La misteriosa mirada del flamenco, as seen by Diego Céspedes

What inspired you to begin work on this film?

For me, there wasn’t a single defining moment when the film came to me directly. Rather, it was a series of smaller moments that inspired its construction and transformation into what it is today. One of those moments comes from a story in the past: when I was a baby, my parents had a hair salon in the suburbs of Santiago — where my entire family comes from — and all the gay men who worked there died of AIDS. This deeply affected my mother, who developed a tremendous fear — and also a prejudice — toward the disease.

So I grew up with a terrifying idea of what AIDS was. But as I grew older, and also as I came to understand myself as gay, the world began to open up. I met dissident people who changed my perspective: people I see as deeply luminous beings. And I think that’s one of the most important aspects of this film: how these people survive — and help others survive — through love and the creation of chosen, non-biological families.

Please describe your working method.

My working method is very meticulous when it comes to aesthetics, but much freer when it comes to performance. I spend a lot of time building the atmosphere in my mind, and I have long conversations with my production designer and cinematographer to make sure I feel comfortable — and above all, honest — with what we are creating.

Please share a few words about your actors.

My cast is a beautiful mix: professional actors, non-professional actors, children — and even animals, haha.
Working with the cast was something I discovered more deeply in this film than in any previous project. At first, I was scared of having such a large cast. But by giving them more freedom, I found something very beautiful and natural that I wanted to explore throughout the entire film. Within that, one of the things that made me most uneasy was having a child — an eleven-year-old girl — as the protagonist (Lidia, Tamara Cortés). But the work we did together was incredible. She was like an oak tree: enthusiastic, steady, and full of an energy that never faded. When everyone else got sick, she didn’t. When she finished her scenes, she didn’t want to leave the set. I especially remember one complex scene, full of instructions, which I thought I’d have to shoot in many takes. But she nailed it perfectly in a single one. I was deeply moved by her work, her talent, and her skill.

Paula Dinamarca, who plays Mamá Boa, is a non-professional actress who managed to build a character inspired by older trans women she has known. I’m very satisfied with her work. Her face, her natural presence, her rage, and her love fill the little jar that holds the essence of the film.

Matías Catalán, who plays Flamenco, is a trained actor, and this was one of his first leading roles. He gave everything to the character. In Chile, despite the huge amount of talent, it’s still difficult to push productions to take chances on new faces. And Matías is one of those faces — there’s something truly magnetic about the way he acts.

The same goes for Pedro, who plays Yovani. His path is similar to Matías’s, and he has this ability to express so much through his eyes and his body — something I hadn’t seen before. It’s incredibly powerful.

What would you like people to remember from your film?

I’d like it to be a reminder of how important it is to look at faces that don’t look like our own — especially in these dark times we’re starting to live through.