Blog del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín

Si no tuviste oportunidad de asistir al encuentro con Fernando Trueba y Javier Mariscal ayer domingo, te aconsejamos que no pierdas hoy esta última oportunidad de participar en la charla de esta tarde con estos dos magníficos creadores. Si pudiste venir ayer, seguro que repetirás. Fue asombroso, delirante, divertido, interesante. En una palabra: genial.

La proyección de Chico & Rita nos sirve como epílogo de este Festival ISLA de Literatura que tan buen sabor de boca nos ha dejado a todos. Los directores de la película, que fue seleccionada por la Academia del Cine de Estados Unidos para el Oscar a la mejor película de animación en 2012 llevarán a cabo la presentación y responderán a las preguntas del público.

En la Cuba de finales de los años cuarenta, Chico y Rita inician una apasionada historia de amor. Chico es un joven pianista enamorado del jazz y Rita sueña con ser una gran cantante. Desde la noche que el destino los junta en un baile en un club de La Habana, la vida va uniéndoles y separándoles, como a los personajes de un bolero.

Premio a la mejor película de animación en la XXV edición de los Premios Goya y en la XXIV de los Premios del Cine Europeo.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, 1955) es guionista, editor y director de cine. En 1992, su película Belle Époque, obtiene 9 premios Goya y, en 1993, obtiene el Oscar a la mejor película de habla no inglesa.

Javier Mariscal (Valencia, 1950) es un reconocido diseñador multidisciplinar que comenzó los estudios de diseño en la escuela Elisava. Uno de sus últimos trabajos es la novela gráfica Chico & Rita que posteriormente se llevó a la gran pantalla como una película de animación junto a Fernando Trueba. Chico & Rita se ha traducido al inglés en 2011 por la editorial SelfMadeHere, publicándose también  en Francia y Países Bajos.

Javier Mariscal and Fernado Trueba, directors of Chico & Rita nominated for Best Animated Academy Award, will introduce the film. Screening will be followed by Q&A with directors.

Chico is a young piano player with big dreams. Rita is a beautiful singer with an extraordinary voice. Music and romantic desire unites them, but their journey – in the tradition of the Latin ballad, the bolero – brings heartache and torment.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, 1955) is a scripwriter, editor and cinema director. Between 1974 and 1979 worked as a film critic for Spain’s leading daily newspaper EL PAIS. In 1992, his film “Belle Époque” earned 9 Goya Awards and, in 1993, it won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language film.

Javier Mariscal (Valencia, 1950) is, first and foremost, an image creator who develops his work using all kinds of supports and disciplines. In 2010, he premiered the full-length cartoon film Chico & Ritawhich he jointly directed with Fernando Trueba and produced the comic Chico & Rita. In 2011 he published the illustrated book Los Garriris. Chico & Rita has been translated into English in 2011 and has also been published in France and The Netherlands.

El Instituto Cervantes de Dublín y la National University of Ireland Maynooth tienen el placer de ofrecer al público irlandés este recorrido por la obra y la trayectoria del poeta hispano-peruano Diego Valverde, que realizará una lectura comentada de algunos de sus poemas y dialogará con la profesora del departamento de español, Catherine O’Leary, sobre sus influencias y carrera literaria.

Diego Valverde Villena nació en San Isidro, Lima, Perú en 1967. Es poeta de nacionalidad peruana y española. Su vida siempre ha estado unida a la literatura. Entre 2002 y 2004 trabajó en la Secretaría de Estado de Cultura de España. Ha llevado a cabo estudios de especialización en lengua y literatura en las universidades de Salamanca, Edimburgo, Dublín y Wroclaw. Diego Valverde tiene una prolífica carrera como traductor de obras literarias desde el alemán, francés, inglés, italiano y portugués al castellano.

Instituto Cervantes Dublin and NUI Maynooth are delighted to present Spanish-Peruvian author Diego Valverde Villena, who will perform a commented reading of some of his poems and will discuss about his work, literary career and influcences with Ms Catherine O’Leary, lecturer of the Spanish Department.

Diego Valverde Villena, born on April 6, 1967, is a Spanish poet of Peruvian origin and Bolivian roots. In 1971, when he was four, his family left Peru for Spain. he also attended courses on language and literature in the University of Salamanca (Scandinavian languages), University of Edinburgh (Modernism), University College Dublin (Irish literature and culture) and the University of Wroclaw (Polish language and literature). From 2002 to 2004 he worked in the staff of the Secretary of State for Culture in Spain.

 Javier Mariscal: “El cerebro no es nada frío, es completamente sentimental”

Entrevista con Javier Mariscal realizada el 4 de noviembre de 2012 en la Biblioteca Dámaso Alonso del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín con motivo de su participación en la mesa redonda “Palabras e imágenes: cine y literatura” junto a Mark O’Halloran y David Trueba dentro del Festival Isla de Literatura 2012.

Javier Mariscal (Valencia, 1950) es ante todo un creador de imágenes que desarrolla su trabajo en todo tipo de soportes y disciplinas. Junto con el equipo del Estudio Mariscal, que fundó en 1989, ha realizado numerosos proyectos internacionales (H&M, America’s Cup, Camper, etc.), además de la exposición sobre su trabajo Mariscal Drawing Life en el Design Museum de Londres y dos publicaciones monográficas: Mariscal Drawing Life y Sketches. En 2010, dirigió junto a Fernando Trueba, Chico y Rita y publicó el cómic Chico & Rita. En 2011 publicó también el libro ilustrado Los Garriris. Chico & Rita fue traducido al inglés en 2011.

Vanesa Zafra: —Javier, me interesa mucho el proceso creativo de los diseñadores ilustradores. ¿Cómo es el tuyo?, ¿por dónde empiezas?

Javier Mariscal: —En todos los procesos de diseño, lo primero es entender muy bien el problema que tienes que resolver. De alguna manera, yo entiendo mi estudio como una tienda que abrimos por la mañana y llega gente diciendo «tengo un problema de comunicación». Por ejemplo: «quiero hacer un disco donde salga Pedrito Hernández, que es un cantante rumbero cubano que vive en Nueva York. Le gusta mucho toda la música de Camarón de la Isla…» Bueno, pues a partir de toda la información que vas recibiendo, te planteas cómo ordenarla. Si estamos hablando de un muchacho que es cubano, que canta rumba y canciones de Camarón de la Isla, eso, de entrada, tiene ya un color.

Luego estan los límites. En este caso, no puedes decir «mira, te voy a hacer un disco así de grande». Porque entonces, en las librerías y en las tiendas, ¿dónde lo van a poner? Hay unos formatos establecidos. No te puedes inventar nada. El disco será redondo. Tienes también limitaciones de imprenta y de presupuesto. Quizas no puedas hacer un desplegable porque vale mucho dinero.

¿Cuáles son las herramientas? Tipografía, color, ilustración, fotografía… Y a partir de ahí, lo que haces, como digo, es ordenar esta información y ponerla de una manera que produzca una visión rápida y, sí puede ser, que toque el corazón. Porque, ¿por dónde nos comunicamos? Nos comunicamos por los sentimientos. El cerebro no es nada frío, es completamente sentimental.

Vanesa Zafra: —¿Es esa la filosofía de tu estudio? ¿La emoción, el humor, la diversión? ¿Cómo se estructura eso dentro de un equipo de mucha gente?

Javier Mariscal: —Pues no tengo ni idea. Son questiones que yo no me pregunto. Eso es algo más bien a posteriori, que es una palabra muy rara. No lo sé. Es una manera de plantear las cosas. Yo toda mi vida, desde que soy pequeño, cojo una piedra y digo “mira un avión”. Y entonces mis hijos, o todo el mundo dicen: “ah sí mira”. “Cuidado cuidado”. “Pues mira yo aquí tengo otro”. “¡Que van a chocar!” Y es una manera de entenderse y de comunicarse bestial que aprendemos de muy pequeños. Yo he visto a niños ingleses y catalanes jugar y no hablaban ningún idioma, pero se entendían en seguida. Con “shun chin chin pan chu pan chi pa cha”. Es el primer lenguaje realmente potente que aprendemos de pequeños. Pero hay mucha gente que al cumplir 12 o 15 años lo corta: “No no no. Esto ya no es un avión, esto es una piedra. Fuera”.

Yo, como diseñador, y yo creo que la gran mayoría de diseñadores, nunca he dejado de trabajar con ese sistema de pensamiento que es jugar. Ahí es donde de repente puedes pensar que hay cierto humor. Bueno, es jugar y jugar. Ahora empiezan a no insultarme, pero durante mucho tiempo me han insultado mucho. Por jugar.

Vanesa Zafra: —Todos nacemos creativos y vamos perdiendo esa cualidad cuando vamos aprendiendo cosas para ser adultos. ¿Se puede invertir el proceso?

Javier Mariscal: —Ser creativo es como respirar. Todo el mundo es creativo y desde que nacemos somos creativos. Es algo que tenemos porque si no te mueres. Se ve en seguida. Tú coges unos zapatos como estos que tienen tantos cordones y eres muy creativa y te haces un sistema para sacártelos y ponértelos de la manera más fácil. Y ahí está la creatividad. No sé porque se dice eso de “vosotros los creativos”. Y bueno ¿usted qué es? ¿Usted se piensa que no es creativo?.

Vanesa Zafra: —¿Escuchas música cuando trabajas?

Javier Mariscal: —Hay veces que no, hay veces que sí. Ha habido temporadas que era como un vicio. Era imposible trabajar sin música.

Vanesa Zafra: —Recomiéndame un disco.

Javier Mariscal: —Yo te recomendaría “Lágrimas negras”, uno de los mejores discos que se han podido producir en los últimos veinte siglos. Porque en la época de los romanos habia discos muy buenos, lo que pasa es que se han perdido.

Vanesa Zafra: —Algo que te haya sorprendido, algo creativo, un trabajo o una tendencia, quizas una película reciente.

Javier Mariscal: —Una película… Up, por ejemplo, maravillosa. Sobre todo el primer trozo. Pero claro, es evidente. Todo el mundo que la ha visto te dice “oye qué bonito y que fino es como empieza “Up”. Yo qué sé. Hace poco vi un corto, una cosita que hizo un amigo mío, que se llama Miguel Gallardo. Maravilloso. Hay miles y miles de cosas. Gracias a Dios, continuamente estas viendo trabajos, cosas de otra gente, que están muy bien. Que te quedas fascinado. Y es lo que necesitas para alimentarte Si no ¿de qué te alimentas?

Vanesa Zafra: —Y con Internet ahora, que puedes estar mirándolo todos los días…

Javier Mariscal: —Bueno, yo no pierdo tanto tiempo con Internet mirando todos los días ¿sabes? Me aburre cantidad.

Vanesa Zafra: —¿Y las redes sociales?

Javier Mariscal: —En las redes sociales he estado una temporada, de repente. Pero ahora no sé porqué ya llevo tiempo que no. No estoy en el Facebook. Y mira que yo era de publicar un dibujo cada día.

Vanesa Zafra: —Sí pero, ser esclavo de eso…

Javier Mariscal: —¿Esclavo? No, no, uno no es esclavo. Se hace por gusto, o no se hace.

Enlaces Recomendados

• [Vídeo] Entrevista realizada a Javier Mariscal en el Instituto Cervantes de Dublín por Vanesa Zafra.

< Listado de entrevistas

Entrevista con Fernando Trueba realizada el 4 de noviembre de 2012 en la Biblioteca Dámaso Alonso del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín con motivo de su participación en la mesa redonda “Palabras e imágenes: cine y literatura” junto a Mark O’Halloran y Javier Mariscal dentro del Festival Isla de Literatura 2012.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, España, 1955) es guionista, editor y director de cine. Entre 1974 y 1979 trabajó como crítico de cine para El País y en 1980 fundó la revista mensual de cine Casablanca, la cual dirigió y editó durante los primeros dos años. En 1992, su película Belle Époque, obtuvo 9 premios Goya y, en 1993, obtuvo el Oscar a la mejor película de habla no inglesa. En 1997 publica su libro Diccionario del cine y es editor del Diccionario del Jazz Latino (1998). En 2010 dirigió, junto al diseñador Javier Mariscal, la película de animación Chico y Rita, que recibió el Goya a la mejor película de animación y que fue seleccionada para el Oscar como Mejor Película de animación. Su última pelicula estrenada hasta el momento es El artista y la modelo (2012).

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —Fernando, tengo grabado en la memoria el momento en que recibiste el Óscar por la película “Belle Époque”. Dijiste que no creías en Dios pero sí en Billy Wilder. ¿Todavía mantienes esa fe?

Fernando Trueba: —¿En Billy Wilder? ¿cómo no? ¿Por qué razón la iba a perder? Hay muchos directores a los que yo admiro y de los que intento aprender, y él es uno de ellos. Para mí han sido importantísimos en mi formación y en mi vida directores como Renoir, Truffaut, Bresson, Lubitsch, Preston Sturges y otros directores. Pero Billy Wilder forma parte de ese grupo de los que me han hecho a mí, para bien o para mal.

Yo siempre he pensado que Billy Wilder es el mejor guionista que ha existido nunca. Igual que pienso que es una tontería afirmar que alguien es el mejor director, porque un día puedes pensar que el Renoir, otro día que es Lubitch, otro que es John Ford y todos los días tienes razón. Ahora bien: yo desafío a cualquier persona a que me demuestre con los hechos que hay un guionista mejor que Billy Wilder. Que traiga los guiones, con los diálogos, cómo están escritos, construidos, y yo estoy dispuesto a tomarme el tiempo que sea, a analizarlo y discutirlo, porque estoy seguro de que no existe ese guionista por encima de Billy Wilder. Nunca existió.

Más que fe es una convicción. La fe es creer en algo sin verlo. Yo creo después de ver y leer, de sentir esa especie de revelación que uno siente cuando ve las obras maestras de Billy Wilder. Las sigues viendo y van pasando los años y las vuelves a ver. Te las sabes de memoria y piensas que ya no te va a pasar nada volviendo a ver Sunset Boulevard o El Apartamento o Double Indemnity o Some Like It Hot. Pero te vuelve a pasar. Vuelves a sentir esa admiración infinita ante la obra buena bien hecha, inteligente.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —¿Cómo se llega a un proyecto cinematográfico como el de Chico y Rita, en el que logras implicar a Bebo Valdés y a Mariscal? 

Fernando Trueba: —Se llega por amistad. La amistad es uno de los móviles más grandes en mi vida, que está en el origen de muchas cosas que he hecho. En este caso, ha sido mi amistad con Mariscal. Todo empezó con Calle 54. Él me hizo el arte y todas esas cosas. Luego yo empecé a hacer discos y siempre le he pedido a él que me hiciera los diseños. Porque adoro lo que hace y porque nos entendemos muy bien. Me río mucho con él también.

Un día él me comenta «Yo me moriré sin haber hecho una cosa que me hubiera encantado: hacer una película de animación larga». Y le digo «seguro que habrás tenido mil propuestas ¿no? ¿Por qué no lo has hecho?» Y dice «ya, pero es que una película no son horas, son meses, años dibujando con tu manita y doblado encima de una mesa, y siempre que me lo han ofrecido era para una historia que no me gustaba. Yo no me voy a dejar la vida, los ojos y los brazos en dibujar una historia que no me gusta».

Claro, para mí la animación es un mundo totalmente ajeno, que nunca me había planteado. Entonces me dijo «por ejemplo, tú no te tomas en serio la animación y esas cosas. Tú nunca dedicarías el tiempo necesario para escribir un guión de una película de animación». Me pilló por sorpresa. Total, que con estas conversaciones empezó el proyecto. Un día, estando en su estudio, vi unos dibujos de él de la Habana vieja. Me entró una especie de ataque entusiasmo al verlos: «¡qué bonito! ¡Esto es lo que hay qué hacer! ¡Esta es la película que hay qué hacer! Una película en la Habana tuya, en la Habana Mariscal. ¡Eso sería prescioso!» Y así empezó. Y el me dijo: «Sí, pero tiene que tener música». «Hombre, si es una historia en la Habana y con cubanos, será dificil que no tenga música». «Sí, pero con mucha música», insistió. Entonces le dije, «porqué no hacemos una historia de músicos». «eso, un saxofonista y una cantante que se enamoran». Yo le dije que esa era la peor película de Scorcese, New York New York, odio esa película «Por qué no un pianista y asi, cada vez que toque el piano, metemos a Bebo Valdés». Así sale una película, poco a poco, como todo en la vida, a partir de una frase, de una imagen, de una conversación. Luego hay que ponerse a escribir y a dibujar durante años.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —El recorrido fue largo.

Fernando Trueba: —Sí, primero se hace el guión y se hacen muchas versiones. Luego, para convencer a la gente para que creyera en el proyecto y levantar el dinero que se necesita para hacer algo tan caro, había que mostrar el estilo que iba a tener la película. Entonces Xavi se puso a dibujar personajes, fondos, incluso produjimos unos planos de la película como muestra. Nos llevó varios años encontrar el dinero y gente para coproducir. Una vez que lo encuentras, habia que empezar los storyboards, los personajes y cientos de animadores dibujando durante dos años. En realidad, el proceso ocupó siete años. Lo que ocurre es que yo, entretanto, escribí el guión de otra película, produje otras películas, rodé en Chile El baile de la victoria. Si no, me hubiera muerto. Sobre todo porque hay partes de la película en las que yo ya no podía hacer nada más que esperar: ya había grabado el sonido, la música, diseñado el movimiento de la cámara. Solo tenía que esperar a que me llegaran los dibujos y comprobar que todo estaba bien.

Es muy raro lo de la animación. Para mí fue enfrentarme a un mundo totalmente nuevo y diferente. Debo decir que disfruté como como un niño. Salvo las esperas y lo largo que es y la paciencia que hay que tener. Cada vez que me llegaba un dibujo de Xavi, cada vez me llegaba un plano, era una alegría, era un subidón tremendo. De hecho estamos pensando en dos proyectos más. Chico y Rita nos ha abierto muchas puertas. Tenemos coproductores interesados en varios países en lo próximo que hagamos. Hay una historia muy de Xavi, basada en los personajes de los Garriris, de los primeros cómics de él, en cuyo guión está trabajando con un guionista. Y por mi parte, yo estoy escribiendo otra. Queremos hacerlas juntos. Pero una es un proyecto más de Xavi, más de su mundo y de sus cosas, y el otro es más un proyecto de una historia que yo quiero contar.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —Los grandes aficionados al jazz siempre tienen una historia de amor con esta música. ¿Cuál es la tuya?

Fernando Trueba: —Yo he pasado por muchas épocas, porque descubrí el jazz siendo un adolescente a través de mi hermano mayor. Y me enganchó mucho. Me acuerdo en aquella primera época, de los 14, 15, 17 años, que me gustaba mucho Keith Jarret, Dei Brubek, McCoy Tyner. Luego hay una epoca en mi vida en la que me alejé del jazz, en la universidad.

Era la época del free jazz, que era demasiado free para mí. Me reventaba la cabeza. Era una especie de música para músicos, demasiado experimental. Hay un momento siempre, en todas las artes, cuando se han agotado todos los ismos, en que se entra en una especie de delirium tremens: «vamos a escribir sin comas», «ya no vamos a pintar, colocamos 27 teléfonos en el suelo y lo llamamos instalación»… En ese momento, yo me separo. El arte, en el momento en que se corta la comunicación, deja de interesarme. Yo necesito entender las cosas, que me emocionen. Por eso rompí con el Jazz durante unos años, pero volví a él por el jazz latino. Vuelvo porque descubro en el jazz latino una especie de energía que me hace volver.

El jazz es la música más aventurada que existe. Porque hay que tener un gran conocimiento musical, una técnica impresionante, y luego hay que tener el valor de improvisar, de que crear, de dejarte llevar, de hacer que las cosas ocurran. Eso es muy bonito. Yo creo que el escritor también hace eso. Hay un momento en el proceso de escritura en que la mano corre por la página, y una frase lleva a otra. Eso, en música, solo lo hace el músico de jazz. El músico de jazz se tira por la ventana sin red, y a veces vuela.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —Ejerciste como crítico cinematográfico.

Fernando Trueba: —Sí, cuando era muy joven, entre los 20 y los 24 años, que dirigí mi primera película. Pero yo ya soñaba con hacer cine. Hacer crítica era una oportunidad de ver cine y que además te pagaran. Alguna vez me han propuesto publicar esas críticas y siempre me he negado. Eran sinceras y apasionadas, pero creo que yo era muy joven y no tienen el nivel para eso. Me gusta mucho leer las críticas de Truffaut y tengo en casa los libros de Mani Farber, de Andreu Sarris, hasta de escritores  que ejercieron la crítica como Graham Green, Alberto Moravia o Flayano.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: —¿Cuál es la importancia que tienen los críticos, hasta qué punto pueden llegar a influir?

Fernando Trueba: —Yo creo que estamos en una época muy mala para la crítica, porque la crítica en el sentido creativo de cine, prácticamente, ha desaparecido. Ahora no hay un crítico al que yo siga. Me puede intersar Hoberman o Rosenbaum en Estados Unidos, pero ni siquiera al cien por cien. Me parece que Rosenbaum, en Chicago, es uno de los tíos que está haciendo un trabajo bueno, y tiene más mérito porque lo está haciendo en Estados Unidos, que es un país que vive ensimismado.. En Estados Unidos no miran al mundo, sólo ven cine americano, salvo cuatro gatos en Nueva York y en San Francisco. Rosenbaum lleva adelante una cruzada, hablándole a la gente sobre el cine iraní, cine argentino, el cine taiwanés… Ése es el único crítico que yo leo un poco con interés.

Creo que ahora la crítica es muy superficial. Es crítica de periódico, hecha deprisa y corriendo. Además, los artículos son muy pequeños, sin ningún nivel. No se puede despachar una película en dos líneas.

Para mí la crítica es un acto de amor. Es contagiar tu entusiasmo a los demás. Enseñar a ver algo, o enseñar a leer algo, abrir una ventana para entrar en una obra. A mí eso me ocurría cuando era joven y leía a Truffaut. Lo leía y, de repente, hacía nacer en  mí el deseo de ver una película. Eso es maravilloso: cuando te iluminan, cuando te dan pistas, cuando te descubren cosas que te van a hacer feliz, que te van a hacer mejor. Y eso es lo que yo no veo a los críticos de hoy en día.

Creo que la condición básica del crítico es la humildad de reconocer que lo importante es la obra, que el crítico es un intermediario entre la obra y el público. El buen crítico nunca está por encima de lo que habla. Y para una crítica se necesita espacio para contar, desarrollar ideas y relacionarlas.

Enlaces recomendados

• [Vídeo] Entrevista realizada a Fernando Trueba en el Instituto Cervantes de Dublín por Alfonso Fernández Cid.

< Listado de Entrevistas

Javier Mariscal: “The brain is nothing cold, inert, it is completely sentimental.”

Interview with Javier Mariscal held on the 4th of November 2012, in Damaso Alonso Library, Instituto Cervantes Dublin with the purpose of participating in the ISLA Festival roundtable discussion “Words and Images: Cinema and Literature” by Mark O’Halloran and David Trueba.

Javier Mariscal ( Valencia, 1950) is primarily a creator of images who develops his work through many distinct media and disciplines. Along with his team Estudio Mariscal, founded in 1989, he has worked on numerous international projects (for H&M, The America’s Cup, Camper, among others) as well as a major exhibition of his work at the Design Museum in London “Mariscal Drawing Life”. He has produced two monographs: Mariscal Drawing Life and Sketches. In 2010, along with Fernando Trueba, he directed Chico and Rita, and published the graphic novel of the same name. In 2011 he also published the illustrated novel The Garriris. Chico & Rita was translated into English in 2011.

Vanesa Zafra: Javier, I am very interested in the creative process of graphic designers. How is it for you? Where do you begin the process?

Javier Mariscal: In all design processes, the first thing is to clearly understand the problem you have to solve. In any case, I see my studio as a store that we open in the morning and to which people come saying “I have a communication problem.” For example: “I ​​want to make a record on which Pedrito Hernández will feature, a Cuban rumba singer who lives in New York. He loves all the music of Camarón de la Isla…” Well, from all the information you receive, you ask yourself how you order it. If we’re talking about a guy who is Cuban, sings rumba and the songs of Camarón de la Isla, well, this already has a colour.

Then there are the limits. In this case, you can not say “look, I’m going to make a record that is this big” [gestures widely with his hands]. Because then, in record stores, where they will put it? There are established formats. One can not re-invent anything. The disc will be round. You also have printing limitations and financial restrictions. Perhaps you can not do an inlay card that costs a lot of money.

What are the tools? Typography, colour, illustration, photography…and from here, what you do, as I say, is to process this information and put it in a way that produces a snapshot and if possible, one which touches the heart. Because how do we communicate? We communicate by feelings. The brain is nothing cold, inert, it is completely sentimental.

Vanesa Zafra: Is this the philosophy of your studio? Emotion, humour, fun? How it is structured within a team of many people?

Javier Mariscal: Well, I have no idea. These are questions that I don’t ask myself. This is something more a posteriori, which is itself a very strange word. I do not know. It is a way of establishing things. I will, all my life since I was small, take a stone and say “Look! An airplane!” And then my children, or others will say, “Oh yeah, look! Careful, careful, because I have another one. You are going to crash!” It’s an animalistic way to understand and communicate with each other that we learn when we are very little. I have seen English and Catalan children play without speaking any language, but they understand each other immediately. With a “shun chin chin chu pan bread pa chi cha”. It is the first really potent language that we learn as children. But many kids around the ages of 12 or 15 begin to say: “No no no, this is not an airplane, this is a stone. end of story”.

As a designer, I, and I think the vast majority of other designers, have never stopped working with that system of thought which involves play. This is where one suddenly sees humour. But it is a case of play and more play. Nowadays I have stopped getting insulted, but for a long time people have insulted me. For playing.

Vanesa Zafra: – We are all born creative but we lose this quality when we learn things to become adults. Can we reverse the process?

Javier Mariscal: Being creative is like breathing. Everyone on earth is creative and we are all creative from birth. It is something we have because if not, one would die. It is immediately apparent. You take some shoes like yours that have long laces, so you are creative and you develop a system for removing them and putting them in the easiest way. And this is creativity. I do not understand why some say “you people are so creative”. Well, what about you? Do you think you’re not creative?

Vanesa Zafra: Do you listen to music while you work?

 Javier Mariscal: Sometimes, sometimes not. There have been seasons was like a vice. It was impossible to work without music.

Vanesa Zafra: Recommend an album to me.

 Javier Mariscal: I would recommend Lágrimas Negras (Black Tears), one of the best albums that has been produced in the last twenty centuries. Because at the time of the Romans there were some very good albums , the problem is they have been lost.

Vanesa Zafra: Something that surprised you, something creative, a work or a movement, perhaps a recent movie…

 Javier Mariscal: A movie … Up, for example, was wonderful. Especially the opening section. But of course, it is something obvious. Everyone who has seen it says ” Wow, isn’t the beginning of Up so beautiful, so elegant?” Who knows. Recently I saw a short, a little thing that a friend of mine, Miguel Gallardo, made. Wonderful. There are thousands and thousands of things. Thank God one continually sees these works, other people’s stuff, all this good work, and one remains fascinated. This is what you need to feed your imagination. If not, what else would inspire you?

Vanesa Zafra: And with the internet nowadays, you could be looking through it every day…

 Javier Mariscal: Well, I don’t waste much time looking at Internet every day you know? It bores me terribly.

Vanesa Zafra: And what about social networking?

 Javier Mariscal: For a while, I was on social networks, it happened suddenly. But now, I don’t know why I haven’t been. I’m not on Facebook. And look, I was posting a picture every day.

Vanesa Zafra: Yes but be a slave to that…

Javier Mariscal: Slave ? No, no, one doesn’t become a slave. It’s done for fun, or not at all.

Recommended Links

• [Video] Interview with Javier Mariscal at the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin by Vanesa Zafra.

< List of Interviews

Fernando Trueba participó en la mesa redonda «Palabras e imágenes: cine y literatura» junto a Mark O’Halloran y Javier Mariscal, moderados por Ciaran Carty. Fernando Trueba es entrevistado por Alfonso Fernández Cid. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Cine y literatura, la novela gráfica y cómo surgen historias narradas en imágenes y/o palabras fueron algunos temas de los invitados Javier Mariscal (diseñador), Fernando Trueba (director de cine) y Mark O’Halloran (actor y guionista). Modera: Ciaran Carty.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, España, 1955) es guionista, editor y director de cine. Entre 1974 y 1979 trabajó como crítico de cine para El País y en 1980 fundó la revista mensual de cine Casablanca, la cual dirigió y editó durante los primeros dos años. En 1992, su película Belle Époque, obtuvo 9 premios Goya y, en 1993, obtiene el Oscar a la mejor película de habla no inglesa. En 1997 publica su libro Diccionario del cine y es editor del Diccionario del Jazz Latino (1998). Recientemente ha llevado al cine, junto al diseñador Javier Mariscal, la película de animación Chico y Rita, que ha recibido el Goya a la mejor película de animación y que fue seleccionada para el Oscar como Mejor Película de animación.

“Words and images, cinema and literature“.

Cinema and literature, graphic novel or how stories told in images or words come to life were some of the topics dealt with by guests Javier Mariscal (designer), Fernando Trueba (cinema director) and Mark O’Halloran (actor, script writer). Chaired by Ciaran Carty.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, Spain, 1955) is a scriptwriter, editor and film director. Between 1974 and 1979 he worked as a film critic for Spain’s national daily newspaper El País and in 1980 he founded the monthly film magazine Casablanca, which he directed and edited during its first two years.

In 1992, his film Belle Époque received 9 Goya Awards and, in 1993, it was awarded the Oscar for Best Foreign Language film. In 1997 he published the book Diccionario del cine and is the editor of the Diccionario Del Jazz Latino.

He has recently brought Chico & Rita to the big screen working with designer Javier Mariscal. This film was awarded the Goya for Best Animated Film, as well as an Academy Award nomination for Best Animated Film.

Interview with Fernando Trueba held on the 4th of November 2012 in the Damaso Alonso Library, Instituto Cervantes Dublín, on the occasion of his participation in the roundtable “Words and Images: Cinema and Literature” with Mark O’Halloran and Javier Mariscal for the ISLA Festival 2012.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid , Spain , 1955) is a writer, editor and film director . Between 1974 and 1979 he worked as a film critic for El País and in 1980 he founded the monthly film magazine Casablanca, which he edited and managed for the first two years. In 1992 his film Belle Epoque won 9 Goya Awards , and in 1993 it won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. In 1997 he published his book Dicionario del Cine (Dictionary of Cinema) and is editor of the Diccionario del Jazz Latino (Dictionary of Latin Jazz) (1998). In 2010 he directed , with designer Javier Mariscal, the animated film Chico y Rita, which received the Goya for best animated film which was selected for the Academy Awards in the category of Best Animated Film . His most recent film is El Artista y la Modelo (The Artist and the Model) (2012).

Alfonso Fernández Cid: Fernando, I have it engraved in my memory that when you received the Oscar for the film Belle Époque, you said you did not believe in God but in Billy Wilder. Do you still keep that faith?

 Fernando Trueba: In Billy Wilder? Of course! For what reason would I ever lose it? There are many directors that I admire and I try to learn from, and he’s one of them. For me, directors such as Renoir, Truffaut, Bresson, Lubitsch , Preston Sturges and many others have been crucial in my development and in my life. But Billy Wilder is part of that group which has become part of me, for better or for worse.

I ‘ve always thought that Billy Wilder is the best screenwriter that ever lived. Well, II think it’s silly to claim that someone is the best director ever, for one day you may think that it is Renoir, and another day it is Lubitsch, and another it’s John Ford, and every day you’re right . Nevertheless, I challenge anyone to show me the proof that there is a better scriptwriter than Billy Wilder. Bring me the scripts with all dialogues, how they are written, structured, and I’m willing to take whatever time necessary to analyze and discuss them, because I’m sure that there is no such scriptwriter better than Billy Wilder. Never!

More than faith, it is a conviction. Faith is believing in something without seeing it. I think beyond seeing and reading, there is a kind of revelation that is felt when you see the masterpieces of Billy Wilder. You keep watching them, and the years go by and you look at them again. You know them by heart and think that you will feel nothing new watching Sunset Boulevard or The Apartment or Double Indemnity or Some Like It Hot. But you see them again and that feeling of infinite admiration for these intelligent, well-made works returns.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: How do you arrive at such a cinematic project as Chico y Rita, in which you managed to involve Bebo Valdes and [Javier] Mariscal?

Fernando Trueba: It came out of friendship. Friendship is one of the biggest incentives in my life, something that is at the source of many things I’ve done. In this case, it has been my friendship with Mariscal. It all started with Calle 54. He produced the artwork for the documentary. Then I started making records and I continued to ask him to design them for me. Because I love what he does and because we understand each other very well. I laugh a lot with him too.

One day he tells me “I’ll die without having done something I would have really loved to do: to make an animated feature film.” And I said “Surely you’ve had a thousand proposals right? Why haven’t you done one yet?” And he said “Yes, but a movie like this is not a question of hours, but of months, years, drawing by hand, bent over a table, and whenever anybody offered me anything, it was for a story I did not like. I will not lose my life, my eyes and my arms to draw a story that I do not like.”

Of course, for me animation is a totally alien world, I had never considered it before. He said to me, “For example, you will not take animation and this kind of stuff seriously. You would never give the time to write a script for an animated film.” He caught me by surprise. In essence, these conversations began the project. One day, in his study, I saw drawings of old Havana. I was overcome with enthusiasm when I saw them, “How beautiful!” I said. “This is what you need to do! This is the movie that I must make! A film in your Havana, Mariscal’s Havana. That would be spectacular!” And so it began. He said: “Yes , but it must have music.” “Man, if its a story in Havana and the Cuban people, it will be difficult for it not to have music.” “Yes, but with lots of music,” he insisted. Then I said, “Why not do a story about musicians.” “Ok, a saxophonist and a singer who fall in love.” I said that was the worst Scorcese movie ever, New York New York, I hated that movie. “Why not a pianist so, and each time he plays the piano, we put in Bebo Valdés”. And so begins a movie, slowly, like everything in life, from a sentence , an image, a conversation. And then one needs to start writing and drawing for years.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: So the journey was a long one.

 Fernando Trueba: Yes, first a script is produced and many versions of it are made. Then, to convince people to believe in the project and raise the money needed to do something so expensive, it is necessary to demonstrate the style in which the film would be made. Xavi [Mariscal] then began to draw characters , backgrounds, even maps were created as a demonstration. It took several years to find the people and the money to co-produce the project. Once this is found, we had to to start with storyboards, the characters, the hundreds of animators, drawing for two years. Actually, the process took seven years. What happened was that I, in the meantime, I wrote the screenplay for one movie, produced another couple of them, and I shot in Chile for El baile de la victoria (The Victory Dance). Otherwise, I would have died. There were parts of the production during which I could do nothing but wait: we had already recorded the sound, the music, and planned the camera movement. I just had to wait for the drawings to arrive and check that all was well.

It is very strange, animation. For me, it was like facing a completely new and different world. I have to say I enjoyed it like a child. Except the wait, how long it takes, the patience that one needs. Every time a drawing arrived from Xavi, every time I received a map, it was a joy, a tremendous rush. In fact we are planning two further projects. Chico y Rita has opened many doors for us. We have co-producers in several countries interested in what we are doing next. There’s a story that is very Xavi-esque, based on the characters from Garriris, one of his first comics, and he is working on the script with a screenwriter. As for me , I’m writing another one. We want to make them together. But the first project is more for Xavi, more for his world and and affairs , and the other is a draft of a story I want to tell.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: The great jazz fans always have a love affair with the music. What is your relationship with it?

 Fernando Trueba: I have been through many different stages, because I discovered jazz as a teenager through my older brother. And it got the hook in me in a big way. I remember in those early days, when I was 14 , 15, 17, and I really liked Keith Jarrett, Dave Brubeck, McCoy Tyner. After this, there was a time in my life when I distanced myself from jazz, during my college years.

It was the era of free jazz, which was too free for me. It wore me out. It was a kind of music for musicians, too experimental. There is always a moment, in all the arts, when all the isms have been exhausted and a kind of delirium tremens is arrived at: “We will write without commas”, “let’s not paint , let’s put 27 phones on the floor and call it an installation” … At that point, I remove myself. Art, at the point in which communication is severed, no longer interests me. I need to understand things for them to excite me. So I left Jazz for a few years, but I returned to it through Latin jazz. I returned because I discovered a kind of energy in Latin jazz that made me come back.

Jazz is the most adventurous music that exists. Because one must have a wide musical knowledge, outstanding technical abilities, and then one must have the courage to improvise, to create, to let yourself be carried away, to let things happen themselves. That is very beautiful. I think authors also do this. There is a moment in the writing process where the hand moves by its own accord, and one sentence leads to another. This, in music, is only experienced by a jazz musician. A jazz musician will throw himself out the window without a safety net, and sometimes he will fly.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: You worked as a film critic.

Fernando Trueba: Yes, when I was very young, between the ages of 20 and 24, when I directed my first film. But I had already dreamt of making movies. Writing reviews was an opportunity to watch movies and get paid at the same time. Once, it was proposed for me to publish these reviews but I’ve always refused. They were sincere and passionate, but I think I was very young and did not have the capacity for it then. I do enjoy reading the reviews of Truffaut though, and in my house I have books by Manny Farber, Andrew Sarris, even writers who worked as critics such as Graham Greene, Alberto Moravia or Ennio Flaiano.

Alfonso Fernández Cid: What is the importance of critics – to what extent can they have an influence?

Fernando Trueba: I think that it is a very bad period for film criticism at the moment, because criticism, in the creative sense of cinema, has practically disappeared. Nowadays there is not one critic that I follow. Hoberman and Rosenbaum, from the US, interest me, but not entirely. I think Rosenbaum, in Chicago, is one person who is doing a good job, and has more merit still, because he is doing it in the United States, a country that is very self-absorbed…the United States does not look out at the world, but only at American cinema, with the exception of a select few in New York and San Francisco. Rosenbaum is mounting a crusade, telling people about Iranian cinema, Argentine cinema, Taiwanese cinema…he is the only critic I read with even a little interest.

I think that now, criticism has become very superficial. It is newspaper criticism, made hastily and in a hurry. In addition, the articles are very small, with little detail. You can not deal with a movie in a couple of lines.

For me, criticism is an act of love. Your enthusiasm should be contagious to others – to teach how to see something, to teach how to read something, to open a window onto an artistic work. This happened to me when I was young and read Truffaut. I read it and, suddenly, the desire to see a movie arose inside me. This is wonderful – when you become enlightened, when you are given clues, when you discover things that give you joy, when you feel your life is improved. And that is what I do not feel from critics nowadays.

I think the basic condition of the critic is to have the humility to recognize that what matters is the work, that he or she is an intermediary between the work and the public. A good critic is never above what he or she writes about. Criticism needs space for it to be developed, space for ideas to be explained and contextualised.

Recommended Links :

• [Vídeo] Interview with  Fernando Trueba at he Instituto Cervantes in Dublin by Alfonso Fernández Cid.

< List of Interviews

Para finalizar el Festival Literario ISLA, os ofrecemos unas lecturas en el Café Literario, el 4 de Noviembre a las 12.45.

Última lectura del festival que clausura este festín literario con las voces de estos cuatro escritores que leerán una selección de su obra en su lengua original. Presenta: Megan Specia.

Ita Daly (Drumshanbo, Leitrim, Irlanda) ha publicado cinco novelas, una colección de cuentos y dos libros infantiles. Ha recibido el premio Hennessy Literary Award y el Irish Times Short Story Award. Su obra ha sido traducida al sueco, danés, japonés, italiano y alemán y sus relatos cortos han aparecido en revistas de Irlanda, Inglaterra y Estados Unidos. Uno de sus libros de relatos, The Lady With the Red Shoes, forma parte del plan de estudios de las escuelas de secundaria alemanas.

Rafael Gumucio (Santiago, Chile, 1970) es escritor y profesor de castellano y se licenció en Literatura por la Universidad de Chile. Ha trabajado como periodista en varios diarios. En 1995 publicó el libro de relatos Invierno en la Torre y Memorias Prematuras. Ha publicado también las novelasComedia Nupcial, Los Platos Rotos y Páginas Coloniales. Su última novela es La Deuda (2009). Actualmente es Director del Instituto de Estudios Humorísticos de la Universidad Diego Portales y co-conductor del programa Desde Zero en Radio Zero. Ha recibido el premio Anna Seghers, Alemania, 2002.

Máighréad Medbh (Condado de Limerick, Irlanda) ha publicado cinco libros de poesía y un audiolibro. Fue pionera de la performance poética en Irlanda en los años 90. Su colección más reciente es Twelve Beds for the Dreamer (2010). La obra de Máighréad ha sido publicada en una gran variedad de antologías y ha escrito versiones de poemas gallegos para dos antologías recientes editadas por Manuela Palacios (Universidad de Santiago de Compostela).

Lorenzo Silva (Madrid, España, 1966) ha escrito, entre otras, las novelas La flaqueza del bolcheviqueque ha sido llevada al cine por Manuel Martín Cuenca, y Carta blanca. Ha publicado también libros infantiles y juveniles, además de ensayos. Es especialmente conocido por la serie policíaca protagonizada por los investigadores Bevilacqua y Chamorro, iniciada conEl lejano país de los estanques (Premio Ojo Crítico 1998), y a la que siguió, entre otras, El alquimista impaciente (Premio Nadal 2000). Su último libro es Niños Feroces (2011). Su obra ha sido traducida a numerosos idiomas, como ruso, francés, alemán, italiano o griego.

To close the ISLA Literary Festival, we offer some readings at Café Literario, in November 4th at 12:45.

This literary festival will close with poetry readings by these four writers in their original language. Introduced by: Megan Specia.

(Drumshambo, Co. Leitrim) has published five novels, one collection of short stories and two books for children. She has won two Hennessy Literary Awards and an Irish Times Short Story Award. Her last novel, Unholy Ghosts (1997), was long listed for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. Her work has been translated into Swedish, Danish, Japanese, Italian and German and her short stories have appeared in magazines in Ireland, England and America. Her short story collection The Lady With the Red Shoes (1980) is currently on the secondary school curriculum in Germany.

Rafael Gumucio (Santiago, Chile, 1970) has worked as a journalist for many Chilean and Spanish newspapers, as well as the New York Times. In 1995 he published the collection of short stories Invierno en la Torre and Memorias prematuras. He also published the novels Comedia Nupcial, Los Platos Rotos and Páginas Coloniales. His latest novel, La Deuda, was published in 2009. He now works as the director of the Institute for Humour Studies of the University Diego Portales and is co-conductor of Desde Zero at the radio station Zero. He received the Anna Seghers Award in Germany in 2002.

Máighréad Medbh (Co. Limerick) has five published poetry collections and an audio CD. She was a pioneer of performance poetry in Ireland in the nineteen-nineties. Her most recent collection, Twelve Beds for the Dreamer was published in 2010. Máighréad has been published in a wide range of anthologies, and has written versions of Galician poems for two recent anthologies edited by Manuela Palacios of Universidad de Santiago de Compostela.

Lorenzo Silva (Madrid, Spain, 1966) is author of novels such as La Flaqueza del Bolchevique which was adapted for cinema by Manuel Martín Cuenca, and Carta Blanca. He has also published books for children and young adults, as well as essays. He is especially known for the crime series starring detectives Bevilacqua and Chamorro, the series started with El lejano país de los estanques winner of the Ojo Crítico Award in 1998, and was followed by El Alquimista Impaciente winner of the Nadal Award in 2000, the later being adapted to cinema by Patricia Ferreira. His latest book Niños Feroces was published in 2011. His books have been translated into numerous languages such as Russian, French, German, Italian and Greek.

Comenzamos el último día del Festival Literario ISLA con una discusión literaria que tendrá lugar a las 11:00 en el Café Literario.

Cine y literatura, novela gráfica o cómo surgen historias narradas en imágenes y/o palabras serán algunos temas de los invitados Javier Mariscal (diseñador), Fernando Trueba (director de cine) y Mark O’Halloran (actor y guionista). Modera: Ciaran Carty.

Javier Mariscal (Valencia, 1950) es ante todo un creador de imágenes que desarrolla su trabajo en todo tipo de soportes y disciplinas. Junto con el equipo del Estudio Mariscal, que fundó en 1989, ha realizado numerosos proyectos internacionales (H&M, America’s Cup, Camper, etc.), además de la exposición sobre su trabajo Mariscal Drawing Life en el Design Museum de Londres y dos publicaciones monográficas: Mariscal Drawing Life y Sketches. En 2010, ha dirigido junto a Fernando Trueba, Chico y Rita y se ha publicado el cómic Chico & Rita. En 2011 ha publicado también el libro ilustrado Los Garriris.Chico & Rita se ha traducido al inglés en 2011, publicándose también en Francia y Países Bajos.

Mark O’Halloran (Ennis, Condado de Clare) es un dramaturgo, actor y guionista irlandés. Escribió el guión de  dos películas muy aplaudidas en la escena cinematográfica: En la primera, Adam and Paul(2004) también asumió unos de los papeles principales, ganando con su trabajo el premio del Festival Internacional de Cine de Gijón al mejor actor (2005) y el Evening Standard British Film Award al mejor guión (2006). Su segunda película, Garage, se estrenó en el Festival de Cine de Cannes en el 2007 y ganó el premio CICAE a la mejor película, así como el Irish Film and Television Award al mejor guión de película (2008), entre muchos otros. También escribió el guión para la serie Prosperity, del canal RTE en 2007, por el cual ganó el Irish Film and Television Award al mejor guión de televisión (2008). Su última obra de teatro Trade se estrenó en el Festival de Teatro del Ulster Bank Dublin en septiembre de 2011.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, España, 1955) es guionista, editor y director de cine. Entre 1974 y 1979 trabajó como crítico de cine para El País y en 1980 fundó la revista mensual de cine Casablanca, la cual dirigió y editó durante los primeros dos años. En 1992, su película Belle Époque, obtuvo 9 premios Goya y, en 1993, obtiene el Oscar a la mejor película de habla no inglesa. En 1997 publica su libroDiccionario del cine y es editor del Diccionario del Jazz Latino (1998). Recientemente ha llevado al cine, junto al diseñador Javier Mariscal, la película de animación Chico y Rita, que ha recibido el Goya a la mejor película de animación y que ha sido nominada al Óscar como Mejor Película de animación.

To begin the last day of ISLA Literary Festival, we start with a literary discussion that will take place at 11:00 in Café Literario.

Cinema and literature, graphic novel or how stories told in images or words come to life will be some of the topics dealt with by guests Javier Mariscal (designer), Fernando Trueba (cinema director) and Mark O’Halloran (actor, script writer). Chaired by Ciaran Carty.

Javier Mariscal (Valencia, 1950) is, first and foremost, an image creator who develops his work using all kinds of supports and disciplines. Together with the team of Estudio Mariscal, which he founded in 1989, in recent years, and among many other things, he has done several interior design and graphics (H&M, America’s Cup, Camper, etc), the exhibition of his work Mariscal Drawing Life in the Design Museum of London and two monographic publications: Mariscal Drawing Life and Sketches. In 2010, he premiered the full-length cartoon film Chico & Rita which he jointly directed with Fernando Trueba and produced the comic Chico & Rita. In 2011 he published the illustrated book Los Garriris. Chico & Rita has been translated into English in 2011 and has also been published in France and The Netherlands.

Mark O’Halloran (Ennis, Co. Clare) is an Irish playwright, actor and screen writer. He wrote the script for two critically lauded Irish films: On the first one, Adam and Paul (2004), he also took one of the leading roles, winning the Gijón International Film Festival Award for Best Actor (2005) and the Evening Standard British Film Award for Best Screenplay (2006). His second film, Garage, premièred at the Cannes Film Festival in 2007 and won the CICAE award for Best Film and the Irish Film and Television Award for Best Script for Film (2008), among many others. He also wrote the script for the four-part television series Prosperity on RTE in 2007, for which he won the Irish Film and Television Award for Best Script for Television (2008). His latest play Tradepremièred at the Ulster Bank Dublin Theatre Festival in September 2011.

Fernando Trueba (Madrid, Spain, 1955) is a scriptwriter, editor and film director. Between 1974 and 1979 he worked as a film critic for Spain’s national daily newspaper El Pais and in 1980 he founded the monthly film magazine Casablanca, which he directed and edited during its first two years. In 1992, his film Belle Époque received 9 Goya Awards and, in 1993, it was awarded the Oscar for Best Foreign Language film. In 1997 he published the book Diccionario del cine and is the editor of theDiccionario Del Jazz Latino. He has recently broughtChico & Rita to the big screen working with designer Javier Mariscal. This film was awarded the Goya for Best Animated Film, as well as an Academy Award nomination for Best Animated Film.

Rafael Gumucio: Living with guilt is horrible and living without guilt is worse.

Interview with Rafael Gumucio held on the 3rd of November 2012, in the Dámaso Alonso Library, Cervantes Institute Dublin on the occasion of his participation in the  ISLA Literature Festival round table discussion “Unscrupulous Writers: Intimacy, Violence and Humour in literature”, together with Ita Daly, Christopher Domínguez Michael and Catherine Dunne.

Rafael Gumucio (Santiago, Chile, 1970) has worked as a journalist for many national newspapers in Chile and Spain, as well as for in the New York Times. In 1995 he published the book of short stories Invierno en la Torre (Winter in the Tower) and the novel Memorias Prematuras (Premature Memories). Subsequently, Comedia Nupcial (Bridal Comedy), Los Platos Rotos (The Broken Plates), and Páginas Coloniales (Colonial Pages) appeared. His latest work is La Deuda (The Debt) (2009). He is currently Director of the Institute of Comedic Studies of the Diego Portales University and co-host of the radio program Desde Zero.

Carmen Sanjulián: Rafael, you are a writer and humorist, but you also write on very serious subjects – there are novels such La Deuda, for example, in which you denounce a contemporary Chile where many strange things happen.

 Rafael Gumucio: I usually write serious things, I don’t set out to be funny. In my daily life it seems that I am quite a bit funny because I’m clumsy and things end up different to how I would like them to be. I do believe that what I write has some humour, in the sense that it has a slightly broader view of reality. There is no idolization; characters are displayed in all their pettiness, their absurdity and their beauty too. It is all things together. For me the word humour means exactly that. It means to be able to see reality in all its myriad nuances. I do not believe that the comedian is someone who necessarily makes jokes or is someone simply funny.

Carmen Sanjulián: Also, in La Deuda you speak of guilt^[1]. Recently Javier Marías spoke of the fact that the notion of guilt has been lost. Before, everything made us feel guilty and now anything goes. Why do you think that we have gone from one extreme to the other?

 Rafael Gumucio: I think it is a shift in society. It is a change that has to do with a certain economy. Chile is emblematic of this situation because it lived through a neo-liberal revolution of great importance. We established neoliberal reforms earlier and deeper than any other country. This, in a catholic country, guilt-ridden, with a Christian, Socialist and Communist past full of blame, which obviously creates in people a kind of trauma that is impossible to absorb between what they learned when they were children, from their families, and what society is asking of them.

The novel is called La Deuda (The Debt) because one of the basic principles of neoliberal economy is that one has to owe. Debt is not a problem, it is a quality. Money is not what you have but what you borrow. And that debt is never paid…until we realize that in the end, yes it is paid, as has happened in Spain and all over the world. But the idea we are sold during twenty or thirty years is “Look, you can not live with the money that you have under the mattress, you can’t live with your savings, you have to borrow, and then debt will make you part of society”. Debt is transformed into a sort of citizenship, identity. The Bank requests that you become indebted to them, until you could no longer afford to pay. But in the beginning banks told people “Get into debt. Repay this over twenty to thirty years”. And of course, in the old system, the system of saving, of only paying what I have when I have it, this is the old culture of guilt, which also has to do with what sense of responsibility I should have for what happens to others. That culture was fought and produced a crash.

The Chilean transition, what happened in the country is striking because I think that it spread into my private life and that of my friends, and I wanted to transcribe this. I’m not a sociologist, nor did I intend to write a sociological novel, but I was just interested in that new balance between a culture that upholds guilt and repentance, scruples, and another culture that thinks that repentance and scruples are a blockage, a form of not progressing, of remaining stalled – how those two cultures collide in private life, in the intimate lives of people, and how it created new monsters in them.

I’ve had to break with the guilt in which I was brought up, I myself have had to be part of this liberal society, and I’ve done so with joy. The novel made me discover the value of guilt, which is a paradoxical value because what I say is that guilt is very belittling, very sad, very prohibiting, but is better than no guilt whatsoever. In other words, the alternative promise, life without guilt, is a desert without remission. The truth is that I do not promise any paradise. Living with guilt is horrible and living without guilt is worse.

Carmen Sanjulián: When the coup took place in Chile, you were only three years old and you went with your family into exile. However, your grandfather founded the Christian-Democrat party in Chile, and your father was also involved in helping many others. This, even though you were a child, clearly marked you, and from this perhaps Platos Rotos (Broken Plates) arose.

Rafael Gumucio: Yes, the truth is that the political history of Chile was something completely intimate in my case, something everyday, absolutely quotidian. I spent the first years of my life in Paris, exiled, and it was like living doubly in Chile. Mentally, we lived in Chile, and in the history of Chile. My grandfather, my great-grandfather and almost all my family were involved in the history of a country that is very small and very homely, and it happened a little like the way it happened with Dublin: sometimes, very small and very provincial societies, without the greatest importance, become involved in history. In the case of Dublin, there is a literary history totally disproportionate to its size. Chile the symbol, what Chile means to the world, what it meant to history, has nothing to do with its size, the amount of inhabitants or the productivity of the country. We are a small Latin American country; however, we have produced a number of important global symbols.

As I had access to this source, it was interesting to me to tell our story. Paradoxically, this book was born when I was living in Madrid. When one lives as a foreigner, one begins to become obsessed with one’s own country. In fact, I decided to return to Chile because I didn’t want to be so Chilean. I was becoming a folkloric figure.

Carmen Sanjulián: How was your return to Chile? Did you feel exiled upon arrival?

 Rafael Gumucio: It was an experience that still I can not calibrate. I lived in Paris until I was fourteen and came to Chile in the middle of a dictatorship and an economic crisis, at a time of misery and repression. As soon as we arrived, a list appeared of people who were not permitted to be in Chile, so I lived there in secret for six months, although at the age of fourteen I had of course done nothing. Everybody told me to up and leave. However, the fact that I felt “important”, important enough to be clandestine, was an alleviation for a boy with self-esteem problems, who had suffered from dyslexia and from repression in France. So, strangely, I came to a place which was purgatory, if not hell, and I felt as if I were in paradise. I felt comfortable immediately.

On the other hand, being a writer in Chile at that time was absolutely impossible, with no prospects, and at the age of fourteen or fifteen, impossible things are a great help because they protect you from reality. Everything that went wrong in my life drifted into the background because I had embarked on a solitary project , one requiring all of my time, space and mind.

Carmen Sanjulián: Have you been given a cat for a hare many times? [To get a cat for a hare – un gato por liebre – is a Spanish idiom similar to a “pig in a poke”. It is also the name of one of Gumucio’s radio programs]

 Rafael Gumucio: Yes, but I’ve also given them from time to time.

Carmen Sanjulián: A Cat for a Hare is one of the comedy programs that you had, together with Plan Z. How do you embark upon this this story?

 Rafael Gumucio: By chance really, because just as being a writer in Chile was impossible because there were no publishers or readers, I had to embark on a career in journalism by myself and do a bit of everything. I watched a lot of TV, and wrote television criticism for a magazine. Some people read it and gave me the idea that I could do television.

Carmen Sanjulián:-Contra la Belleza (Against Beauty), an essay in which you criticise the society in which we live, which rewards beauty – what truth is there in this work for you?

 Rafael Gumucio: It is contradictory, because aesthetic parameters are very important to me. I judge people by their beauty or ugliness, and I am quite superficial. It really was a self-criticism. It was born from a collection of writings for Tumbona, a Mexican publishing house, which stood against many different things; they asked me what subject I wished to argue against, and I said “well, against beauty”. I had no idea, but while investigating, I realized that the idea of visible beauty, perceivable beauty, has been one of the problems of art.

Art has fought against beauty, because beauty has an essential political implication which is what I was interested in rebuking. I think it is a little like La Deuda (The Debt). Beauty is the most attractive symbol of injustice. Genetic or social injustice finds a living example in beauty. We may live in a totally egalitarian society, we may all have the potential to earn the same, but there will always be some more beautiful than others and, fatally, the beautiful marry each other and still have the most beautiful children, ultimately creating a society in which the beautiful govern to the ugly.

When societies are unequal, beauty is cultivated, and when societies are more egalitarian, beauty is persecuted. Of course, it is a zero-sum game, because neither can win the battle completely. God knows, if I lived in an egalitarian society in which beauty was pursued, I could not deal with it. I am more capitalist than socialist, but I fully understand that there is a problem there and that beauty is not innocent. We are told: “If you like beauty and hate ugliness, you must accept social injustices because they are of the same order: there are people more beautiful than others, there are people stronger than others, and there are those that are richer than others. Things are so, and are not going to change”. This is the discourse that is behind the propaganda of beauty, which I find unpalatable.

Carmen Sanjulián: You wrote Memorias Prematuras (Premature Memories) when you were twenty-nine years old. Where did it come from?

Rafael Gumucio: In fact it was almost a prison sentence, because after it I no longer have anything more to say… No, it was also a suicidal challenge, because a friend of mine read an interview in which I had a spoken a little about my childhood and adolescence and told me: “You have to write about that”.

I was, around this time, held in low literary regard. I had written a book which had been destroyed by the critics, and this seemed like a way out, I don’t know why. It seemed to me that I had a double opportunity. If the book was received badly, my death would be permanent. And if the book was good, it would be a gesture of boldness. And I did it when all my friends mocked me, thinking that it was a gesture of arrogance. Because in addition, I wrote the book at the age of 29, but the plot of the book ends when I was 26 – I didn’t even write about the three subsequent years. And of course, I thought about it as a novel. All the events are real, all the characters are real, but the structure I was thinking of  is like a kind of novel in which I try to show the progression and the trauma of a young man with the notion that he has become, and that his father or that society has helped him become, a genius. And how this young man has to discover that he is just normal, which is always a very big disappointment.

Lorenzo Silva participó en la mesa redonda «Conflictos: ficción, humor y sociedad» junto a Bernardo Toro, María Negroni y Niamh O’Connor. Lorenzo Silva es entrevistado en este video Carmen Sanjulián. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Memoria histórica, conflictos nacionales o internacionales, crimen y cotidianidad fueron temas presentes en esta mesa gracias a la creación literaria de los invitados Lorenzo Silva, Bernardo Toro, María Negroni y Niamh O’Connor. Modera: Kate Quinn (NUI Galway)

Lorenzo Silva (Madrid, España, 1966) ha escrito, entre otras, las novelas “La flaqueza del bolchevique” (finalista del Premio Nadal 1997) que ha sido llevada al cine por Manuel Martín Cuenca, y “Carta blanca” (Premio Primavera 2004). Ha publicado también libros infantiles y juveniles, además de ensayos. Es especialmente conocido por la serie policíaca protagonizada por los investigadores Bevilacqua y Chamorro, iniciada con “El lejano país de los estanques” (Premio Ojo Crítico 1998), y a la que siguió, entre otras, “El alquimista impaciente” (Premio Nadal 2000), adaptada al cine por Patricia Ferreira. En 2011 publicó “Niños Feroces”. En 2012 ganó el Premio Planeta con “La marca del meridiano” Su obra ha sido traducida a numerosos idiomas, como ruso, francés, alemán, italiano o griego.

Historical memory, national or international conflicts and crime and daily life were the topics at this table thanks to literary works by guests Lorenzo Silva, Bernardo Toro, María Negroni and Niamh O’Connor. Chaired by Kate Quinn (NUI Galway).

Lorenzo Silva (Madrid, Spain, 1966) is author of novels such as “La Flaqueza del Bolchevique” which was short listed for the Nadal Award in 1997, and was adapted for cinema by Manuel Martín Cuenca, and “Carta Blanca” which won the Primavera Award in 2004. He has also published books for children and young adults, as well as essays. He is especially known for the crime series starring detectives Bevilacqua and Chamorro, the series started with “El lejano país de los estanques” winner of the Ojo Crítico Award in 1998, and was followed by “El Alquimista” Impaciente winner of the Nadal Award in 2000, the later being adapted to cinema by Patricia Ferreira. He published “Niños Feroces” in 2011, and in 2012 he won Premio Planeta award with “La marca del meridiano”.

His books have been translated into numerous languages such as Russian, French, German, Italian and Greek.

Kevin Barry participó en una lectura literaria junto a Elia Barceló, Christopher Michael Domínguez, María Negroni y Keith Ridgway. Entrevistado por Sergio Angulo. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Kevin Barry nació en Limerick y vive en Sligo. Su primer libro de relatos, There are Little Kingdoms, ganó el Premio Rooney de Literatura Irlandesa en 2007. Ha escrito sobre viajes y literatura para The Guardian, The Irish Times, The Sydney Morning Herald y muchas otras publicaciones. Su primera novela, City of Bohane (2011) ha sido galardonada en Reino Unido con el Authors’ club Best First Novel Award, que premia a la mejor primera novela del año.

Kevin Barry was born in Limerick and now lives in Sligo. His first collection of short stories, There Are Little Kingdoms, won the Rooney Prize for Irish Literature in 2007. He has written about travel and literature for The Guardian, The Irish Times, The Sydney Morning Herald and many other publications. His debut novel City of Bohane (2011) recently won the Authors’ Club Best First Novel award in Britain.

Niamh O’Connor participó en la mesa redonda “Conflictos: ficción, humor y sociedad” junto a Lorenzo Silva, Bernardo Toro y María Negroni. Niamh O’Connor es entrevistada por Sergio Angulo. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Memoria histórica, conflictos nacionales o internacionales, crimen y cotidianidad serán temas presentes en esta mesa gracias a la creación literaria de los invitados Lorenzo Silva, Bernardo Toro y Niamh O’Connor. Modera: Kate Quinn (NUI Galway)

Niamh O’Connor es una de las figuras más destacadas dentro del género policiaco de Irlanda, como escritora y como periodista. Como redactora de la sección de Sucesos del Sunday World, ha entrevistado a asesinos de triste fama y destapó una red internacional de prostitución como infiltrada. Se infiltró también en una banda que robó millones a los bancos mediante una estafa de hipotecas y que desencadenó una investigación por parte del Criminal Assets Bureau.

Ha escrito tres novelas dentro de la serie DI Jo Birmingham, If I Never See You Again, Taken, and Too Close For Comfort, nominada esta última a los premios Irish Book Awards 2012 en la categoría de novela negra. Worse can Happen saldrá publicada en 2013.

Niamh es también autora de los best-sellers Blood Ties, Cracking Crime y The Black Widow, the Catherine Nevin story, basados en hechos reales.

Historical memory, national or international conflicts and crime and daily life were topics at this table thanks to literary works by guests Lorenzo Silva, Bernardo Toro and Niamh O’Connor. Chaired by Kate Quinn (NUI Galway).

Niamh O’Connor is one of Ireland’s best-known true crime authors and journalists. As
True Crime Editor with the Sunday World, she has interviewed infamous murderers and gone undercover to expose an international prostitution ring. She has also infiltrated a gang running a mortgage fraud swindling the banks out of millions, leading to an investigation by the Criminal Assets Bureau.

Niamh has written three novels in the DI Jo Birmingham series, If I Never See You Again, Taken, and Too Close For Comfort which as been short listed for the Irish Book Awards 2012 Crime Fiction book of the year. Worse Can Happen is due out in 2013.

Niamh is also the bestselling true crime author of Blood Ties, Cracking Crime, and The Black Widow, the Catherine Nevin story.

Rafael Gumucio participó en la mesa redonda «Escritores sin escrúpulos: intimidad, violencia y humor en literatura» / “Writers without scruples: Intimacy, violence and humour in literature“. Entrevistado por Carmen Sanjulián. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Temas como la identidad y la memoria, la violencia o el humor fueron tratados por los invitados Ita Daly, Christopher Domínguez Michael, Rafael Gumucio y Catherine Dunne, con la moderación de Ciaran Cosgrove (Trinity College Dublin).

Rafael Gumucio (Santiago, Chile, 1970) ha trabajado como periodista en numerosos diarios nacionales chilenos, españoles y en el New York Times. En 1995 publicó el libro de relatos Invierno en la Torre y Memorias Prematuras. Ha publicado también las novelas Comedia Nupcial, Los Platos Rotos y Páginas Coloniales. Su última novela es La Deuda (2009).

Actualmente es Director del Instituto de Estudios Humorísticos de la Universidad Diego Portales y co-conductor de Desde Zero en Radio Zero.

Topics such as identity and memory, violence or humour were dealt with by guests Ita Daly, Christopher Domínguez Michael, Rafael Gumucio and Catherine Dunne, chaired by Ciaran Cosgrove (Trinity College Dublin).

Rafael Gumucio (Santiago, Chile, 1970) has worked as a journalist for many Chilean and Spanish newspapers, as well as the New York Times. In 1995 he published the collection of short stories Invierno en la Torre and Memorias prematuras. He also published the novels Comedia Nupcial, Los Platos Rotos and Páginas Coloniales. His latest novel, La Deuda, was published in 2009.

He now works as the director of the Institute for Humour Studies of the University Diego Portales and is co-conductor of Desde Zero at the radio station Zero. He received the Anna Seghers Award in Germany in 2002.

http://dublin.cervantes.es/FichasCult…

Keith Ridgway participó en una lectura literaria junto a Elia Barceló, Christopher Michael Domínguez, María Negroni y Kevin Barry. Entrevistado por Megan Specia. Edición de video: Cris Méndez.

Keith Ridgway nació en Dublín en 1965. Su primera obra de ficción fue Horses (1997), a la que siguieron The Long Falling (1998), Standard Time (2000); un libro de relatos, The Parts (2003); Animals (2006) y Goo Book (2011). Su última novela publicada es Hawthorn & Child (2012).

Ha recibido numerosos premios, entre ellos el Prix Femina Etranger y el Prix Premier Roman en París en 2001 por The Long Falling bajo el título en francés Mauvais Pente, y el premio Rooney de literatura irlandesa en 2001. Las obras de Ridgway han sido traducidas a varios idiomas entre otros, el español.

Keith Ridgway (Dublin, 1965). His first fictional prose Horses was published in 1997, followed by The Long Falling (1998), Standard Time (2000). A collection of short fiction, The Parts (2003), Animals (2006), Goo Book (2011) and Hawthorn & Child (2012).

He has received numerous awards such as the Prix Femina Etranger and the Prix Premier Roman in Paris in 2001 for The Long Falling, under its French title of Mauvaise Pente, and The Rooney Prize For Irish Literature in 2001.

His work has been translated into several languages and has been published in Spain, between other countries.