“Marica somos todos.”

An interesting statement, that roughly translates as “we are all queer”. Yet read it again: apart from the literal meaning of Marica, deriving from Maricón, (meaning homosexual), the slogan of this one-man play hopes to dig a little deeper than that.

Marica is an epilogue to director Pepe Cibrian Campoy’s struggle for rights; an artistic outlet, through explaining and pondering on the death of a famous poet, writer, theatre director and role model: Federico Garcia Lorca.

But more than just a play, Marica is part of the real-life journey of creator and sole protagonist Pepe, whose campaigns for gay rights took him to the Senate prior to the passing of same sex marriage laws in Argentina in 2010.

“This homage to Federico is at the same time dedicated to all of those who, throughout the history of humanity, were sacrificed one way or another; for thinking and being different,” Pepe states in the programme.

Much controversy continues to surround Lorca’s death. It is widely believed that the Spanish poet was killed by a Marxist group on the brink of the Spanish Civil War in 1936 due to his outspoken liberal views. Some historians allege that his sexual orientation were a major reason behind his murder.

In his theatre work, Pepe attributes the death of Lorca to his political views and sexual orientation. Even still, the intricate text tampers and plays with this, questioning life, death, unrequited love and other people’s feelings toward Lorca (and Pepe himself) throughout the monologue.

The play is performed in one act, with Pepe playing all five characters: Federico Garcia Lorca, his father, mother, his murderer, and friend Salvador Dali. The script itself is very moving and can be unsettling in parts, for example, when the role of Lorca questions his death before it occurs (“Will they cry for me on the day that I die?”).

Each line in the play is detailed and poetic. In another moment, Lorca’s personal insecurities and feelings toward his killer are revealed: “Maybe he might have applauded or rejected one of my works or, what’s more probable is that he wouldn’t have even known who I was… I would want him to cry more for me, more than anybody, because of him I have cried more than ever in my life.”

Another particularly gripping scene surrounds Lorca’s killer and the poet having a full conversation before he is murdered.

Pepe Cibrian Campoy {Photo: Alejandro Palacios}

The master acting by Pepe is what makes the show. He is able to draw passion, anxiety, sadness and emotion to the characters the whole way through the play and cleverly distinguish between them. Dressed simply in a white shirt and white trousers, with but one prop – a wooden chair – above the literal extremity and dramatic content of the story itself, Pepe manages to communicate across with intensity, the complexities of discrimination against people because they are different.

It is clear that this play embodies Pepe – who is as humble and down to earth off the stage as on it – and his personal views are displayed in a very sensitive fashion. Inside the small and intimate Teatro del Cubo – a beautiful and perfect venue for this play hidden the cobbled backstreets of the Abasto neighbourhood – were pictures of Lorca, collections from different periods of his life. The sense of adoration for the Spanish playwright and poet was clear.

The content hits close to home for all of the Argentines who waited so long for the homosexual marriage law to be approved in Argentina. Pepe is seen as a pioneer not just in the theatre world – he is one of Argentina’s biggest and most famous theatre directors and writers– but due to his efforts on spreading the message about gay rights.

With audience members including the likes of Maria Rachid, the former vice-president of the National Institute against Discrimination, Xenophobia and Racism, and now legislator for the City government, it is clear to see that Pepe has influenced above and beyond the four walls of the theatre.

Having experienced the more musical side of Pepe Cibrian Campoy’s work as a writer and director in the world of Argentine theatre (including Dracula and Excalibur), it is refreshing to see a whole new side to his skills as an actor.

This play managed to delve deeper into the issues of homosexuality, society, feeling, overall being different and being discriminated against. Even if your Spanish is not fully up to scratch, it’s definitely worth a look into, especially if you’re a fan of Lorca.

My hat goes off to Pepe. This is a thought-provoking, wonderful production.

Presenters talk to the students during 'Talent Campus'. (Photo: Mauricio Escobar)

Argentine director Ariel Rotter sends laughter through the room as he claims: “I never went to 80% of my classes. In fact, I always felt film school was just getting in the way of me making films.” Ironically, his audience are film students and their teachers at Buenos Aires’ Universidad del Cine, the very same film school he attended before achieving success. As the school produced his first feature ‘Sólo por hoy’ in 2000, perhaps this critique of his former educators is a little audacious. Especially when he is speaking to Talent Campus, a four-day event run alongside the Buenos Aires’ Festival of Independent Cinema (BAFICI), that aims not just to launch the career of one director, but the next generation of Latin American film makers.

No small task. But, over the past 10-15 years film schools have played a huge role in the emergence of the buena onda – or “good wave” – of films that have swept Latin America in this period. Apart from their impressive quality it is hard to find any unifying features in such a diverse array of films, other than the fact that it has been an incredibly youthful cinematic movement. Latin America’s film schools have been crucial in equipping a generation of film students, or quite often drop-outs, with the tools and confidence needed to tell their continent’s stories. Together they have helped resurrect national cinemas ravaged by dictatorship and economic crisis. Gaining international acclaim and a global audience, together they have achieved recognition of Latin America cinema as some of the most exciting in the world.

Of all those involved in this celluloid revolution, one of the most influential schools has been Buenos Aires’ Universidad del Cine (FUC). Former students include Pablo Trapero, Bruno Stagnaro, Lisandro Alonso and Celina Murga. A leaf through this year’s BAFICI catalogue will reveal a whole host of names associated with FUC. Founded in 1991, just four years later student feature films for theatrical release were being produced, something unknown in most of the rest of Latin America.

(Photo: Mauricio Escobar)

This great ambition continues today in Talent Campus, a project designed to find Latin America’s most promising young film makers and develop them to be able to take the continent’s cinema forward. The Latin Wave has moved from beyond its original poles of Argentina, Mexico and Brazil, and the project brings together students from Venezuela, Colombia, Chile, Brazil, Paraguay and others.

The extensive selection process was open to not just directors, but students in all areas of film making such as screenwriters, cinematographers and editors. All had to present a short film on which their applications were assessed, and to be in the difficult stage of trying to produce their first full-length feature film.

The students I talk to inside FUC’s beautifully restored building in San Telmo are bursting with ideas which they are eager to share with me. Talent Campus aims to develop them not only artistically, but also by giving them the practical knowledge of how to get films made in Latin America. Manuel Ferrari, the event’s coordinator and also a teacher at the school, tells me the primary objective is for them to meet one another, engage creatively and develop productive relationships that will lead to projects.

The four-day programme also involves a number of workshops focused on the technical aspects of film production, while discussion sessions tackle broader issues within the industry. The varied selection of talks aims to create more of a dialogue between students and established industry figures. Two key themes emerge from the programming of this year’s Talent Campus, and those which provoked the most discussion, were the impact of new technology, as well as the benefits of, and potential risks of reliance on, capital available for film makers from European film funds.

New technology seems to be a mixed blessing for Latin American film makers. The fall in the price of technology makes more adventurous projects possible on smaller budgets. But, technology is also driving a shift in viewing habits away from cinemas towards laptops. While piracy further reduces the chance of recouping art house budgets, perhaps even more worrying is that the internet seems to be attacking the dominance of the feature film itself as a medium, with people viewing ever shorter clips online. Rotter admits it seems to be getting harder to get people’s attention and this fear is reflected in the title of one of the sessions: Film after Film.

The participants of 'Talent Campus' gather in the San Telmo school. (Photo: Mauricio Escobar)

However, when I ask the students whether they feel threatened by these changes, or feel among a dying breed, they seem unfazed, instead seeing new developments as an exciting challenge. Paraguayan Hugo Cataldo is bullish about the feature film’s ability to survive, as “photography never killed painting.” When asked whether he is thinking about producing for new mediums, such as YouTube, he stressed “I’ll find the story first, and then I’ll find the medium that allows me to tell that story the best.”

There is a noticeable confidence among the students and part of this must come from seeing each other’s work in screenings sessions. The quality, imagination, and diversity of the work on offer inspires great hope for what is to come. There is a clear desire to break new ground, and to move beyond established genres of recent Latin American cinema.

Venzuelan scriptwriter Nelson Urdaneta’s ambitious idea to develop a film dealing with the concept of time reflects a growing urge to move away from the realist trend and delve more into experimental film. Another brave student puts his hand up to venture a historical epic covering General Roca’s euphemistically named campaign of the desert. The guest directors on stage laugh given the minute budgets they had for their own films, but there is a sense of the growing possibilities available.

The international attention and acclaim Latin American cinema has attracted helps to foster this growing confidence.

Another key element of Talent Campus is the presence of European film funds, many of which – such as Hubert Bals fund and Berlin film festival’s world cinema fund – have provided key support over the past two decades.

European funds have been crucial in enabling the current generation to make films. Paz Fabrega’s ‘Agua fría de mar’ is perhaps the most international of them all, having received support from more than five funds and nearly all of those represented at Talent Campus. This is exceptional, but many have at least two foreign co-producers. The funds’ attentions remains focused on Latin America and they are now seeking to empower the next generation of film makers with their production and development capital.

Latin American cinema is clearly an international phenomenon. Talent Campus aims to develop the growing dialogue that now exists for this new generation of Latin American film makers, connected with one another and integrated into the global film-making world. While this has immense benefits, there are also worries as to how this will affect Latin American film.

Buenos Aires has one of the most cosmopolitan student populations in the world. In fact many of the invited Talents from outside Argentina study here, and all seem to be at home in this pan-American crowd. Many have also studied in Europe, and all over the world. This is perhaps the most well-integrated generation of Latin Americans ever.

(Photo: Mauricio Escobar)

But are the local voices of recent Latin American cinema, which have given it so much of its powerful honesty, condemned to shift towards more less individual voices as a result of these trends?

Ariel Rotter claims he does not think there is anything to worry about, as “making a film will always remain a deeply personal experience”. The increased travel and interconnectivity has not diminished the personal nature of the shorts these students have made, nor indeed the projects they are looking to develop.

Hugo Cataldo agrees with Rotter, saying that studying outside Paraguay has allowed him to gain a better perspective on his own country and understand it more deeply. He remains committed to telling the stories closest to him. Lina Rodriguez echoes this, as experiences outside her home country have been crucial in giving her perspective to examine through film the unique place of women inside her native Colombia.

Problems aside from shifting identities, new technology or the practicalities of funding projects, what emerges is a generation that aims to rise above theoretical debates. Venezuelan Bárbara Hertiman captured the mood of the group with her ambition to make “films with an artistic quality that anyone can relate to”, and said she truly understood what that meant after showing her short to her niece and bringing the six year old to tears. The students I met all cared passionately about making personal films that speak from their own experiences and highly developed consciousness of their continent, but that explore truths with universal resonance. If Talent Campus succeeds in empowering them to do this, the future of Latin American cinema is in good hands.

Photo courtesy of San Telmo Productions

Ginger Gentile graduated from Columbia University with a degree in history in 2002 and decided to learn Spanish to be a union organiser in New York for The Garment Workers Union. After taking a month-long intensive Spanish course in Guatemala and travelling in Cuba, she arrived in Buenos Aires and has been living here ever since. Now the co-founder of bilingual film company San Telmo Productions, she is hard at work on a variety of different projects. While her husband jokingly calls himself “her inspiration”, motivation does not seem to be something the talented 28-year-old lacks.

What is the film industry like in Argentina?

Argentina has a well-established movie making tradition. Argentina started making films one year after the Lumière brothers [usually credited with having made the first movie in 1895]. It became the hub for movies in the Spanish-speaking world until the late 50s and 60s when many works became increasingly artistic and for smaller audiences instead of commercial and for larger audiences. Because this trend has remained, the industry remains largely under the radar of the general public.

How do you think working in the industry here is different than working US?

Here, with the same or even a lower budget not only you can go up in quality. That’s why we are trying to attract international businesses. The people we can afford to work with here will be people who have won awards for their work. In the US for that same amount of money we could only afford to pay someone just starting out. There are also many female technicians working in Argentina; in fact, half of all those working are female. I watched the making of ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ [made in the States] and there was only one woman in the entire huge crew! She was the makeup girl! For me, Argentina is much less machista than people think.

Photo courtesy of San Telmo Productions

Outside of the film industry how have you seen this play out?

I would say that machismo in every society is different. But, as someone who has lived here for some time, I find Argentina much less machista and sexist than the US. Overall, sex is treated differently in Argentina. It’s not moralised as it is other places. Nudity is much more common; the other night I was watching a show about vedettes at 11pm and they were showing these girls naked talking about how they put their thongs on.

Still, a lot of the films I make, especially the one we are working on now, ‘The Hooker and the Transvestite’, involve sexual subjects that make some people uncomfortable. Talking about sexuality is less common than showing explicit images. I made a film about a woman who has an orgasm in public from a head scratcher. For me, it was more modest than a lot of what I have seen because she had all her clothes on, but many people here were shocked. Talking about that type of sexual response is rare. There are many women who don’t even understand their own sexuality.

Besides pushing the envelope in this respect, what’s another goal of your films?

Photo courtesy of San Telmo Productions

Our new project about slum girl soccer, ‘Goals for Girls’ does something that we look to do as much as possible in our films – it breaks stereotypes. First, girls don’t play soccer in Argentina. Secondly, these girls live in Villa 31 – one of the largest shantytowns in Buenos Aires. Most people assume that anyone living in a villa is a thief or a victim, and they can’t relate to them. But the girls we worked with are so full of energy! They love to dance, they listen to music on their cell phones, they talk back, they fight with their parents, they fight with their teachers sometimes. We wanted to show these girls with big dreams, who want to be everything from a doctor to an actress to play football. These details made me realise that they are worth investing in, and the viewer can relate to this as well.

Do you actively try to draw attention to these kinds of social issues?

Definitely, but we want to do it in a way that is palatable. One thing that we want to bring to Argentine cinema is show these horrible life situations in a funny or entertaining way. There are topics that we’re interested in that have harsh realities, but we want to tell the story in a way that the people involved aren’t victims. When you put someone in the role as a victim, you dehumanise them. It’s easy to say: “Well I’ve never lived in a villa, I’ve never been that poor. These people are just victims and they’re always going to be like that. What is there to do?”

For more information about San Telmo Productions and all of their latest projects check out their website, www.santelmoproductions.com and blog, filminginargentina.wordpress.com.

Photo courtesy of Pablo Rotemberg

Pablo Rotemberg is currently starring solo in ‘El Lobo’ (The Wolf), an award-winning self-directed theatre performance which combines dance, music and drama. He talks to The Argentina Independent.

How have you trained for this performance?

Well, basically what I studied the most was the piano. I started as a child; I went to the conservatory. It was almost a family inheritance. I was about to go abroad to study further, but I kind of collapsed and I decided not to go. So I started trying different things: I went to university and I tried to study different things, even gardening. I didn’t really know what to do. My family members are all academic people, so there was a bit of pressure in terms of studying. In the 1990s I found out about Manuel Antin’s Film University. I had loved film since I was a child so I started studying to become a script writer. While I was there one of my friends invited me to take part in a theatre class with Ricardo Martiz, a director. I was a shy piano player then, but I went. And it was such a breakthrough. Another friend of mine who was a dancer invited me to come along to ballet lessons, so I went, and that’s when I started.

How old were you?

I’d finished high school, so about 19, so kind of old to start dancing. So I started studying all over the place, here and there, classes and more classes. I had financial help from my parents because it was very expensive. I did theatre, dance… different things. So it ended up being sort of everything. Dancing means dedication, years and years of training, and I didn’t start dancing as child like many of my friends, so I tried to find a way to express myself through what I’ve done. I don’t pretend to dance like someone who’s had a formal education.

Speaking of which, there’s an interesting mix of genres in your play.

Yes, there is. I think I take things from wherever I can. That’s my style. Although now I have to face a big challenge: I have to put on a play for the San Martín Theatre Ballet. I’m really excited, but these people are ballet dancers in the traditional way. My material is really personal and it’s hard to transmit. It’s hard but it’s exciting. Last year I did my first play as a director in the Centro Cultural Rojas and it was an amazing experience.

Tell me how you started as a director.

Alejandro Cerbera, the director of the Centro Cultural Rojas, called me to do a play, but I was doing some other play, and it was too much. So I suggested it. I was a bit scared of not being able to see in others or what I can express, what I know works for me, I just wasn’t sure I was going to be able to see that in others. Until then I had been either directed by others or had self-directed my own play.

And what is it like, to be both the actor and the director of your play?

It’s very weird.

Doesn’t it take away your objectivity, or the distance you need?

Photo courtesy of Pablo Rotemberg

It’s strange because there are some things I feel I’m never going to like completely, and because I’m really obsessive and give myself a hard time because I can’t really see myself. But I tape it and I watch it later time after time. Sometimes I rehearse in front of the mirror and I think, ‘This is so messy!’ I just forget what it looks like. But I have help from my assistant. It’s hard because you might lose the distance, but as I learned from my experience as a director in the Rojas, you can also lose it from the outside. But there is a certain indulgence to the self-directed plays, that’s the price you pay, and I think it all depends on your ability to go the distance.

It sounds like quite a challenge.

It is difficult, yes, but I am kind of a loner. I like working on my own.

‘El Lobo’ is a play about falling out of love. Is there a story behind it? What led you to write it?

Not in a conscious way, I think it’s about all my frustrated love. I think it is more a synthesis of how I feel about love, because in general, love makes me suffer.

At some point in the play you try to get over things, to clean up the mess but it ends up being worse…

Yes, I think it’s typical from the anguished souls, kind of like revolcarse en el fango, I’m a very romantic person, in terms of the 21^st century, I’m drawn to all of this darkness.

What else is left to learn?

Singing!

But you sing in the play.

Very badly [laughs] but I’d like to sing for real, I’m taking lessons now. Music is the best place I can be.

What will you do when you retire as a dancer?

I don’t really think about that, I’m still in shape, but I’ll probably become a sort of full-time director.

What do you feel when your audience reacts, when they laugh, for example.

Yeah, people laugh, I know the beginning it might sound funny but I think it is tragic as well. But certain things are meant to be funny in the play. To me humour is indispensable, actually that oscillation from humour and tragedy.

It happens a lot on stage; sometimes we make fun of the things we couldn’t tell any other way. When I am about to fall into solemnity, I need to rescue it.

I am really aware of the audience reaction; last night for example, it was the first time that anybody laughed when I jumped on top of the sink, or when I walked as a wolf. Usually nobody laughs there – I was surprised.

Right then on stage?

Yes. I’m really aware of everything when I am on stage. Sometimes people laugh because they feel kind of awkward – I mean I do show them my arse.

Why naked?

I think it has to do with a very high level of exhibitionism, this showing everything. If I was to literally transcript that, I think it would really mean: I take everything off and I show you who I really am. It’s grotesque that you can see inside of me, but it’s also spiritual.

Why get dressed again then?

Well, he actually dresses on top of the dirt. On top of something he hasn’t really worked out. But he dresses to play the piano as well, and the music is so dark, it comes from the darkness, it is so romantic, it continues in this dramatic state. I am really into that world anyway, the romanticism, the living dead, actually the play I did last year in Rojas was about that. Last year I did a course of ‘Teatro No’, Japanese traditional theatre, and some ‘kabuki’ as well. I wanted to go straight to Japan and learn more! ‘Teatro No’ has such a level of concentration of the expression, of the energy, poetry – it was astonishing. And all the stories, which are kind of a stereotype, repeat the structure of a soul in pain that comes back to earth to sort out its unfinished business. That’s why they use the masks, it’s like a phantom and the human being disappears behind it. I’m so drawn to that world.

Photo courtesy of Pablo Rotemberg

The darkness is really rich and has a lot of good things in it that it’s good to rescue.

It’s all darkness in the end. The world is in a terrible way after all. And I wonder, ‘What do I do to make it better?’ Do I just satisfy my vanity? But that’s because the world is atrocious. I am very sensitive and I can’t rationalise all of it, but from what I studied – history, etc – the world has always been an atrocious place. Last year I got obsessed with dictatorships for example. Perhaps from a superficial place, I admit, perhaps even naïve. I got obsessed with the music and the aesthetic concept. Not even dictatorships in my own country, my family is Jewish, and the Nazis fascinate me, but from a respectful place. I mean, because I’m Jewish I can use a German national anthem in one of my plays, like I did last year. Otherwise it would seem like something irreverent.

What was the public opinion response to that?

None. Beyond my personal story – my family’s really – I’m interested in the music and the aesthetics. But sometimes I feel like I am transposing the rules.

So you dance, you sing, you play the piano, you act – all on this small platform. How big is it exactly?

Three metres.

It must be hard to handle the stage space.

No, it’s not. I really enjoy using every impossible corner. Actually I’m scared now as I have to direct a ballet company on a big stage like Teatro San Martín. I’m going to have to start thinking big.

El Lobo is on every Friday until 25th April at Camarín de las Musas, Mario Bravo 960. Entrance is $20, and the show starts at 11.30pm. For tickets please call 4862 0655.