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- Hi, good afternoon. - How are you?
- Hello. Another year. - Good afternoon.
- How are you? - It's lovely to see you.
- How are you doing? You too. - I'm happy to see you. As good as always.
- A couple of signatures, as usual, please. - Okay.
- Is it very busy? - Yeah.
Given the circumstances.
- And the festival will be full. - Yes.
Yes, nothing like last year.
- Right. - It's improved immensely.
Okay, so room 307, third floor, wifi password as usual.
- Perfect. - And welcome.
- Thanks. Lovely to see you. - Thank you. You too.
See you later.
I came here for the first time
in... It was 1982.
This is heaven.
I mean, it's the perfect city.
Personally, I could tell you a thousand different adventures.
Here I've seen some people close up
to whom my admiration and gratitude
for their achievements was infinite.
I saw a man here called Robert Mitchum.
I also saw one of the directors
I've admired the most. He was here when he was very old,
shortly before dying,
Joseph Mankiewicz.
And I saw a lady called Bette Davis.
Venice is fascinating, of course.
Venice is also fascinating.
And Berlin in February is a whole different story.
It's like a different climate, a different atmosphere.
And Cannes in May,
with those colors of the French Riviera.
But San Sebastián...
It's just that I'm in love with the city.
I think...
it has everything.
The food and drink is out of this world.
And if, on top of that, it's a good year and you get to see...
I'm not asking for that many,
but if you see three or four films that move you,
that you discover for the first time,
well, then that's happiness.
Without realizing it, I've been coming here 35 years now.
And the time is coming for me to retire.
THE CRITIC
He's been the most feared,
most hated, most loved, most respected critic.
I think he still is. We're talking with Carlos Boyero.
I remember when I used to sneak into the festival
they already said, "Look, Boyero!"
As if they were pointing out
a creature in the woods, "Look, a bear!" "Look, Boyero!"
He would go by, and you'd say, "Wow, dude, Boyero."
When you make it, you become a director, and Boyero finally slags you off,
you think, "Shit, now I'm a director."
I remember panicking every time we were invited to a festival, thinking,
"What will Boyero say?"
I remember Carlos Vermut saying,
"What will Boyero say?"
Well, what could he say? "No."
I think Carlos Boyero has become somewhat the "Last of the Mohicans" in a long line
of people who are politically incorrect
and say the things they think very clearly and forcefully.
He's a model of honesty.
That's what makes him authentic.
And also what leads on generation after another to follow Boyero.
Because they can see an authenticity
they can't find anywhere else in this world.
If there were rankings, he'd be number one.
What other critic is as relevant as Carlos Boyero?
I can't think of any other name.
He achieved something
I think is impossible to achieve any longer, which is a fan club.
Sure, he's a critic, but he's also a rockstar.
He's a rockstar and a stand-up comedian.
Every time the word "Boyero" shows up on Twitter,
it becomes a trending topic.
I'd tell Boyero to go fuck his fucking mother. Who is Boyero?
For me, Boyero symbolizes the patriarchy,
classism, sexism, and all the "isms" you can think of.
That's me.
I think Boyero has gone above and beyond the role of a film critic.
He's a man from another era
who sometimes makes sexist comments which I obviously don't share,
but it's true he has an approachable style
and has taken film critique to new places, You know?
Places where maybe other, more intellectual critics,
or those that use a different language might not reach.
I'd rather share my enthusiasm for good films and receive solidarity
towards my annoyance with bad ones.
I enjoy reading his negative criticisms of friends of mine.
When he shreds a colleague, you think, "Oh, my God, what he just said!
Look, look at what he says! Here he calls it mediocre.
And here he says the first act doesn't work."
Truly, he's a film noir character.
He's a film noir character, no doubt.
I'd love to play Boyero.
Not a bad idea, doing a show about a Carlos Boyero doppelganger.
"Carlos, not the terrorist, the critic."
He's a species on the brink of extinction.
Hi, good morning.
- I'm here for my accreditation. - Press?
- Excuse me? Press, yes. - Great. Can I have your ID, please?
- Oh, good, you have the program on paper. - Yeah.
- Paper has disappeared from everywhere. - Yes, it has.
I was worried.
- What should I write here? - Your name, please.
My name here?
Yes.
And your first surname is enough.
- Sorry about my handwriting. - Don't worry.
It looks like a madman's.
Even I can't understand it.
- I'll give you a copy, okay? - Okay.
You can find the receipt
on "My festival" with your user and password.
I don't have...
- I don't have internet. - Okay.
- I have one of these phones, look. - Yeah.
You don't... Okay. What about a computer?
It's an Alcatel. You won't have heard of it.
- I have. My grandfather has one. - You have?
- Oh, okay, your grandfather has one? - Yeah.
- Okay. Anyway... - Then...
Do you have a computer?
You should have received an email with your user passwords.
Yeah, but I don't...
- I don't know. - Okay, then I'll lead you somewhere
you can tell them your situation.
- Okay. - Hold on, this isn't ready.
Tell your grandfather we have the same phone.
- I'll tell him. - Thank you very much.
- Thank you. See you. - Thanks. Bye.
No, I haven't created it.
I might just be a character.
I am.
Maybe I'm despicable,
but I've never been fake. I've never built an image for myself
or anything like that.
Everything was much more natural.
I lived on the outskirts of Salamanca.
In a neighborhood called Caserna.
I believe in the goodness of people
thanks to my mother.
My mother and a sister of hers, an aunt, were innocent,
generous beings.
Very generous.
And my father...
No, I didn't like him at all.
I didn't like his nature.
I didn't like his attitude towards life,
towards my mother or towards myself.
I obviously dropped his name.
My name is Carlos Sánchez.
Boyero is my mother's surname.
My parents took me to the movies
twice a week.
I remember the first film that made me think,
"This is cinema. It's something wonderful."
It was called Prince Valiant.
Being at the movies was so beautiful.
I remember the theatres in Salamanca fondly.
Those were my early years.
Then my father was sent to live at a village
in a different constituency of Salamanca.
It's a place called Sequeros.
And I lived there until I was 9 years old,
when he sent me to boarding school.
Run by the Piarists.
The most horrible memories are those that leave an indelible mark on you.
Until the day I die I'll remember those people, the cassock-robed men,
as a murder of crows.
Powerful, cruel.
I guess your character is shaped by many things.
And my hatred towards power isn't something abstract,
it's not a theory. I've seen how they brandish power.
Against the weak, who were the children.
Children walking around the yard non-stop until five in the morning,
in freezing or snowed yards.
Or on our knees.
I had a sense of all the kinds of abuse against certain people.
I was the empire of the beasts.
I also connect...
Cassocks have a certain smell.
They're viscous.
Cassocks and liquor. Some of them, besides worshipping God
and spending their days... They didn't neglect the pleasures of alcohol.
But mainly it's stale sweat.
Sometimes they let you out during the week
if there was someone in the city that came for you.
On those occasions I made the most of it and asked to be taken to the movies.
Carlos was one...
For me, he was one of my best friends.
He would let me borrow books of his, an encyclopedia he had
because he wanted to apply for a contest from that time called
Las diez de últimas.
Maybe they didn't let him participate because he was just a kid.
But he'd give me the encyclopedia, I'd ask him questions about film history
and he would answer them all.
Later, when I was a bit older, I sneaked away.
I remember the feeling of Salamanca covered in snow.
One of my two favorite pictures I saw one of those times.
Sneaking out of school at night, at a theatre called Garrido,
where they had double bill.
That film moved me.
It was called The Hustler.
THE HUSTLER
"How can I lose?"
"How can I lose?" says Eddie Felson to himself over and over.
The main character is a pool player with loads of talent,
but his exploiter tells him
talent isn't enough to make it, you also need character.
That black and white, the world of alcohol and...
It moved me deeply, yes.
I understood what was happening and felt it very close to me.
When they kicked me out of school,
my parents received a letter in which the priest
or the precept, or whoever said I was going to end up in jail.
Well...
They weren't too far off.
My rebellion was...
It was useless. But I never,
ever lowered my head, though I received countless blows.
We ended up in what was known as "the leftovers" school,
the Nebrija school,
which was run by civilians.
We were so delighted, so happy to have left behind the cassocks.
The average age there
for last year, pre-university students was 20, maybe 21.
Imagine, some of them were even married.
People kicked out from every school, all of the expelled.
I was a drinker, a smoker,
and a regular at the whorehouses.
Today they might put me in jail for that,
but I was a minor, they couldn't do anything.
I started studying Philosophy
because they told me I had to study a degree.
So I signed up for that one because they said it was the easiest.
I failed every subject.
And in 1972 I moved to Madrid.
I can't forget the first time I saw him.
It was the first day at university.
I saw a guy standing at the door, leaning on the frame,
looking with disdain at all of us inside the class.
I said, "Great, someone uglier than me"
Then he came in and said something along the lines,
"This is full of shitty leftwingers."
Don't ask me how, but we started talking and the following day,
24 hours later, we were still talking.
Talking about movies and...
I guess we became friends because of the movies,
and then literature, because among all of us at that school,
Carlos was, without a doubt, the one who had seen more films
and read more books.
So the most important guys were there,
Boyero, Fernando Trueba, Óscar Ladoire, Julio Sánchez Valdés.
All of us at university wanted to be directors.
Some wanted to be Kubrick, others Glauber Rocha, and others Godard.
Carlos was the only one who had decided,
"I'm not doing anything."
That was his life's ambition.
Not just films, nothing.
I didn't take my exams or went to class.
My friends would do it for me.
My father sent me money if I showed him my grades.
My job then was playing poker.
They would get back from university at three in the afternoon.
They woke me up,
and depending on how things had gone the previous night,
I invited them all to lunch, to drinks, to the movies.
If things had gone badly, then nothing.
Boyero has always been a very generous guy.
If he had money, he had no problem, he'd invite everyone.
I fact, they expelled him from the university residence
where he lived because he won the cook's salary.
A married man, with kids.
The cook stood up for him, but the residence's directors
couldn't allow him winning this guy.
It's just that he was very good playing poker, very good.
No, it wasn't like that.
No, I was kicked out for...
For doing drugs.
I started smoking hash, weed, I dropped my first acids.
So they kicked me out.
I'm so bored.
What is it? You don't like this music?
Don't you have anything livelier?
Well, we bought the record player recently and we only have two records,
one by Ramoncín, and the other by Stockhausen.
My appearances in films fill me with embarrassment.
Relationships with women, the shorter the better.
You use them, like toilet paper, you squeeze them and you throw them away.
We would shoot amateur, really shabby short films,
and always used our friends as actors.
Some of them became actors later.
One of those short films,
by Julio Sánchez Valdés, I forgot to mention,
was Boyero's starring role,
sharing the screen with me, imagine the quality,
and it was called Tonight is the night.
Tonight is the night.
- Understood? - Tonight, fucking hell.
We shot it at my sister's. And the actresses
were three girls we picked up at a bar
because we need three actresses and didn't know anyone.
Carlos, this is a done deal.
Listen. I'll keep Marisa, who seems the most nervous, like we said,
- and you take care of the others. - Great idea.
So, while you fuck that one,
I have to entertain the other two, right? No fucking way, man.
That was him.
He wasn't an actor.
He was like that, a character.
He had that way of talking, that voice.
He's still very much the same.
That's why we gave him roles suited to,
for example, pimp.
That doesn't mean... But you know, he could
he could manage himself there.
Not moving, smoking, glaring, that kind of thing.
Some say I'm an asshole, that I don't have any morals.
But my morals are these. This lady, this car, what you see over there.
So, I'm doing great.
People can keep their morals. I have a good thing going.
I'll open another pub. And if I fall, then I'll fall hard.
Right now I'm great.
I'm going to call him for something we're doing, so he can play
Cabrero, instead of Boyero, a sour film critic.
Really? Are you kidding me?
For a Shakespeare adaptation he's doing?
I was passionate about films.
But I never wanted to be a film critic.
I always considered Carlos a writer.
Not a film critic, a writer.
He was a guy who had a lot of books inside him.
Unfortunately, he didn't write them.
It was Fernando who gave me the idea
of going to La guía del ocio, which was very important then.
Anybody who went out in Madrid at night, to the movies,
to dinner, to have a few drinks,
would buy La guía del ocio. And Fernando,
I think he suggested it, he said, "Why don't you write about the night?
Which is what you do every day, roam around."
So I started writing a section
in La guía del ocio called "Madrid at night"
o "Madrid leisure", I can't remember.
This was in the seventies.
When I started directing, I was a journalist
for El País and La guía del ocio.
And I quit both jobs.
Carlos started at La guía del ocio taking over from me.
It spread like wildfire.
People talked about a guy writing
in a certain way about films.
And that was me.
Carlos Boyero is a film critic
at Casablanca magazine and La guía del ocio.
Carlos, did you enjoy this film?
- Yes, I had a great time. - Why?
People responded to me and still respond to this day.
I knew him as a critic at La guía del ocio, I read his critics.
And since he used to slag off all the Russian films I distributed,
I read him even more, thinking, "This bastard doesn't like anything."
Russian films, Greek films,
French films that were boring everyone to death.
Carlos fit in comfortably into what was then called "taste critique".
That is, critics uninterested in pointing out
issues like... language issues.
That's something more common in the critics that came after him.
Let's say it's in the vein of something
more related to certain forms of writing by columnists
in the Spanish press, people like Paco Umbral, for example.
The author is as big a star as what he's writing about, and the work
he's writing about.
He's a very good writer.
Maybe not a good critic, but he's a great writer.
Without wanting to convey a certain style,
he's created a style. And that's interesting.
Because he plays around with very short sentences.
He's a bit like Hemingway in that respect.
That short phrase which is very pointed, very efficient.
And then there's another thing, and I think this is important.
You understand what he's saying.
Many critics write and,
al least I don't understand them.
He writes from a place of emotion.
His reviews are based on emotions,
or on his most immediate reactions after watching the film.
It's a review born from the "I".
Personally, I don't identify as much with this.
I'm usually more distant, basing criticism on arguments.
He says things I believe should be excluded from a review.
He never explains why he likes things.
The first review I received from Carlos
was titled "Well-crafted nonsense".
It's true, it was nonsense.
And him recognizing it was well-crafted, that was great.
The review I remember the most...
I think it was for Caníbal, yes...
The title was "This cannibal is neither scary nor moving".
I remember sitting there, reading the paper, thinking,
"Well, okay.
Neither scary nor moving."
I remember the review for Gordos.
For me it had been a year of work,
a year of my life. Well, he said something like,
"Some characters make you reel, like the bitter,
depressed homosexual played by Antonio de la Torre."
And whatever else he said.
And man...
I'm asking for quality.
You might ask, "What is quality?"
- Well, whatever I like. And that's that. - Right. It's subjective.
He always defends his honesty, saying he never lies.
I always tell him honesty is one of the most despicable things.
For me there's no value when someone comes to me
and starts by saying, "I'll be honest with you."
I know they're going to take out a baseball bat and start pounding me.
A friend of mine always says,
"If Boyero can insult two people, why would he settle for one?"
And it's true. If he can provoke, he'll provoke to the very end.
He's the ultimate.
He's an extreme person. I can't not like that.
I mean...
I prefer an insult from Boyero than a praise from someone I think is mediocre.
A film is something that eats up a chunk of your life.
And the doubts you feel about the chunk of your life that film has eaten up,
makes it very hard
to keep your distance from what you've made.
You have to be especially mature not to be bewitched by
an extremely positive review.
And not to let yourself be floored by complete disdain.
Well, what's the critic's
- role? - In my case, I'm
an audience member,
which is one of the things I like the most in the world.
And I have the amazing luck of getting paid
for telling
what he sees at the movies and the feelings that films
awake in him.
One day the director told me I would never give a bad review to any film.
Pleasing the multinationals.
Because it was huge business.
La guía del ocio, which had ads, got rid of him because there was
one distributor who wouldn't buy advertising on the magazine
because Boyer's reviews were bad.
That's when I said, "If he leaves, I'm not buying ads."
They fired me, we went to court, endless hearings
in which they accused me of things as far-fetched
as debasing morality or my vices...
I won the case, they had to pay me a load of money, pay a fine,
and on top of that, they lost me.
Getting in trouble with authority and power
is something that has come up frequently.
Hi, how are you?
- Should we kiss with or without this? - Come here.
How are you?
- Is everything okay? - Yeah.
Here you have me once more.
Do I have to take this paper to the screenings?
Yes.
So I can see...
- Yes. - My seat and everything.
- I'll hang this around my neck too. - Carry that.
Cannes was...
What happened to me was terrible.
The organizers were a disaster.
And then the films, which were awful.
I only saw a couple of interesting ones.
I know the critics were saying it had been a fabulous Cannes festival.
I felt so disheartened,
I started thinking, "Well, this...
This is over, Carlos."
And here, I don't know, let's see how things end this year.
Let's see if I have any spirit or moral strength left.
What I've enjoyed the most about festivals
is that at certain times of the year, Berlin in February,
Cannes in May, end of August, Venice,
September San Sebastián,
I got together with a group of people for many decades.
We enjoyed each other's company, and...
bitching against everyone
but with a lot of wit and having a lot of fun.
It was Oti Rodríguez Marchante, José Ramón Rey, Cristina Gil,
Ángel Fernández Santos, it was Boyero.
Sometimes we managed to get Carlos Heredero out of the theatre.
They didn't mix with other people.
I think one of their problems was they didn't speak any other languages.
Sure enough, they were always together.
For dinner, for lunch...
They also sat together at the screenings.
It also happened to be what you might call
a "golden era" for...
Well, for...
journalists.
For critics.
I've missed those dinners very much.
The best times I've had in the film industry
were during these dinners where...
Maybe you had Gasset around, it was...
absolutely crazy.
Some died, others retired,
others started doing other things.
And there were two of us left from the group.
Damn, on the first days of a festival you're already
thinking differently, with those films...
They're such pain.
Such a pain, man.
- I liked the Argentinian one best, with... - The Argentinian?
I imagined as much. What were they then? Lesbians as well?
They're just kids. My son's age.
I was watching the teenage world.
- To understand... - Mother of God.
No, he's a completely different
Carlos Boyero from the one...
I guess it's a self-defense mechanism.
There's the Boyero they make out to be and the other Carlos Boyero,
who is a truly lovely person.
He has a caring nature some film directors might be surprised to see.
He's someone who is a very caring, very friendly person.
Even though he often speaks about himself,
he's very interested in others.
That's the greatest paradox surrounding Carlos.
That someone with such a dark view of life, of the world,
can be so joyous, so full of life,
such a good friend to his friends, enemy to his enemies.
Carlos suffers when he comes to San Sebastián
and has a negative review for a friend's film at the festival.
He's even told me,
"I'm thinking about skipping my review for San Sebastián because
you're my friend." "No way, Carlos, say whatever you want."
Carlos' favorite plan
on a Saturday or a Sunday is an invitation to lunch with your kids.
He doesn't have a large family of his own,
and he often takes shelter in...
In mine and in other friend's families.
With my kids he has a relationship akin to that of an uncle.
Yes, I would have liked, I would have liked...
I would have probably liked to have children.
I don't have my parents, I don't have siblings,
I haven't had a partner
for some time.
A very long time.
I have friends.
That I do have.
- What's on tomorrow? - I...
I have no fucking idea.
And today I've had to go running for...
- For these papers. - What papers?
They've written down the films, the row and all that.
This year is really hard work.
- You just have... - And the damn glasses.
Yours don't fog up?
Let's see. What day is tomorrow?
Oh, Blue Moon!
- Blue moon? What's that one? - A Romanian one.
- You'll like it. - I love them.
New Romanian cinema is...
- I think it's... - It's not that new.
Okay, what wine shall we choose?
Okay, let's see. I'm sure it's good. I like everything.
I like everything. Every film and every wine.
Carlos is someone who has...
He's almost like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide.
He can be the most wonderful, most generous man,
the most loving man. And then he can be
terrible when he starts writing.
I've talked about this with him many times.
Sometimes he hurts people who don't deserve it.
If someone lands in his sights...
Even his friends.
He's argued with many of them.
We've fought plenty of times.
I was at my intern's desk, he came over
and said,
"Are you Lucas?"
I said, "Yeah."
"Let that be the las time in your fucking life
you change a single letter of what I've written."
He took a rolled newspaper he was carrying, El Mundo,
and kicked it so hard
it landed on the other end of the newsroom.
I've been his enemy sometimes, for three days.
I was his enemy and we would never speak again.
That did happen.
It was at a Cannes festival, where we argued about...
I can't even remember the argument. It was ridiculous.
It was about Mayor Oreja.
On two occasions we stopped talking.
Both of them...
One lasted six months or so, and the other a year or more.
One started at the house of a mutual friend.
Carlos was having a bad night and being an asshole.
Since the others didn't dare call him on it, I had to do it.
We didn't see each other for 25 years.
People couldn't understand it.
"Weren't you friends? What is it? Did you argue?"
And I said, "No, no.
I've never argued with Carlos."
You either take him or leave him.
Some of us take him
because he really is worthwhile as a friend.
And the thing about Jekyll and Hide,
well...
Sure, there can be two halves, obviously.
It also depends a lot on that thing called alcohol.
Booze and drugs transform people
and their behavior,
as well as giving you great pleasure.
Thank you.
I'm going to drink some water, otherwise...
Once I was at a restaurant and I...
Oti...
Fernando Trueba told me...
This was ages ago. He said at one point I had
six glasses on the table.
And they were all mine.
- Really? - I mean...
But that's over.
That's over.
I've enjoyed alcohol very much,
smoking, cocaine,
gambling.
I've lived with it all, and sometimes
I've been trapped by it.
I looked for relief in clinics,
at rehab.
I went back,
I fell off the wagon. I mean...
I've had great times
and terrible times with my...
With my addictions.
How many styles have we known, Oti?
In fashion?
Well, in film, sure yeah. They're not fashions, they're styles.
I wouldn't have missed anything if I hadn't seen
many of those fashions, I mean, most of them.
- Thai cinema or... - Thai, Vietnamese.
- Or that guy, Apichatpong... - He's been around for a long time.
He's no longer a fashion.
He showed a film a Cannes
and people who like Apichatpong loved it, but I don't really...
Yeah, that's it, let them enjoy it.
- And the festival director. - They do enjoy it.
For me it's like they're beating me up with that guy.
Hitchcock used to say what cinema was for him.
A theatre.
A full house.
- Yeah. - With people
who feel something about what they're seeing.
Does that Apichatpong make you feel anything?
With some I've seen, yes. With others, no.
Which Apichatpong did you like?
- No. - Yes.
I know Apichatpong isn't an easy director.
But at that time he represented modern filmmaking.
If you can't see it, you have a problem.
Anyway, I think Boyero has always been focused on popular tastes.
And saying Asian cinema or others were boring
was really easy, you know?
And people found it funny.
I mean, if they tie me to a seat and show me
the golden age of Korean cinema day after day,
I'll die.
When I started working in film journalism, Carlos Boyero
was already a star, obviously.
As a journalist, as a film critic.
I remember the year 1992 or 1993,
when we had premieres on Fuencarral street.
I would leave the screening
and run to a restaurant called Vips on Fuencarral
to find out if the reviews had been published
by Ángel and Boyero, which were the only two critics producers read.
People who worked in the industry read.
Right now it might seem
it was overdoing it, but then it really mattered a lot
having people filling up the theatre.
At least that was our feeling among distributors.
That's why they took me by the arm and said, "Boyero didn't like it."
Because then it was...
Forty copies less.
You have power, then.
What I say about certain films
that spend more on marketing than on production and so on...
That won't affect the box office.
It might have some effect on more difficult films.
Films people can discover which otherwise
they wouldn't have seen.
That's where I feel useful.
He worked for Diario 16, Pedro J, Ramírez's newspaper.
And a few years later he started working for El Mundo.
Carlos Boyero, apart from his regular film review,
wrote a TV review in the style of Juan Cueto, which was
highly entertaining because it trashed TV.
Does television make programs for the audience
or for the advertisers?
I believe it's a...
Everything's a spiral, right?
An audience brings in advertising,
and advertising means dosh, dough.
- Money, yes. - Money?
Boyero knows Pedro J. will promote and support
his figure and his signature, because he needs it.
The idea Pedro J. had
when setting up El Mundo was creating a newspaper
that was extraordinarily plural, and he succeeds.
Plural means you have to get into a lot of trouble with your opinion writers
to keep up with sales and the controversy.
I think TV strategists...
I sometimes compare them with drug dealers.
The thing is drug dealers have very bad press.
The others appear very "light", very civilized, very clean.
When Carlos reaches that position of being one of the
more "outsider" figures, but also
one of the more famous figures in the newspaper,
the tension ramps up. Carlos won't keep quiet.
You always say whatever you want, right?
Unless they don't let me say whatever I want.
I've always been hounded by censorship.
He was extremely happy
busting the balls of Pedro J. whenever he could.
He was happy picturing him seated at his desk reading the column
and banging the table saying, "Boyero again! Boyero again!"
Something that happened frequently.
I suspect we were mutually beneficial for each other.
That's why I spent over 20 years
at Diario 16 and El Mundo with him.
Tonight I'm one of those lucky women.
I'm fortunate in that Carlos Boyero has accepted our invitation to be here.
Who could refuse something like that?
I'll let you know we both feel the same for you: complete devotion.
In the 90s I was in my 20s, and Carlos was in his 40s or late 30s.
To me he was an ugly man.
But he was a Mick Jagger type, who was irreverent
and had the guts to be insulting about films, but funny.
Since he's always been so smart and so funny, he's had a lot of fans.
With that voice, that very studied character,
he picked up a lot of girls.
In fact, his character ended up in films.
I remember the movie
Malena es un nombre de tango,
where there was a character for which they hired an actor
that looked like him.
I know you don't stumble into such an attractive guy every night.
What's your name?
What's yours?
Don't speak, no need to.
- Shall we go? - Where to?
Do you care?
Was being Boyero a weapon of seduction?
Maybe. I hadn't thought about it.
Maybe it was to my advantage.
But also...
I was with women who didn't know
the character, believe it or not.
So, I was thinking,
what can I ask a man who has spent 17 years replying each week
to a chat with his readers no holds barred?
A man who has spent the last 17 years chatting and he doesn't have internet.
There can't be another case like his in the eurozone, right?
There was a time newspapers would ask you to chat with the readers,
and I remember Boyero had a chat, I think it was weekly,
with the readers.
I think that formula was better suited to Boyero
than traditional reviews.
The chat...
It was really funny watching him do the chat because...
I mean, he has no clue about...
He knows absolutely nothing about technology.
In that senses, he's a complete digital illiterate.
This was...
It started at the end of the century.
It lasted around 17 years, but it must have begun at El Mundo
in 1998 or thereabouts.
He arrived at an office, a small office,
sat down with a colleague...
People sent me questions and I answered them. How did I do it?
Someone would receive the questions, another selected them,
another posed them to me.
I answered.
And it was like that
for about 18 years or so, between El Mundo and El País.
I spoke with people every Thursday from 1 to 2 pm.
They asked him about everything, not just about films
or television. They asked him about his personal life,
about music, of course, about literature, about gastronomy...
And he always had the references at hand.
Because he has an amazing memory.
He probably has one of the most battered memories
in the past 40 years of the history of Spanish journalism.
Few people have been exposed to so many liters of alcohol and other substances,
but his neural synapses are still so quick and agile.
I think some people don't need their memories for anything.
They just have to click on that... What's it called? Google or...
And everything just comes up. Wikipedia, right?
That's what it's called, right?
Regarding the chat, he imagined he was,
who knows, at Del Diego having a drink,
and that he could say the same thing he would have said
drinking a Negroni in any of the cocktail bars he likes.
The fact that Boyero chatted with the public in such a crude manner
goes to show that what he really did
was create a character through his articles.
Boyero's greatest work is the character of Boyero.
That character shines more while chatting with an audience
than through the work of a daily review or even worse, festival reviews.
The Carlos you see in those chats is a guy who talked about everything,
who always tried to be controversial and who almost always succeeded.
- Excuse me. You're Carlos Boyero, right? - Yes, but, they're
- recording me. - Yeah, I know. But...
- Would you mind? My dad is a fan. - Yes.
- Yes. - So am I.
- Could you please sign this? - All right.
I appreciate it. My dad has always followed you
and taught me about you.
- Good. Okay. - We're really hooked.
- What's your father's name? - Pepón.
- Okay. - He'll be delighted.
I really appreciate it. You're wonderful.
- They're shooting a documentary. - I'm sorry!
- Don't worry. My pleasure. - Thank you so much, sir.
Hi, how are you? Good afternoon.
- Perfect. - Thanks.
Carlos hasn't written good reviews about my films in general.
He's very affectionate when he sees me, but in writing...
Te doy mis ojos was good. But, for example,
the films I've made with Paul have been harshly criticized.
I remember Carlos' review,
"Tosar, as always, in his internal struggle."
And it hurt. It hurt because I thought, "Shit.
Maybe I am always... Always doing the same thing."
I have to say I've only spoken with him once.
I probably wasn't aware that he was
such an influential and important man, and I spoke to him freely
and unself-aware. Later on you realize, and think,
- "That was Carlos Boyero." - Well, he is charming.
- At close quarters he's charming. - Yes.
I had a great time. We chatted, it was nice.
He was very nice to me, very sweet.
And then you start seeing things, and getting to know him, and think,
- "It's Him!" - Yeah.
He's funny. Mainly if you're not involved.
If I had his same taste, apart from funny I'd find him very interesting,
but we don't have the same tastes.
Lately, I don't know why Carlos
has started to slag the film he's reviewing
and the previous ones at the same time.
"Why does he feel the need to do that?"
Thank you, Iciar, for your time.
- Let's see what Boyero says tomorrow. - Right. Just imagine.
Hi, good morning.
Good morning, sir.
Icíar Bollaín has done such a good job
that I even felt
a lump in my throat. And it has
Blanca Portillo and Luis Tosar giving impressive performances.
They're very good actors.
And the way she tells the story is very truthful,
Icíar Bollaín. I think it's a good film.
Just remember
- how great this job was years ago. - Fuck.
We've been to loads of festivals, and the truth is...
Well, it's still like that, really.
But it's true things have gotten worse.
In truth, Oti,
our biggest worry at times was
which restaurant we'd have dinner at.
And these were the best restaurants in Venice,
- in Berlin... - Yeah, yeah.
- In Cannes... - We've had it good.
- And here, in San Sebastián. - Well...
When this job gave you the opportunity of having it really good.
- Now you just get by. - Right. Sure.
But it's true things have gotten worse.
I suspect... It's not our case, but there must be
in our profession, many people who only get to eat burgers
- and pizza. - Yeah. No, right.
I feel so sorry for them. But they eat pizza "buona".
No, but it's true.
- And... - Hey.
Wow, that looks great.
Goodness, that's great.
Who could have told this poor sea bream this morning...
- It's today's catch, right? - Yes.
Today the water was really cold, we've done him a favor.
Like many in my generation,
I've been self-employed until very recently.
And expenses...
It's very difficult to get sent to a festival with all expenses paid.
And you see some colleagues in a very precarious position.
So when this man complains about being sent to Cannes
and not receiving the same treatment at the Hotel Martinez,
you think, "The closest I get
to the Martinez is taking a selfie at the door. That's all I aspire to."
When we founded
the Film Journalists Association to create the Feroz Awards,
It was crystal clear.
There was a huge generational breach
between the journalists who went to the Donostia Festival
and stayed at the Londres hotel,
and those who rented a B&B with another six people.
Sure.
Now young journalists who go to Cannes
pile up in an apartment
with another five or six people to be able to attend.
And Boyero stays,
on the newspaper's dime,
at one of the best hotels in Cannes.
That divide has nothing to do with abilities, but with generations.
In that sense, Boyero
is one of the last classics in the critic's guild.
I believe younger generations look on with a bit of envy,
because, obviously, working conditions have drastically worsened.
And they also look on a bit reproachingly.
I don't know. What do you want me to say?
And...
There's loads of other things like that.
- It's unbelievable. - Everything.
I mean, when I go to a festival nobody pays me a single expense.
I pay for everything myself.
It's impossible for a film critic to make a living just from that job.
So you'll find critics who collaborate with a lot of other media, who teach.
And that's something we usually like because
it helps you put your ideas in order,
remind you what you already knew and discover new things.
But I think great part of the precariousness surrounding film reviewing
is just linked to the circumstances of the media.
Carlos Boyero was top-billing,
he was famous, an undeniable heavyweight
in film reviewing and journalism, you know?
They were looking for an editor in chief for Culture,
and that's why I came here.
And I brought him with me.
I think we got here on October 15, 2007.
We walked through that door in here like two true
aliens in a science fiction movie.
Cultural reviews at El País were based around
the arts and the performing arts,
with names such as Ángel Fernández Santos,
Eduardo Haro Tecglen, Joaquín Vidal.
In a very brief period of time, all three of them died.
They died, and we were left thinking,
"We have to find other anchors."
Carlos was already collaborating with Ser radio,
as well as with Canal Plus on TV, I think.
So, in that sense,
it wasn't as incoherent as it might have seem.
One of the things we also told him was that from now on
all the waves you've made at El Mundo,
which are fine, fantastic, will be multiplied here
because this is El País.
This is different. It's another dimension.
I was aware of the risk I was taking.
This was a newspaper that... In those times it was
even more straight-laced,
even more serious, even more inflexible.
And I was aware of the risk of the move going against the grind
of El País at that time.
"Carlos Boyero, impersonating himself, as well as repeating
day after day his immense weariness,
hasn't had a single problem loudly proclaiming his walk-out
during the screening of the latest film by Abbas Kiarostami."
I was one of those who set that letter in motion.
It was partially written by me.
I can't recall a single campaign calling for signatures against a critic.
More so, a campaign supported by a public manifesto
signed by filmmakers.
It was sparked by Kiarostami
or because he had walked out of the screening.
Because of him being so emotional. And I understand
there was a group of people who felt aggrieved by it.
"This person has not only given up his duties as a critic
but failed in his responsibility as a journalist,
showing his lack of respect for the readers."
Their set of arguments were... They were pathetic.
I had written I had walked out of the screening of an Iranian film in Venice.
A film that consisted of pictures of women for over three hours.
After an hour and a half of watching
women's faces, I said, "That's it, I don't want to see any more."
And I left.
Those who go to festivals and write for the big newspapers
prevent that film from being shown.
They've already said the film is boring
and that if a distributor were crazy enough to release it in Spain,
nobody would show up. Why would they bring it then?
I think a critic has to have an open mind so they don't miss the gems.
And to be able to watch cinema that doesn't follow the Western cannon,
that uses different cultural codes, that has a different sensibility.
If your attitude is one of weariness
or you're surrounded by films you don't really understand,
it's hard to keep up.
I didn't sign that document because I thought
it was completely preposterous.
What you can't do is limit freedom of expression.
It wasn't a letter against Boyero, it was a letter against
the policy of El País of sending Boyero and making him suffer.
Because all Boyero does at festivals is have a terrible time.
That campaign with signatures from filmmakers, names that included
José Luis Guerín, Víctor Erice,
and people from this profession,
was one of the toughest life experiences for Carlos.
It passed, but it left a bitter aftertaste.
He lost a few friends along the way, because they had signed it.
Obviously, El País didn't pay any fucking attention to them.
And even now, 15 years later,
they still have to suffer me.
Carlos Boyero, throughout his career, has been in many controversies
and has clashed with a lot of people.
He had a really tough confrontation with Florentino Pérez
while he was a critic at La guía del ocio.
He clashed with Jesús Gil.
He clashed with José Mourinho
when José Mourinho was coach at Real Madrid
And the clearest example of this tension
between Boyero as a critic and part of the Spanish film industry
is a case that would blow up a short while after.
Broken Embraces, Boyero.
"The only feeling that stays with you from start to end is tedium."
The Skin I Live In, Boyero.
"A notable idiocy.
Banderas's performance is as grotesque as the film itself."
I'm So Excited!, Boyero.
"I see no difference between this product and Mariano Ozores' crudest comedies."
And the last one, Julieta.
"It doesn't say anything to me.
Neither emotionally nor artistically."
Even more than Almodóvar's latest film, a lot of people eagerly await
Boyero's review of Almodóvar's latest film.
I don't know how Almodóvar feels about that.
I'd like for Almodóvar not to care the least bit.
Because I admire Almodóvar.
I want my idols to be as invulnerable as I imagine them.
But... it's really hard.
I'd say that, for Pedro Almodóvar,
El País is more than a newspaper.
It's almost part of his emotional and political education.
So having precisely
that newspaper that Pedro feels so close to
dealing him the hardest blows, the heaviest
blows Pedro Almodóvar has ever received, he probably doesn't like it.
And what he once did, sending a letter to the paper
asking for explanations and for Carlos' head,
was a hot-headed move that made no sense.
Almodóvar would have liked, and I say this
knowingly, and convinced even more with every passing day...
He would have wanted Carlos Boyero and myself kicked out of ElPaís.
What he wrote, "It's inexplicable that Carlos Boyero
and Borja Hermoso are at El País.
It's inexplicable that El País could send Carlos Boyero and Borja Hermoso
to a festival such as Cannes",
those are statements made directly
to create a situation in which
you will be called to attention and maybe even let go of.
There's something else we couldn't allow as journalists.
I have a film critic.
When I deem he's not doing his job right or going against
the interests of the directors or of the newspaper,
I have the right to remove him.
But as long as I don't remove him,
what I don't have the right to do is tell him what he has to write.
Why can Carlos get away with it?
Because, in the end, every media outlet
has some wiggle room for these incidents.
And at El País, that wiggle room is taken up by Carlos.
And he takes it up.
He does it impeccably. Better than anyone.
There has always been
a different treatment to the one in general...
But he couldn't complain. I think this newspaper
has supported the project,
the view, the importance of Pedro Almodóvar's cinematography.
What does that support mean? It means
giving him four pages instead of half a column.
It means opening the Sunday magazine,
which at that time had a print run
of over a million copies, which is huge,
with a film by Almodóvar.
There's something about him, about Almodóvar's world I don't like.
I think it belies
emphasis, fakeness, calculation,
following all the trends.
And those films...
It's not that I don't like them, it's just that
they make me... They make me sick.
It's not true that he trashes every Almodóvar film.
I remember the review for Volver.
I had a role in Volver, so I was on top of it. For Volver he wrote
a fabulous review.
After 15 years,
- there's something... - Twelve to be precise.
- Twelve years? - Yeah.
Well there's something in the work, in Almodóvar's latest film, that I like.
Something. That doesn't mean much.
Ortega said a review shouldn't just be a judgement,
but that it should complete the film.
And in that sense I think Boyero's reviews of Almodóvar's films
don't complete them,
they're a form of emotional release.
What does this Almodóvar film make you feel?
It makes me feel... I know this word
is awful, but what it makes me feel
is that unpleasant second-hand embarrassment.
Us Spanish film journalists
tend to be polite towards Spanish cinema. That is,
when the review is negative we use kinder descriptors,
and sometimes we get overexcited when something is good.
We're human, that's the thing. The Spanish film industry is a small world.
Every actor that premieres a film
usually has another one coming the following year.
In the end we all meet at the Goyas,
at the Feroz, throughout the awards season,
in Málaga, in San Sebastián.
You're constantly seeing these people.
That doesn't mean you become friends, but there's a certain closeness.
And that attitude, which I support,
Boyero, not only doesn't share it,
but he feels repulsed by these things.
By the fact we're not treating equally Rodrigo Sorogoyen and Spielberg.
The ten films that have interested us most in the show.
We even have
a Spanish one for those who accuse us of never promoting
home-made talent.
I work for El Periódico mainly doing film reviews
for almost every Spanish films.
And I do all the interviews related to Spanish cinema.
I'm pretty much boxed in, in that sense.
It's hard, because
you have to face films you're going to review negatively,
and you're doing an interview.
It's a shame that has to... It has to be that way.
Not having any kind of relationship
is much easier, right?
In that sense, he's one of the few critics
who doesn't have to interview or report on a press conference
where they've presented Maixabel. No.
He watches the film,
he has no relationship with the team that made the film,
he sees the press screening, and the writes his review.
Aren't you a bit tired about this "legendary" animosity towards Almodóvar?
- Haven't you had enough? - Well...
I don't know, it seems people
- still enjoy the whole issue. - If you keep on stoking it...
No, what I'd really like would be to enjoy
his films. The thing is I get really bored
with this guy's movies.
I can't stand it. Even worse now
he's reached the heavens of great art and all that bullshit.
I once suggested to Carlos, not that long ago, the following, "Hey,
if I got Pedro Almodóvar to come and talk with you, would you do it?"
No. No.
No way. I'm not...
I'm not interested in the least in sharing even one conversation,
an interview or anything
with a guy who has spent half his life calling for my head.
El Deseo, Pedro Almodóvar's production company,
has rejected the invitation to participate in this documentary
I realized something had changed in this country one day I joked
about Carlos Boyero in class
and said, "Well, this film is one of those Carlos Boyero
would qualify as..." whatever.
And their faces were completely unfazed.
So I said, "What is it? You don't know who Carlos Boyero is?"
Not a single student from a double degree
in journalism and audiovisual media
ever read Boyero. They didn't even know who he was.
He's lost his influence, definitely.
Carlos and critics in general. It's been lost.
From the moment people no longer read
newspapers and magazines like they used to.
Yes.
I get the feeling we're the only ones reading each other's articles.
Among ourselves in the industry.
And reaching further than that is very difficult. Very difficult.
You might have more impact with those tweets we were talking about
than a review in Fotogramas.
The democratization brought on by social media
has advantages and disadvantages.
Everyone can say what they think,
but it seems every opinion has the same weight.
No. Not every opinion has the same weight.
Younger audiences don't read reviews.
So critics no longer have the power
they once had and sometimes abused.
Another thing is that today we're used to those 140 or 280 characters.
People are used to being told...
I mean, just a summary in one or two lines tops.
At the newspaper we can see how many readers
read the headline, the first paragraph,
the second paragraph, and you feel like crying.
Now you're obsessed by how many followers you have,
how many people see you, how you're getting ahead.
How many tweets you have to write a day
for it to be relevant or not.
Look, I think Boyero did that right. From the very beginning
he decided not to go into that game.
When I taught film review at ESCAC,
we obviously spoke about
Carlos among many others, we spoke about everyone.
Most of my students didn't read his reviews.
I think young people today don't identify with Carlos' worldview.
They call us fuddy-duddies, right?
Well that's it, this fuddy-duddy stays with...
You're not a fuddy-duddy for the hipsters.
You're a legend.
Really? I'm not so sure.
- A fuddy-duddy legend. - A fuddy-duddy legend.
He might have lost some of his clout because times have changed.
Because the kind of films he advocates for
are probably not the films that are trending. In fact,
he boasts about being a bit old-fashioned.
Of not being modern, as he says. He says he hates hipsters.
But Carlos is still a very well-read critic,
with an ample knowledge of music, literature.
He has a knowledge I think is lacking in most critics.
A friend of mine who is a film distributor,
Enrique González Kuhn, talks about how influential Carlos is
for some sectors of filmgoers, older, adult filmgoers.
"A demented film."
"Pseudo psychological bore."
"Incomprehensible and sleep-inducing."
These are some of the notes
on Beginning, a Georgian film that triumphed
at the latest San Sebastián festival.
The film's distributor, "Surtsey Films", is promoting it on social media
with your opinions.
What I've just read was said or written by you.
Yeah, sure.
If this Carlos Boyero thinks it's awful,
those who disagree with him
- almost always... - It's an anti-recommendation.
They'll be seeing a masterpiece. Okay then, go see it.
A lot of people think, "If Carlos Boyero says it's so, it is."
Regardless of the witticisms or provocations
he leaves along the way. A lot of people connect with his view.
Even today.
I think so. People are aware about what he says.
"Let's read Boyero." Wanting to know what Boyero says,
in my case...
Definitely, Boyero's opinion is very important to me.
I don't know what the future holds
for professional reviews. I do know reviews will still exist.
As long as there are films, people will think about them.
They'll reflect on what movies tell us
and what we are through them.
How many will be able to make a living as critics? I don't know.
In this year's Official Section
I've had to suffer endless, well-intentioned shit.
Many of them directed by women.
The festival has decided to be
the foremost standard bearer for feminism.
The jury is composed of one man, and the rest are women.
And the films,
I don't know if they've done this on purpose or not,
but all of them or almost all of them approach
those issues that seem
to be so important in this day and age.
This year, for the first time,
if I recall correctly, there was just one more film
directed by a man in the Official Section.
For us, that's completely new. And it wasn't a quota decision.
Those were the films we liked.
I don't share Carlos' view on that.
I've been observing this in a lot of writers I like.
Writers that had a punk attitude.
Where is the punk attitude now?
I think it's in rebelling against political correctness. That's punk.
So that's an easy target, but it's not true.
There is still a majority of men everywhere.
This wave of reeling against political correctness
and not being able to say things, which I think is untrue,
Boyero has taken a more radical stance
regarding the misogyny of his reviews.
Carlos is a man who absolutely believes
men and women are equal and should have the same rights.
Let there be no doubt about that. But he reacts
violently against things that are new for him.
He has a hard time adapting to change. That's Carlos.
Thank you so much for the gift of inviting me here
to the festival. Thanks again.
And now, the president of the jury
will give the Golden Shell for the best film.
"What can I say about the awards?
Nothing.
That most of them are absurd
and product of an ideological stance.
They have no possible commercial viability.
They're just there so fashionable causes
can establish a foothold with disgraceful products
that can receive very convenient subsidies.
They've awarded the Golden Shell
to a Romanian film directed by Alina Gregore.
It's a shouty stupidity.
And goodbye to all that,
which is how Robert Graves titled his biography.
I'm sure a lot of readers will miss me after 40 years talking about these issues.
If I do come back, it will be forced by survival.
Pathetic survival can go to hell."
It's like being told all the movie theatres in Gran Via have disappeared.
Boyero disappearing is the same thing.
It would be a shame.
If I invite him home, I hope he comes as a friend.
It will be a shame if Carlos stops going to festivals,
not because he'll stop writing reviews.
But because he'll stop talking about general issues, film issues.
I think he's brilliant.
Carlos is a great columnist of our time.
He's affected 40 years of the history of journalism in this country.
And he's succeeded in being what he is and saying what he wants to say.
It's a fantastic autobiography written in the newspapers.
A perfect autobiography.
I think that's what Boyero has gifted us throughout this time.
His personality in pieces.
He's always saying he's too old, he doesn't know how to use
a ticket on his phone...
But I think that's not true. He still talks about films,
he still talks about many films and still has
a current point of view. I don't see him that much past it.
Also, and I don't know if this has to do
with his long career,
but lately I've seen him a bit tired.
And I think a critic has to be passionate about his job.
Carlos has lived like a great critic.
He's had his role, he's been very popular for a great many years.
But, when two, three, four years have passed
since he last wrote in El País or since he retired, then...
It will be gone.
And we'll all forget about him, just like we forget about filmmakers.
When I saw him for the first time, when I was 18 and he was 19
at university, he was exactly like he is now.
Carlos is one of the persons that has changed the least
from everyone I know. Even I tell him off sometimes when we talk,
because I say, "You're living in the same books, the same authors,
the same films..."
I'd like to think I've entertained a lot of people.
"Entertained."
I mean, it's not such an ambitious concept.
I'm not saying I hope I've "moved" people, or...
I don't know.
I guess
there has to be something good about me.
At the very least an identifiable style.
That would be enough.
Times have changed.
This dinner at the San Sebastián festival,
- just you and me. - Yeah.
With a herbal tea...
- I... - I'm on my way to retirement.
- You know? - Don't say that, they'll hear you.
- Yeah. - People will start clapping.
An ovation.
Shit, we're having a hard time emptying one bottle of wine.
- It's... - Just today. I had lumbago this morning.
- It's almost embarrassing. - Yeah. You're right.
Remember what they said in Carlito's Way? In Brian de Palma's film?
Pacino said,
"Time doesn't change you, it just makes you weaker."
- Yeah, well, it's a way of saying it. - Right.
Weaker, sure. But it makes you weaker in every sense.
This thing with the bottle of wine has floored me.
Holy shit, it's the first time in our lives
we're leaving a bottle halfway through...
I think we have to drink it.
If I don't become stupid, I mean...
Or Alzheimer's hits me on the head,
and someone makes me an offer,
a well-paid offer to continue to give my opinions,
then I'll be there. If they don't,
then that's it. Let's see if they admit me into
an old people's care home. Or if...
I finally have the fucking courage to swallow all the pills
or jump out a window.