Fiction and Non-fiction: The Cinema in Between

At Cinélatino – Rencontres de Toulouse we met Albertina Carri, an Argentinian filmmaker whose strong gaze translates into militant and uncomfortable cinema. The 37th edition of the Festival presented a general retrospective of her filmography that included her latest film, White Roses, Fall! (¡Caigan las rosas blancas!, 2025), which was also part of a feature fiction section composed of eleven works from Brazil, Chile, Mexico, Peru, Colombia, Panama and Argentina.

What is the research behind your last project?

I describe my last work as a mutant genre film, and it is through this mutation that a journey towards the fantastic and the imagination emerges. White Roses, Fall! is an intimate trip between the four protagonists where we see the way in which the territory they are crossing modifies their subjectivities as individuals, but also as a group. It is at this point, in this expedition, where the desires, the spirits, and the fantasies of all of them intersect.

Although it is not a direct sequel, there is an obvious connection between your last two films: The Daughters of Fire (Las hijas del fuego, 2018) and White Roses, Fall!

Both feature the same characters, who are played by the same actresses. Viole, Agustina, Rosario, and Carmen embark on a new adventure. All four have had different experiences that have transformed them into the people they are now.

Were they actresses before you met them?

When they were cast for The Daughters of Fire, they had all studied acting, but only one was fully dedicated to it. From this first experience, a working group was born, from which this thought of making a new film, around some of the themes that had already emerged in the first one, surged. This idea of the ​​territory is something that was already outlined in the previous one.

The sea, present in both films, gains relevance in this second one.

In White Roses, Fall!, when elements such as the island, the sea, or the jungle appear, it is also when we meet the extravagant character of the vampire, who arrived in this land by boat. It is when the film enters into the colonial discourse, where the element of the sea is so important.

Why did you choose the Spanish actress Luisa Gavasa for this character?

Especially because I like her qualities as a professional. She also has a physical appearance that is unfortunately not so common these days in women of her age, because almost all of them have had plastic surgery. The marks of time on her face have a power that particularly interested me. Her natural beauty is splendid.

The coexistence of fiction and non-fiction strategies in your filmography is very interesting.

For me, the documentary is another genre of fiction. The Blonds (Los rubios, 2003) and Rustlers (Cuatreros, 2016), the two “quote-unquote” documentaries that I have made, constantly work with mechanisms and tools of fiction. Anger (La rabia, 2008), for example, which is purely fiction, also works, in many ways, with the devices of the documentary.

What do you want to generate in the audience?

Since my first films, I have always sought a reflective viewer, who thinks critically about everything that every approach to the different genres provokes in them. There are also people who get angry because they are used to another type of cinema, one where everything ends up explained. My idea of ​​cinema is different: I conceive it as a thinking place, not as a closed experience where you go to the theater, you leave, and nothing happens to you.

But you make provocative cinema, which is not for everyone. Do you think about the audience during the creative process?

It is clear that I don’t make a cinema that offers you everything resolved, I do a demanding cinema. When you finish watching my latest film, I hope you ask yourself: What happened? What did not happen? What is this mystery? Where has it taken me? A bit of questioning to get out of the standard and hegemonic thinking.

All your films speak, directly or indirectly, about politics.

This political concern is something I can’t get rid of, it interests me and I have always made films with this awareness. When I write my films, I don’t set out to make a work with this background, but it simply crosses my mind. I also feel that I have a responsibility from the moment I generate images. In this last film, I believe that the political question is found in this openness to imagination.

How is working with so many women?

The energy is different, of course. We already came from this experience with The Daughters of Fire, where it was extreme as we literally didn’t have any men on the team. It was a requirement of the actresses, because there are many explicit sex scenes. In many cases it was a challenge, because there were certain roles that could not be covered by female figures, since we couldn’t find women who had this knowledge. On the other hand, I edited White Roses, Fall! with Lautaro Colace, with whom I have worked for many years. I would not want to change him for anything in the world.

There is a desire to show bodies from a political perspective.

It is a topic that appears in almost all my films, from Gemini (Géminis, 2005), to this last one, and clearly in The Daughters of Fire. It arouses a lot of curiosity in me. I think that cinema can be a great opportunity to think about it, to ask ourselves: What is a body? What can a body do? I work a lot around bodies and also sexuality and desire. Bodies that desire, bodies that enjoy.

Naked bodies that are shown.

At a presentation of The Daughters of Fire a lady asked me about the final scene. And I told her that in cinema there are many scenes where women cry, cry, and cry, and we have completely naturalized it. Sometimes, they cry for a long time. There are really very, very long shots, and some are great; I don’t want to condemn these shots in any way, but it is an image that we have incorporated. I thought it was interesting to open a debate based on this last scene where a woman enjoys, enjoys, and enjoys. And just as she can cry and cry alone, she can also enjoy it in the same way.

 How do you experience the discomfort that your cinema generates?

It is no longer my problem. I seek to subvert the gaze, and obviously I know that this has a risk. I imagine provocation as something that generates other movements, or even just a butterfly flutter. I am interested in opening up possibilities of thinking about ourselves in other ways.

What are your influences?

Buñuel is one of my favorite filmmakers and he has left a huge mark on me. I have also been greatly inspired by European cinema: Antonioni, Visconti, Pasolini, whom I mention in the last film, of course they are great influences. When I can’t find answers, I go back to watching the cinema of that era.

Belit Lago
Edited by Robert Horton
©FIPRESCI 2025