PRETENDING
After the shooting of "La Flor…" (The Flower of my Secret) I took some notes for Manuela's character, the nurse at the beginning. An average woman who turned into a real actress when, together with the doctors participating in the transplants seminar, she simulated a situation in which they informed her about her son's death. Hers was the best performance.
My initial idea was to make a film about people's (not actors') acting abilities. I remember finding that ability in the women in my family. They pretended more and better than men did, and by lying they managed to avoid more than one tragedy.
Forty years ago, when I lived there, La Mancha was a very dry and virile land. The Man ruled its families from his cheap armchair, while in silence, the women actually solved the problems, most often by lying. (Is this the reason why Garcia Lorca used to say that Spain has always been a land of good actresses?)
Women lied, pretended, concealed, they were life's engine and generator and fought that manchego virility cult I remember (probably enlarged) from my childhood. And men neither knew nor blocked that vital process (as well as spectacular, the first show I saw was performed by the women talking in the patios).
I didn't know it, but this was to be one of the topics of my 13th movie: woman's ability to pretend.
And wounded motherhood.
And the spontaneous solidarity among women.
"I've always trusted the strangers' goodness," said Williams on Blanche Dubois' lips. In "Todo..." goodness is the strangers' own.

ACTRESSES.
The title of this film of mine is inspired on Mankiewicz's "All about Eve" a story of women and actresses. Women lying and confessing to one another in a theater backstage transformed into the sancta sanctorum of the feminine universe (sort of like the patio in my childhood. To me, three or four women speaking is life's origin, but also fiction's and narrative's).
Men have little to do in "All about Eve" except for the sibylline George Sanders in the role of the dishonest loathsome critic. Sanders is sublime in that one, but he looked like an asexual character to me. His character wouldn't miss much essence if played by an actress.

ACTRESSES AND WOMEN.

Women are not only the topic of "Todo Sobre mi Madre" the film is also dedicated to them. Especially to women who have acted in some moment in their lives.
I've always found interest in the movies that portray the world of cinema. And I'm not talking of films about the language, but rather those that tell stories about actors, directors, writers, producers, stylists, makeup artists, stunts, impersonators, etc. Films whose plot is the film industry itself and the people behind it, its magnificence and sordidness. And what I find most appealing of that non-existing genre that drinks from other genres is women. I mention the three that have stirred me the most in the final dedication: the Gena Rowland in "Opening Night", the Bette Davis in "All about Eve" and the Romy Schneider of "The Most Important Thing: Love." The characters in "Todo sobre mi madre" are impregnated with the smoke, alcohol, despair, insanity, desire, destitution, frustration, solitude, vitality and understanding of those three actresses' spirit.
The dedication could have included many other actresses who have played an actress in movies: Gloria Swanson in "Sunset Boulevard", Judy Garland in "A Star Is Born", Lana Turner in "The Bad and the Beautiful" and "Imitation of Life", Ava in "The Barefoot Contessa", "Veronica Voss" by Fassbinder, Julianne Moore in "Vania on 42nd Street" by Louis Malle. Valentina Cortese always ringing the wrong door in "La Nuit americaine" (Day for Night) by Truffaut. Maggie Smith in "California Suite". Geraldine Page in "Sweet Bird of Youth", Karen Black, literally stamped by the fan crowd (stunts like herself) to give atmosphere to a premiere ("The day of the Locust"). Jean Hagen, that lovely nerd in "Singing in the Rain", even Kim Bassinger prostituting herself by imitating Veronica Lake in "L. A. Confidential", "Fedora" by master Wilder, the screenplay. "Two Weeks in Another Town" "Le Mepris" (Contempt), by Godard. Anita Ekberg in "La dolce vita" I'd also dedicate it to all the actresses in "Stage Door" by Gregory La Cava, etc, etc.
And in a camper environment, "The Valley of Dolls", "The Legend of Lylah Clare" (by Robert Aldrich), "Heat" (Paul Morrissey), "Harlow" with Carrol Baker, "Mommie Dearest"... and many others I probably forget.
But I'm not interested in the decay of this non-genre, its TV side. Marilyn's multiple biographies, for example. TV biopics in general, although it's funny to see Sophia Loren as herself, forty years later… it's films that I like, not TV, and that bio of Sophia's is something like an illustrated reality show.

AGRADO'S MONOLOGUE

Monologues are based on words, several words pronounced by the same person uninterrupted by another. It's more common in theater plays, for age reasons I guess; theater is older than cinema. To me, and speaking in an arbitrary way, the close-up is its equivalent in movies -with or without words. And it is a categorical weapon, firm, but risky as well -since it accepts no lies.
Even though cinema is the art of tricks, both the monologue and the close-up only work naked and sometimes as if by magic. Words and silence are equally important in monologues, just like eyes and mouths. And that's the exclusive privilege of the Big (Actors).
I would integrate the oral narrator in the land of the monologue; the fairground storyteller, the politician, all types of spokepersons, the town crier, they who confess and pray, the grandfather who, with or without a chimney, tells his grandchildren stories full of dangers he has experiencd himself. Or the father (and the mother) who mesmers his awaken son with a beautiful soporiferous tale. All narrative is a monologue if pronounced aloud in first person. And all monologues are strong enough dramatically if you have your interlocutor listen to you carefully (even if that makes him fall asleep).

Agrado's monologue is not pronounced in a close-up, or at least not all the time, but it is in first person, and what person!

While Manuela takes care of Sister Rosa, Agrado overtakes the assistance of Huma Rojo and her lover Nina Cruz. Nina is a junkie, representing a tremendous torture for Huma and a continuous threat for the performance.
One afternoon, as she prepares Huma's dressing room, Agrado answers the actress' call; the performance begins in fifteen minutes, but neither she nor Nina will be there. The performance must be canceled.
Despite her dismay, Agrado arranges everything to be her who informs the audience filling the stalls that the performance has been canceled. She had always dreamed of standing on a real stage, and this is her best chance.
She's stiff at first. The lighting cannon traps her in its whiteness like an insect. It's a dizzy feeling, but intoxicating too.
The heterogeneous audience wonders and murmurs what's that being doing in the middle of the stage.

It takes Agrado some seconds to explain things. The performance is canceled due to an unspecified disease the two main characters suffer. But… if anyone wants to stay (the money will be returned to the rest) she promises to entertain them with the story of her life.

Astonishment, murmuring and silly laughing.

Just a few leave. Agrado becomes confident and does tell everything. Right from her name: "People call me Agrado (Translation note: in Spanish, agrado means pleasure, friendliness) because I always try to please everyone..." and up to her main income source "I used to hook on bridges, near the cemetery… apart from pleasing, I'm genuine…" And with no second thought she starts giving a detailed list of all the surgical operations she has undergone to be genuine, as well as their corresponding price, in thousands of pesetas: "… eyelift: eighty; silycon in lips, forehead, cheeks, hip and butt… it's sixty a litter. Please make that up yourselves, I can't anymore… Tits? Two, I'm no monster. Seventy a piece, but these have long ago been paid off..."

And so she goes on for everyone's delight. Agrado finishes with an essential line: "It's not easy being genuine. But we mustn't be cheap with anything relating our image. Because the more a woman resembles what she has dreamed for herself, the more genuine she is".
The applause shakes the stalls. Agrado has triumphed.

Years ago I heard that something like that had actually happened, and ever since then I wanted to take it into film. Lola Membibres witnessed the real anecdote live in Argentina. The theater's generator broke down and they had no lighting for the performance. There was no other alternative than canceling, or was it? Membibres, who wasn't afraid of anything, decided that she would be the one on-stage giving the audience the news with a candle in her hand.

"...Your money will be refunded at the ticket box, of course. But since you are here, I would ask you to stay. I promise to entertain those present with the story of my life".

Nobody moved. And the actress began speaking.

That afternoon, Doña Lola Membibres acted her best, and decades later inspired one of the funniest blocks in "Todo sobre mi madre". Because there's also a lot of humor in the movie. A whole lot.
Everytime Agrado shows up.

FUGITIVE MANUELA (THE THREE ESTEBANS)
Manuela runs away. Always on a train, through never-ending tunnels. First she runs from Barcelona to Madrid. Eighteen years later she runs from Madrid to Barcelona. And after a few months, she pays the Barcelona-Madrid ticket gain, escaping.
All her getaways are marked by one type of Esteban. In the first one she carried Esteban (son) inside. She ran away from his father, Esteban, although nobody called him so anymore. For her second getaway she took Esteban (son) with her in the form of a photo and notebook. He died in an accident. In this occasion, Manuela's lazily after Esteban (father) to tell him about his son's death. But Esteban (father) didn't know about the existence of that son of his because Manuela never told him; she just ran away from the father the day she knew she was pregnant and hasn't seen him since.

Manuela had not been to Barcelona again. Barcelona is the father's territory, and Madrid the son's. And in Manuela's emotional policy, both cities are irreconcilable and incompatible. She would always change the subject when Esteban (son) asked her about the father; what else could she do? Is there a way of telling a son that the person who begot him, his natural father, has tits bigger than his mother's, that the last time she saw him people called him Lola, and that even she, his wife, didn't call him Esteban since long ago? There might be a way of explaining all this to a son, but Manuela couldn't find it. And so many years in silence wear the conscience off like a crime.
Manuela sentences herself to seek Lola, Esteban's father. And this sentence saves her; she needs to run away from Madrid. Madrid represents the son, is the city that saw Esteban come to and depart from life. A city too big and empty. She wanders through the Borne's streets, the gothic district, the Plaza Real… Sometimes she just stands there looking at the people who sleep on the street. They are not beggars, they are just average people so relaxed they let sleep win. Housewives, fat, taking a nap on a bench in a simple square. Men tired of walking. Young people exhausted after two days of non-stop partying, international bohemians disaging in time. Barefoot people, legs wide open, sweetening the wait at the hospital, shamelessly asleep. People in whom sleep has defeated fear. Elena's finds it so soothing to watch them sleep. She might also sleep again herself.
She's glad she's back to Barcelona. She sleeps by day and goes out looking for Lola at night. Lola could be anywhere, Naples, Marseilles or Havana. Sea, lust and breadth of mind, that's all she needs in a city, and Barcelona has it all. It could be any of those three cities, but also Barcelona. In time with a sleepless pace Manuela finds people (La Agrado, Sister Rosa, Huma Rojo, Sister Rosa's son) and reasons to stay. A few months later she finds people and reasons to go as well.

So she's back on the train heading for Madrid with the third Esteban in her arms, a months old baby she clings to and protects from his grandmother. The baby is HIV positive and the grandmother is afraid of being infected if he scratches her. And babies like to scratch, it's their way of touching and caressing things.
Two years later the new millenium has just begun. The third Esteban has turned HIV negative naturally and Manuela takes him to a seminar in Can Roti for research. So she's back to Barcelona with the third Esteban sitting on her lap. The boy oozes good health playing with a heap of breadcrumbs. He shares the banquet with Manuela very now and then. As she doses the crumbs so that he doesn't choke Manuela tells the third Esteban the story of her getaways. The boy listens as if understanding. "This is the first time I'm not coming to Barcelona looking for shelter." She tells him what the other three times were like, she tells him why he was named Esteban, who they parents were, how they died and the conditions in which she became his sole mother, taking him away from a grandmother who didn't love him. But the Grandmother has changed, she lives in Barcelona and he has to love her so much. Manuela also tells him that before he was born, there were two other estebans. One of them was her son, the second Esteban. There's so many things she didn't tell him absurdly ashamed of. But that won't happen again. She will tell him everything. As his size and curiosity increase, there will be no question without its answer. Manuela promises to answer them all, she will even make up the reply if she ignores it. "'Cos I'm so good at improvising."

Manuela smiles and realizes hers has been an extraordinary life. "I could have been an actress if I wanted. But my sole call was for looking after my kids! Looking after you!"
She takes the boy in her arms, as if not to forget what she has just said.

CECILIA. THE CLASH.
The word maturity has a pretty bad reputation, but I think that's the name of the process Cecilia Roth has undergone in the thirteen years we haven't worked together -our last collaboration was "What Have I Done to Deserve This!?".
Cecilia Roth has matured, she's taken huge proportions. Her technique has distilled unnoticed. That's what happens with perfection, it's unnoticeable. Angles wear out, everything flows, and one finds it natural even though he's certain it's a miracle.
There is no better show to me than watching a woman cry. An actress, I mean. I must admit I've been lucky for having the Best cry for me: Carmen Maura, Marisa Paredes, Victoria Abril, Chus Lampreave, Penelope Cruz, Kiti Manver, Veronica Forque, Angela Molina, Julieta Serrano... And each one has done it in a different way. There are no sounds as personal as laughter and cry.
In "All about my mother" Cecilia has also had her tear dose. Transparent, torrential, tears shake her like nausea and bring their cathartic quality.
Should the term exist (screwball comedy is a term usually applied to hilarious movies), we could define "All about my mather" as a screwball drama. A crazy and baroque drama with extreme characters thrashed by chance (not a big puppet show nor a grotesque drama). And as a counterpoint to the film's excessive nature, I decided the acting to be radically sober, even dry. That was the key and the challenge this wonderful group of actresses assumed immediately. But Cecilia's was a greater challenge: her character seems carbonized by her son's sudden death, devastating as lightning. And she's in every scene.
I ignore how she managed to restrain and stay beyond the pain while reflecting it for the three months it took to shoot the film.
Manuela is the evidence of Cecilia Roth's fullness as an actress. And it feels weird to say so. As a woman she reminds me so much of the girl I met twenty years ago: Witty, educated, enthusiastic and excitable in equal proportions, noisy, immature and paranoid in its funniest meaning, fragile, ready, with immediate smile and fulminating emotion.
But the actress is a mystery to me. A thirteen year old mystery.
Whenever I see her in the movie and feel her pulse as Manuela, I know I'm facing one of the most bloodcurdling works I've ever witnessed. And she doesn't remind me of the Cecilia I met in the eighties, she reminds me of another one.
I guess that's what acting is all about.