06/09/2024 - The Spanish filmmaker explains the origin of his commissioned film, his desire to avoid using realism purely to shock, and his intention for the movie to be a humorous portrait of complex family ties

On 6 September, the new documentary by Adrián Silvestre, May Your Will Be Done [+see also:
film review
interview: Adrián Silvestre
film profile], lands in Spanish theatres courtesy of DocsBarcelona Distribución, after having taken part in the Thessaloniki Documentary Film Festival and DocsBarcelona, where it picked up the Docs Jury Award - Antaviana. It centres on the figure of his own father, with whom he hasn’t had a relationship to speak of for a while, and who, stricken by illness, wishes to end his life.

Cineuropa: Where did your desire to depict this situation – and in particular, to count on your father’s involvement – stem from?
Adrián Silvestre: The production companies behind the film (Nanouk Films, Atresmedia Cine and Producciones del Barrio) commissioned me to develop a project about euthanasia and the right to a dignified death. I spent months looking for stories, while still remaining faithful to the type of films I make: hopeful and imbued with a sense of humour. I mulled over various situations until I realised that what was happening in my own family was worthy of being recounted in the film, but I just didn’t want to see it. I talked to my sister and my mother about this project that I had to develop, and they told me: “Make it about Dad – you know that ever since he had a stroke, he has wanted to die and request euthanasia.” The problem was that I hadn’t seen him for 20 years. I talked to the production companies, and when they gave me the go-ahead, I made a pact with my father: we would have our reunion, and it would be filmed without us having seen each other beforehand. And so, the first encounter between us, which you see in the movie, is real. That’s how we began the project, spurred on by that initial idea of talking about euthanasia, only to find that there were then other themes to tackle, such as reunions and the sheer complexity of a family that has gradually been drifting apart. That’s how we embarked on this journey, which was also a journey to my roots, as I went back to Valencia and to the places of my childhood, my neighbourhood and the town where we used to spend the summer. My father and I revisited those places in order to say goodbye.

So there are no reconstructions?
It’s an out-and-out documentary, without any retakes. Everything happens exactly as you see it, and it only happened once.

This is the first time you have stepped in front of the camera, isn’t it?
Yes, the first and the last time. I didn’t fancy doing it, I couldn’t really be bothered, I was shy and afraid of exposing myself, but on the other hand, there was no other way around it: it’s a documentary, and I wasn’t going to use an actor to play me. I did it for, and because of, the project, but it’s not something I enjoy or that I’m good at. But I learned how to be in front of the camera while, out of the corner of my eye, keeping tabs on what was happening, with a monitor between my knees.

How did your father agree to become the main character?
At the start, it made me feel a bit dizzy. I told him about the idea that a film is like a marathon and can sometimes seem hard, involving long days of work, but I was lucky and I realised that he was going to be there, and he was even a whole cinematic character. He doesn’t mind if the camera is present, and he’s not fake at all, but rather completely natural.

How did the audience react to the movie during its world premiere at Thessaloniki?
I went along fearing this story would be too local and too personal. “Why would a viewer be interested in the story of my family?” I kept asking myself. I hoped that they would be, but we couldn’t be sure until it was premiered there. And it connected through emotion, which surprised me. I realised that almost everyone has conflicts with their families and disagreements with their parents. It happens to LGBTIQ+ people, but not only to them. Those people who had suffered estrangement from their father or who had lost a family member connected with it strongly because it was projecting their own lives. In that sense, being the director and also a character in the film, I saw how, in the conversations after the screenings, they steered it towards the human side and wanted to talk more with Adrián the son, rather than Adrián the director. There’s a cathartic element to May Your Will Be Done that leads the viewer to connect with his or her own stories more than with my family’s story. In that sense, it’s a universal tale because all families have problems, and we are all going to die at some point.

(Translated from Spanish)