email print share on Facebook share on Twitter share on LinkedIn share on reddit pin on Pinterest

FILMS / CRITIQUES Espagne

Critique : Me cuesta hablar de mí

par 

- Chema de la Peña aborde, avec respect et admiration, la figure de Charo López, actrice espagnole à la beauté aussi franche que sa personnalité

Critique : Me cuesta hablar de mí
Charo López dans Me cuesta hablar de mí

Cet article est disponible en anglais.

Although it is not mentioned in Me cuesta hablar de mí [+lire aussi :
bande-annonce
fiche film
]
, Salamanca native Charo López snubbed none other than Pedro Almodóvar when he suggested that she star in Matador: it was a high-voltage, erotic and violent role (portraying a serial killer), which was finally embodied by Assumpta Serna. This subject is not tackled in this documentary directed by Chema de la Peña (Salamanca, 1964, also the man behind Mario y los perros [+lire aussi :
bande-annonce
fiche film
]
, a film centring on Mario Vargas Llosa), but it was brought up a few days ago, during the Q&A following the preview screening of the film, which lands in select Spanish movie theatres on 3 March.

(L'article continue plus bas - Inf. publicitaire)

It’s true that years later, López did work with the Manchegan filmmaker on Kika, taking on a supporting role (she played the mother of the protagonist’s partner), but surprisingly, nor is this mentioned in this cinematic study of her career. However, the names of other great directors are definitely scattered throughout this decidedly overembellished tribute: from Luis Buñuel, who demanded that she be the Virgin Mary in The Milky Way (a role that, in the end, she was unable to play; the reason why is revealed in the movie), to Gonzalo Suárez, who discovered her sheer magnetism when he saw her walk into her house, arm in arm with her first husband, then critic Jesús García de Dueñas.

Charo López has always been strongly linked with intellectuality. With her striking beauty (some people even compared her to Ava Gardner), perennial bags under her eyes and her deep voice, the actress, whose full name is María del Rosario López Piñuelas, has always preferred to latch onto this facet of her career, rather than another, less classy, one – because, like so many other pretty girls during Spain’s transition to democracy, she succumbed to the exhibitionist demands imposed on her by the relaxation of sexual censorship that reigned supreme at that time.

However, without a shadow of a doubt, the underlying conflict in the wake of all the archive footage that we see in Me cuesta hablar de mí is nothing more than the tyranny and the curse of beauty itself. The diva did not wish to watch the film together with the legions of fans that congregated in the Cineteca Madrid for its premiere on 24 February, preferring to stay at home and confront that cruel mirror that is the screen all by herself. The actress admits that during her career, she found it hard to prove that there was raw talent behind her photogenic physique, but also that when people stopped flattering her, she didn’t like it at all.

The contradictions, deceitfulness and paradoxes of the acting profession and fame itself (which López gained thanks especially to her work on television, with series of the likes of Fortunata y Jacinta and Los gozos y las sombras) are what constitute the most disturbing undercurrent in Me cuesta hablara de mí, a work rooted in respect and admiration for a woman who was incredibly important in the Spanish film world during the last few decades of the 20th century.

Me cuesta hablar de mí – a documentary that was selected for the most recent Seminci, which is narrated by Raúl Arévalo, and which contains testimonies from her friend Julieta Serrano, filmmaker Montxo Armendáriz (who directed her in Secrets of the Heart, for which Charo López won a Goya Award for Best Supporting Actress in 1997) and author Manuel Hidalgo, among others – is a production by Tu luz y mi calma (Chema de la Peña’s own company, which is also distributing it and is taking care of its sales), which secured support from RTVE and FlixOlé.

(L'article continue plus bas - Inf. publicitaire)

(Traduit de l'espagnol)

Vous avez aimé cet article ? Abonnez-vous à notre newsletter et recevez plus d'articles comme celui-ci, directement dans votre boîte mail.

Privacy Policy