Lima in Rock: An Interview With Germán Tejada About His First Feature The Innocents
Days after the premiere of The Innocents (Los Inocentes, 2025), the debut feature by Peruvian filmmaker Germán Tejada, I had the opportunity to interview him about his free adaptation of Oswaldo Reynoso’s emblematic novel. The film, which just won the Genre Section Award at the 40th Guadalajara International Film Festival, transposes the original story to a contemporary Lima marked by social contradictions, masculinity in crisis, and youth longing to belong. During our conversation, Germán shared how he intertwined his own experience with that of the protagonist, especially through an exploration of sexual identity that challenges the conservatism still prevalent in much of the country. It became clear to me that his need to tell this story stems from a desire to shed light on everything we usually hide: desire, fragility, the discomfort of not fitting in, and the constant struggle to build ourselves within a society not always willing to accept difference.
Giancarlo F. Ciprian: I understand this is your debut feature after a handful of unconventional short films within Peruvian cinema. It came as a surprise because it’s an adaptation of a classic of Peru’s national literature, now relocated to contemporary times—where downtown Lima, the geographic heart of the film, has changed a lot. Did you want to portray this different Lima from the very beginning, or did it feel more relevant to set the story in today’s context?
Germán Tejada: Actually, I think it became relevant for me once I decided to make the book my own. It was an epiphanic book for me. I read it when I was around 14, and of course, it blew my mind—it’s very direct, very raw. It speaks of a Lima, as you said, from another era. However, I feel like city centers often remain stuck in time in some way. I brought the story to a more contemporary Lima because I merged the book with my own life. As you mentioned, it’s a loose adaptation, more a film inspired by the book, into which I incorporated many episodes from my own experience of the little world I moved in. I was very much a quilquero back then, involved in the punk scene, and it felt natural to bring the book into that context. It wasn’t just relevant because the book’s discourse is still current—the theme of masculinity, of how we’ve been wrongly taught to be men—but also because setting it in the present allowed audiences to connect more closely with the film.
G.F.C.: Wanting to belong is always a deep crisis for any young person—in this case, for Cara de Ángel, whom you emphasize more in your adaptation, with his conflict serving as the story’s inner axis. What led you to center the film around him and his exploration of sexual identity?
G.T.: I felt like a Cara de Ángel myself. In fact, he was the character I identified with the most. I always felt that he was Reynoso’s voice in the book. There’s a gaze and a strength in that character that makes him, for me, the true protagonist. In some way, I added a bit of myself to the other characters as well. I think we’ve all embodied—or lived with—a certain model of man. Each one represents a masculine paradigm: the leader, the violent one, the know-it-all criollo, the rosquita. But the one who disrupts the status quo is Cara de Ángel. He’s more sensitive, more open to exploration, and that makes him a target for judgment. That’s why it felt especially relevant—given our current conversations around identity—to place him at the center. I also incorporated Johnny, a character only mentioned once in the book, and made him central in the film. Together with Cara de Ángel, he represents a break from stricter, normative masculinities. That was another way I brought a more personal and contemporary view to the story.
G.F.C.: Something I also noticed was the strong presence of local music, especially independent music you don’t hear on the radio. It’s like another character that colours the atmosphere of this Lima stripped of luxury. Was it important to you that the soundtrack be as significant as the story?
G.T.: Absolutely. The soundtrack for Los Inocentes was just as important to me as the story itself. Most of the songs were already written into the script, including their lyrics, because they helped me generate a specific atmosphere. I think that culturally, for young people, music has become a catalyst—it represents what we live and defines an era. In this case, punk and rock bring an aggression, a force, that works well with the kind of masculinity the film is questioning. I felt that genre fit the tone perfectly. Plus, there’s a personal element—I’m very involved in music, I’ve had a band, and many of the bands in the film are made up of friends. It’s a very visceral, hormonal film, and the music acts as a catalyst for that energy. From the script stage, I thought about how the song lyrics could reflect what’s happening on screen—if you pay close attention, many of them comment directly on the scenes. All that music—punk, urban, transgressive—has an edge, a rawness, that reflects the characters’ world. As you said, it’s music from the independent scene, the kind you don’t hear on the radio. It was also important to me that it became a platform to showcase what’s happening musically at the local level. It gave the film so much power. People have left screenings asking about the soundtrack, saying we should release it on vinyl or cassette. That excites me because it means the music has real weight in the film—as another character, really.
G.F.C.: On the queer aspect of the film, represented through Cara de Ángel—he represses his sexuality by pretending to perform masculinity so he won’t be excluded from his group or his partner. I think this clash of intentions comes across clearly in both his decisions and the fragile performance by Diego Cruchaga Ponce de León. What was your directing process like with him, especially since this is, as I understand, his first leading role?
G.T.: For me, it starts from this idea: I believe that sexual awakening is bisexual for everyone. We’ve all questioned at some point whether we’re attracted to a boy or not. Some of us allow ourselves to explore more, some less, and that depends on the context we grew up in and how open we are to that exploration. That perspective is present in Cara de Ángel—how much we’ve repressed or not. In building characters with some ambiguity, like Cara de Ángel, I looked for actors with a heightened sensitivity in their energy. Then we worked on the contrast, creating a character who appears tougher on the surface. What they project is rigid, but underneath there’s softness. Diego is incredibly gentle—nothing like the character. Cara de Ángel looks sharp, serious, never smiles. To achieve that, we did a near-military training. It was important for me to build those layers we use to hide our true selves. Personality is often shaped more by what others think of you than by who you truly are. Those were the layers Diego and I worked on. But in his eyes there was ambiguity, softness, depth. That contrast was key to creating a character with emotional complexity. With the other characters, the process was more direct—they embodied more conventional, accepted masculinities. But with Diego, the work was more delicate, subtle, energetic.
G.F.C.: To wrap up the interview—do you plan to adapt another literary work, or do you have an original story in mind?
G.T.: I’m currently working on the first draft of my next feature, which will be titled Un Año de Mierda. It continues to explore masculinity, but in another stage of life and from a very personal place. It’s in development right now, slowly taking shape, so I’ll be sharing more soon. At the same time, early next year, I’ll be premiering my first play as a director in Mexico: Nada de Esto Me Pertenece. It’s about identity formation, about these layers we build—like the ones we talked about—and how others’ perceptions end up shaping us. It’s a reflection that also comes from my own migration process, since I’ve been living in Mexico for two and a half years now. My creative exploration goes in that direction: making personal things from lived experience, and from there, sharing and universalizing them. That’s what I tried to do with Los Inocentes—starting from a story that deeply marked me and linking it with my life to bring it to the screen.
G.F.C.: First of all, conratulations on the film’s premiere at Guadalajara. I imagine it will travel to many more festivals, both international and national. Thank you so much for your time.
by Giancarlo F. Ciprian
Edited by José Teodoro
@FIPRESCI 2025