Rodrigo Sorogoyen, the art of starting a film

Stockholm (2013) opens on a party and an accusation: a friend accuses the protagonist of maybe having slept with his girlfriend. One enters the film and into the transgression at the same time. “And this scene also serves to introduce us to the protagonist’s character and the rather unhealthy friendships he has developed. Both at the same time.” 

In Que dios nos perdone (May God Save Us) (2016) the film starts in a cemetery, then shifts to images of police violence. “We can all be violent — some people more than others — and there’s also systemic corruption. You find yourself face to face with yourself in a kind of crazy state, and, unless you’re a psychopath, of course, you regret it afterward.” It seemed very interesting to us (together with screenwriter Isabel Peña) that a character would see the violence of his own actions and say to himself, “I’m that guy.” 

El Reino (The Realm) takes the opposite tack to his usual approach. The opening scene shows a man at the top of his game, a table of high-ranking public officials, fine dining, and a perfect sense of belonging. No visible guilt. “That was the challenge: a character who isn’t aware of his corruption, who may never be — except, perhaps, in the final scene.” 

Madre (Mother) is a special case: Rodrigo Sorogoyen brings together two pieces (a short and a long film) filmed at  different times.  “In the first part of the first scene of the short–film, there’s no guilt, it’s a pure psychological thriller, a means of kicking off the story. But in the first scene of the feature film, shot two years later, a woman is on the beach looking for her child and watching other children pass by (…) There is a strong sense of guilt, someone who is devastated.  Once again we see the theme found in Stockholm, but with a totally different message.” 

As Bestas (The Beasts) reveals the rapa das bestas (shaving of the beasts) in slow motion, then the face-off between the peasant farmers and the French couple. “The theme of Stockholm is back but in another form of guilt and in a totally different context. It’s a conversation and a duel: “You’re bored, Frenchie, we’re boring you, so you’re leaving.” There’s a pain, a tension that’s there right from the start.” 

The first scene of El ser querido (The Beloved) is risky. The filmmaker takes this concept to its most radical extreme, putting both the characters and the actors playing them in difficulty. “I had the idea of filming an hour and a half of conversations with five cameras, in a single take, without any cuts.” The concept is based on a conviction: “a second take would already be compromised.” “I wanted to capture the anxiety of someone who is reuniting with their father after seventeen years without a clue of what they’ll find; and that can only happen once.” The director, hidden behind his cameras while filming, did not give any direction or call cut. “The scene was written out over ten pages — ten minutes, at a rate of one page per minute. The only rule was to say the lines from those ten pages. Everything else was improvised.” “Those ten minutes of improvisation are the ones I find most invaluable — they’re worth their weight in gold.” He gives an example: after six months of not seeing each other, Victoria Luengo looks at Javier Bardem and spontaneously says Eres muy guapo (You are very handsome). “It was a completely sincere reaction.” 

Confronted with this challenge, the actors had the director’s full trust: “They were stressed, but that freedom allowed them to tap into their full potential; and if you trust a good actor, they are capable of anything.”