Interview with Carlos Reygadas, member of the Feature Films Jury

What was your relationship with cinema before making it your profession?
Before turning 18, it was only a source of entertainment. Then, while I was studying law, I started watching films a bit by chance, and I got to understand that cinema could be much more than that. I wanted to see all of the films by Fassbinder, Marcel Carné, Carlos Saura, and Japanese directors. Towards the end of my program, I told myself that perhaps one day, I could make a film. But I really loved law. So, I continued my studies, and it was only when I started working that I realized I didn’t want that type of life.

What did it take for you to feel ready to leave your profession as a lawyer?
Everything was going well in life, and I had saved a bit of money. I went back to Brussels, where I had lived, and I started watching films on VHS again: I would fast forward, rewind, take notes… That’s how I learned about technique. At INSAS (Institut national supérieur des arts du spectacle et des techniques de diffusion), I met an Argentinian, Diego Martinez Vignatti, who later became the cinematographer for my first two films. He helped me get equipment — cameras from school, expired 8mm black-and-white film — then introduced me to friends with whom I learned a lot more. We were 27, and no one had experience yet. Together, we made Japón.

What difficulties did you have at the start?
There was so much excitement that nothing seemed difficult to me. We filmed for three or four months. I had prepared a lot, and I devoted my life to it. At the time, I didn’t have any children or obligations. That’s why I always dismissed the idea of cinema as an industry or a profession. For me, cinema must be a desire, a pleasure — even when it brings pain and hardship. I never forget how lucky we are to be able to do this.

What writing method do you use?
We have ears, a mouth, skin… Each organ has a function, but perception is everything. I don’t say that to be poetic. It’s truly a sensory approach. When dreaming, what matters most? Colors, sounds, words, shapes, speed… together they create an emotion. When I write, I allow this energy to take over. I write fast. I start with a general idea, and I allow things to come to me, guided by a feeling.

Do you allow yourself to be caught by surprise on set?
I don’t think that you can create profound images without visualizing them beforehand. It’s like an architect who follows a plan: he can adjust a window, of course, but he starts off with a clear vision. Personally, I need a good predesign, a visual idea, and specific audio — while still remaining ready to rework the material.

What inspires you?
Inspiration comes from mysterious, and often unexpected, ordinary places. It can come like an electric shock when outdoors or in a line at the airport.

Speaking of planes, the sky seems to inspire you…
I think of it like the impressionists: not as an object, but as an arrangement of molecules, light, and color. This way of looking at things, outside of concepts, is both philosophical and artistic. Perhaps that’s why Impressionism remains, in my eyes, the fundamental avant-garde movement.

Tarkovski or Bresson?
One year it’s one; the next year, it’s the other. But I feel a special attachment to Bresson. They are both radical in the true sense of the word — not extremists, but rooted in the cause of things. What I object to in this day and age is not seeking this root cause. We’re content with following the flying flags. Bresson, himself, conceptualizes that remarkably. I greatly admire his courage and coherence.

Why do you create images?
Simply to share. That’s a question I often asked myself, and I believe that the closest answer is: “Why do we say ‘Hello’?” To see if someone replies, if the mirror reflects something. We exist in the eyes of the other. Like bats, we emit waves and wait for them to return.