampero said that if you had more money, the first thing you might change would be the camera. Why have you chosen to maintain this approach, and how does it influence your work? Yes. I was just thinking about the next project we need to shoot with Laura, which will also take place in the village where Trenque Lauquen was shot. It’s the village where her parents and grandparents lived. As I was listening to you, I was thinking about how we’ll go there again with our cars, our very small gear, and a very reduced crew. But this time, when we arrive, we’ll probably be received as celebrities. I hope this doesn’t happen, but I think it’s quite inevitable. Laura will likely need to spend a lot of time and energy answering to journalists and meeting people who want to see her. We might even have to face situations like dinners with the mayor of the city and things like that. This will probably happen, and it will add another layer of complexity to our work.
