Emmanuel Martín, Cuban filmmaker: "'A Man Under the Influence' saved my life".
By ANTONIO ENRIQUE GONZÁLEZ ROJAS - November 26th, 2023
RIALTA
For the second time, I interviewed Emmanuel Martín. Perhaps the first interview didn't even happen. We were face to face at the headquarters of a Young Filmmaker Showcase, which no longer exists, and the interview was for a disappeared publication in a pre-COVID, pre-economic reordering, and pre-Inflation Cuba that no longer exists either. The filmmaker has left Cuba; he emigrated to Canada.
On this occasion, we communicated via WhatsApp, with the pretext of his second feature film, ‘'A Man under His Influence' (2023), which will have its world premiere at the IV INSTAR Festival, an event also diasporic, it comes from everywhere and goes everywhere, and helps Cuba expand beyond physical borders unbearable or impossible for many.
‘A Man under His Influence’ will be available for Cuban audiences on the Festhome platform from December 4 to 10, from 10:00 a.m. to midnight. The Mexican venue of the INSTAR Film Festival, the Laboratorio Arte Alameda in the capital, will show the film on December 5, 6, and 7, while the Centro Cultural General San Martín, in Buenos Aires, has scheduled its screening on December 6.
I watched the film thanks to a private Vimeo link that the filmmaker sent me. Borders are increasingly illusory, and Cuban Cinema is increasingly becoming one, even if filmed at the North Pole, even if reactionary forces persist in separating its most important contemporary portion from the audiovisual body of the nation. Emmanuel Martin answers the questions through audio recordings he takes during a subway ride through the hollows of Montreal. He is looking for new rent; I'm looking to stay sane through the crazy things I can talk with him, for Rialta News. Rialta Noticias.
‘A Man Under His Influence’ is your first film made outside Cuba. Therapy, catharsis, or chronicle of an emigrant?
In a recent interview with José Luis Aparicio, I said this is my favorite film I’ve done. Directors always fall into that cliché. For example, I read in an interview with Scorsese that he considers 'Silence' as his best film. And Tarantino, in recent interviews, has said that "Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood" is his best film. Maybe it's a marketing campaign, but, in my case, it's not, because I know my film is not going to sell.
This film literally saved my life. I had been living, working, coming home, working, coming home, waiting for my papers, for my political refugee hearing, and missing my son, and it was not a very good psychological process. I was not feeling well.
So I decided that I couldn't go on like this. That I was going to go mad. Even though I was living well because you live well in Montreal, I love this city. Even if sometimes I have a lot of "downs" and sometimes I get angry, I love this city very much. I chose it to live in. I lived in Toronto before, and I left because I didn't like it. I lived on Vancouver Island; it was a very beautiful natural area. Then I came to Montreal, and I really love it. Human beings are not safe anywhere, but I love this city.
Still, I didn't feel good. As an undocumented immigrant, I couldn't apply for any funding, even though there are many ways to get funds for films in Canada. So I decided I wanted to shoot it now. I bought the technical equipment: cameras, lights, and sound, and started contacting people.
Of course, the film is the chronicle of an immigrant! Not just one but all the immigrants who work in the movie. Look, if many actresses wanted to work for free, it was because, regardless of how talented they are, being an actor in the industry is very difficult. The industry is cruel and demands a specific accent, a certain somatotype of race and color.
The industry is cruel with accents, and so many of these actresses who worked with me, even if they are very good, can't find a place in the industry. They can't break into the Canadian industry, whether Quebecois or English-speaking. Even if they "crush" English or French, they don't speak with the accent the television or film industry requires. Film is a "give and take" thing. An actor receives but is giving something back.
That's why, Tony, regardless of all the reviews you might want to write or that any friend might write, or the fact they want to show it at INSTAR, my dream is to show this film here in Montreal. I owe that to my actors and actresses. Actors need to see themselves on a movie screen. Opening night is very important. They don't want to see the film on YouTube and share a link with anyone. Actors want to see their movies in the theater on gala night. Every actor and every musician wants to do that: showcase their work in front of an audience, not showcase it in secret. This is a performing art. Audiovisual, but also scenic. I owe that to my actors. link a nadie. Los actores quieren ver su película en el cine en la noche de gala. Todo actor y todo músico quieren hacer eso: exhibir su obra ante el público; no exhibirla escondido. Esto es un arte escénico. Audiovisual, pero también escénico. Les debo eso a mis actores.
I often feel angry because I have not been able to exhibit it in Montreal at the big festivals held here. And that's what I'm struggling with. If it's shown in Mexico, fine; if it's shown in Argentina, okay; if it's shown in Cuba, also; but where I really want to screen it is here, in its home country.
How did defining processes for a film, like pre-production and casting, go?
I created a new Facebook account because my old one was hacked, and I started searching through groups like ‘Montreal Filmmakers’, ‘Montreal Artist’, ‘Montreal Underground’... all of those. And I found Mike Som. I always say he's the soul of this film. A beautiful person. He's Cambodian-Congolese. I explained my situation to him. I said, "Man, I don't feel good; I need to make this film to feel better, blah, blah, blah. I come from Cuba; I'm a filmmaker," and he said, "Don't worry. I'll come to your house and bring some beers after work, and we'll talk". Then he brought a videographer, and told me: "I'm going to help you". And that was it.
We prepared the first shoot. So you see, it was the scene with the Tamil Indians from South India, which is where Sadguruh comes from, and also Visvanātaṉ Āṉant, former world chess champion. I rehearsed a lot with them. One was my roommate, Bharath; the others were his friends. They are all computer scientists.
We rehearsed for about a week to be able to do the scene. They had never worked on a movie before. Mike Som came, the photographer came and brought other friends. Mike did the sound. Paula, a Cuban film student - daughter of Otto and Tamara, two santiagueros I had met a few months earlier - came as assistant director. And we finished it.
Then, I began posting on social media that we had started shooting. Even though I still didn't have a leading actress. I contacted several actresses through social media. Many of them said no until one accepted, and we met. Then we did a shoot with the first "Nicole".
I had worked in a music video as an actor a year before. I met many actresses there, including the Mexican Myriam Lopez, also a beautiful person, who plays the character of Alexandra. I contacted her, and she helped me. Myriam referred me to the Chilean Camilla Purdy, who plays the "Nicole" of the bridge and cafe scenes. They were co-workers. Camilla recommended me to Umar Chaudhry, whom I have become close friends with. His dad is from Pakistan, and his mom is from Jamaica. He helped me a lot. At his parents' house, we shot the scenes at the gym and the scenes in which we left the restaurant where the characters work, and have a conversation.
Very beautiful people joined the film. They were all willing to work for free. I had already done that in Santiago de Cuba. I had convinced a lot of people to work for free. Maybe it may sound egotistical, but as I come from a black family and a white family, I lived in the suburbs but was also an athlete. I can deal with human beings, with their differences and their madness, with criminals, with intelligent people, with blacks, with whites. I think this is my greatest talent as a filmmaker: I can deal with human beings, look them straight in the eye, and tell them what I need. They sense my sincerity and maybe pity me; I don't know.
That's really what 'A Man Under the Influence' is: a film that saved my life. More than for artistic ego, I needed to make it. I feel much better now. Of course, it has left me in debt. I had seven thousand dollars in my bank account, and it all went on the film. I've had to pay the entry fees to festivals. I'm still working, and, little by little, I'm recovering financially, but it's my family's money, for my wife and son. I leaped into the void, and I still haven't fully recovered.
How underground and how independent is A Man under His Influence?
I was talking about what an immigrant suffers, not only as working class but also as artists. It is difficult for an immigrant actor to integrate. I have the impression that today it is much harder than before. In those films of the sixties, seventies, and early eighties that were shot in Europe, in those co-productions that were made between Italy, France, England -sometimes Germany came in, you saw actors of different nationalities. For example, in ‘For a Few Dollars More’, Leone's third film, you have Kinski who is German, Volonté who is Italian, and you have Clint Eastwood who is American. And they were actors who spoke with different accents. It was allowed. It was super crazy stuff. That was one of the most beautiful and tolerant times in the history of cinema in terms of diversity and creativity.
In a recent conversation, you told me that ‘A Man Under His Influence’ is "not Cuban". Do you consider it to be Canadian, global, or extraterrestrial?
I am Cuban, and Lester Harbert Noguel, one of the actors in the film, is Cuban and plays a Cuban. There is a strong Cuban element in the piece, of course, there is. There are conversations about Cuba and the issue of Cuban migrants. But, when I shot it, I wanted it to be part of Montreal, part of its history, part of its independent cinema. I want it to be exhibited as a Montreal, Quebec film, but the two most important festivals in Quebec have rejected it.
I was telling Aparicio that the film director has to have pride. It's not a matter of arrogance but pride because it's very easy to throw the towel. There’s always that option. Everything in life leads you to stop making films; then, when the city where you shot the film rejects you, you have to say: "Fuck you, you know what: if you don't love me, I'm not going to love you either". And have high self-esteem, which is not the same as being arrogant. It's important to be confident about what you're doing and, if the film doesn't fit in Montreal, you find another port. I've seen a lot of talented people in this world throw in the towel, but I will never do that.
I think I told you in an interview that, if I ever left the country, I wanted to continue making films, that I couldn't see myself doing anything else. I was thinking that life is greater than anyone's desires.
Life always gives me lessons in humility. Let's talk about humility now. Life has things in store for you that you don't expect. I've had to do a lot of jobs, some of the ugliest jobs there have ever been. I've been in factories and seen how ruthless they are. I worked in one once, outside of Montreal. I really liked it because as soon as we got there the people from Quebec themselves told us, "Welcome, we need you." They were white, from right there. It's a meat packing plant; I worked in the cold. They respected the break and lunch times. By law, in Canada, when you have an eight-hour day, the company must give you two fifteen-minute breaks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, paid. You get a half-hour lunch break, but it is not paid.
I have been in other factories that only give lunch breaks and don’t pay for them. It's a terrible violation of workers' rights. I've lived it. I was working there. There is labor abuse. They take advantage of the immigrants who arrive poor and without money. Some are very decent and respect that, and they don't push you around, they don't harass you. I was telling Aparicio that, if my film was fighting for something, it was for the immigrant working class, because it is not the same to be a worker born here as being an immigrant.
I have always considered you an outsider in Cuba. How do you see yourself in Canada?
I never felt like an outsider in Cuba. Aparicio used to ask me why we stayed in Santiago, Carlitos [Melián], José Armando [Estrada], and me. It wasn't a matter of rebellion: Santiago is a big city. Cuba is a totally impoverished country now, but Santiago has it all as a city. It has beaches, it's multicultural, it has a cool bohemian scene, it has cafes. We really felt good in Santiago, we felt comfortable. We weren't staying out of rebellion.
In Santiago de Cuba we had our friends, our homes; we controlled the locations, we could shoot wherever we wanted: in a church, a bank, or a train station. We were known there. I don't think it was defiance; I haven't considered myself a rebel within the Cuban audiovisual industry. Of course, I would have liked my previous film, 'Chess Stories', to have had a better run. Everyone wants to exhibit their work; it's not a problem of arrogance, greed, or ambition. It's what it takes.
Scorsese has been promoting his latest film, The Killers of the Flower Moon, to get people to return to the cinema. And it's true. I saw it in the theater. It's the only one of his films I've seen in the theater. And it's wonderful, brother. The sound, the way it's constructed, the images, the timing. The film is very long, but you don't feel it. If I had been home, maybe I would have been bored, but in the cinema you enjoy it. I remember watching films at film festivals in Havana; I remembered watching ‘Inland Empire’, also a three-hour picture. It was ten o'clock in the morning, at the Riviera cinema, with my girlfriend. It was a delight. Cinema should be seen at the theater; it's how it's meant to be. That's what I wanted to happen with 'Chess Stories’.
Some institutions would have handled it better; for example, the ICAIC [Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry], whose job it is. Sometimes, when filmmakers complain about the ICAIC, it's not because we want something from them, but because it's the only institution we have, and it should do its job. But in Cuba, officials and institutions behave as if we were asking for charity. And it is not like that. They have to do their job.
Here, in a democracy, politicians are expected to. Journalists question what politicians say all the time. So does the opposition. Although it is true that there are only two parties and that almost always the same politicians are in the same circuit for years -one leaves the presidency but stays in an important ministerial post–, despite that, they know that they are watched all the time. They have to answer to the citizens because that is where their salaries come from.
But not in Cuba. Institutions and officials act as if we owe them something, when in fact, the little that the ICAIC or the Ministry of Culture may have is thanks to us Cubans. Whether it is the money that comes from remittances, from tourism... But who integrates the workforce of tourism: the Cubans. In the end, it is not the people who owe the politicians but the politicians who owe the people.
But in Cuba, we are threatened all the time. The function of the ICAIC should at least be the distribution of Cuban films. If they don't have money, which is the same nonsense we always hear, they should at least make an effort to distribute the two or three Cuban feature films that are shot every year.
How many feature films were made in the same year as ‘Chess Stories’? About four. Agosto by Armando Capó, Las campañas de invierno by Rafael Ramírez, and mine... And the ICAIC doesn't take care of them, brother. It doesn't care about sending those films to different festivals around the world, not even that which only takes an e-mail. In Cuba, there is still a lot of dirty laundry to wash. That's why my expectations are with Montreal and Canada. It's something I can and feel I can fix and improve. In Cuba, I felt like I was sailing against nothing, brother, and it was not the fault of any artist, colleague, or anything like that... It is difficult to sail against the current in Cuba, very difficult. Years go by and you bleed to death doing a piece and you don't see the economic results.
Just like the Spanish series ‘Raquel Looks for Her Place’: I am just another human being trying to find my place, my niche, to find comfort for me and my family. That's all I want. And thank you very much for the interview, brother. A hug.
You can read the original note here