In First Person Plural [+leggi anche:
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intervista: Sandro Aguilar
scheda film], world-premiering in IFFR’s Tiger Competition, Mateus and Irene (Albano Jerónimo and Isabel Abreu) want to celebrate their wedding anniversary in style. Instead, they end up questioning their 20 years together and experiencing vivid hallucinations that take them to places outside their comfort zone. Director Sandro Aguilar breaks down his film for us.

Cineuropa: There’s certainly humour in the film’s craziness and in the exaggerated performances. Was this something you were actively looking for?
Sandro Aguilar: In the past, I have also explored genre, which usually allows you to be playful. This time, I really wanted to use humour, also because my characters are in a difficult spot. They are trying to dig themselves out of a hole through imagination and fantasy – and humour. They use it as a shield. I use it more as a way to open up to the audience – in a new way, using different tools from my previous work, which was very experimental, with a sort of nightmarish atmosphere. I haven’t allowed myself to embrace humour before, at least not this explicitly.

Some people get this kind of comedy immediately, and they just go with it – others just get more depressed [laughs]. I was also looking for a “classic” look for the film. I was thinking about James Bond movies from the 1960s, silent movies, old musicals and horrors. It’s a mix of many things, but they are never contemporary. I guess you can tell that I like these old films more than what’s coming out today, with their simple solutions to complex problems. Apart from one shot where you see a mobile phone, First Person Plural creates its own reality. This couple creates another world for themselves – one they can actually control.

An element of fantasy is quite common in relationships. Everyone knows stories about long-time couples who go out, pretending to be on their first date once again.
Yes, they role-play; it’s a way to reset. Here, they do it as an existential thing – not to save a marriage, but to save themselves. They are together on a ship that’s sinking and are struggling to stay afloat surrounded by that deep sea where they could easily drown. You understand the core of it all through the choreography of their movements. It says a lot about the balance of power – there are relationships where it feels like you’re always negotiating.

With my cast and crew, we all felt what was right for this film. It was a very intuitive process. I’m also an editor, and sometimes I just edit without the sound, for example. I’m too aware of all of the mechanics of filmmaking, so I’m interested in playing chess without any rules. You have to understand them first, but then part of the pleasure comes from abandoning them completely.

Your actors express more with their bodies than with their faces. It also reminded me of silent films, like you just mentioned.
I don’t like it when you are showing too much – when you do that as a director, it’s like you are misusing your power. An actor’s face is incredibly powerful on screen. I always tend to go for the minimalist approach. I do that with the camera, with the editing and with the way I work with the actors. They know they need to portray even the most extravagant behaviour with some kind of emotional detachment. When there’s only one tear, it hits differently. The whole premise of the film has to do with creating masks and getaways through fantasies. They are already role-playing, so they can’t overact.

You said you became “too aware” of all of the mechanics of filmmaking. Is that why you needed to challenge yourself, too?
I was a bit disappointed with filmmaking for a while, also as a producer. I had to find other ways; I had to do something I hadn’t done before. It’s the very first screening, so I don’t know if the viewers will respond to it yet. People say they are open to experiments and fresh approaches, and then they want the same thing. I’m certainly trying to surprise them and change the rules they are automatically expecting.

When that happens, the first reaction is one of resistance, and then some people decide to go along with it. Others resent you if they don’t understand the story, thinking you are hiding things from them. It’s not a completely abstract film, but it does play with the possibility of things moving away from reality. You are wondering if it’s taking place in Lisbon or some unknown area, and if these people are from the 1940s or the 1960s. They act like they can transcend the limitations of time and space, but we can still relate to their suffering, I hope. I notice that films tend to simplify things: there’s past, present and future. In our minds, it’s more complicated than that. I like to reflect that. In my story, two things can occupy the same space at the same time, and there’s no problem with it. You just have to accept it.