About the Director
I was born in 1975 and grew up in the 80s. Since I was three, my dad -who sells electric materials and is a neighbourhood movie buff- took me to the movies two or three times a week. Those were the first days of video (I remember having a fever and my dad coming home with a bag with fifteen or twenty movies) and the last days of Super 8 films (I anxiously expected the screening of the 17-minute version of Superman and Star Wars "selected scenes" each weekend). I prayed it would rain so that whatever sport I was practising would be cancelled and they would take me to the movies. I was captivated by everything related to cinema, anything from Sábados de Super Acción, El Mundo del Espectáculo, the Kenia Sharp Club or the after midnight film included in the Trasnoche Aurora Grundig, to the long conversations with video store owners. Walking along Lavalle Street simply looking at the posters of upcoming releases was better than going to an amusement park or to the arcade. The movies were an essential part of my education and turned into a lens through which I see, dream, imagine, and remember things. While this lens was forming, to me "cinema" was, with the exception of White Mane and The Red Balloon, the American cinema of the 60s, 70s and 80s: Coppola, Spielberg, Friedkin, De Palma, Scorsese, Cameron and Carpenter. Woody Allen, Hitchcock and Leone. But there were also the James Bond films, the buddy movies of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill, or Franco Nero dragging his coffin in Django. Names so nice to pronounce went around: Sam Peckinpah, Ernest Borgnine, Lee Marvin or Steve McQueen. My Jewish education caused me to have an assorted variety of heroes. On one hand, there was "Dirty" Harry; on the other, Tevye the milkman, interpreted by Topol in Norman Jewison's Fiddler on the Roof. I remember the excitement of seeing any poster drawn by Drew Struzan (or in his style) which promised fascinating universes (Back to the Future, The Goonies and Gremlins, Innerspace, Secrets of the Luxor Pyramid) or the happiness of reading in the credits that John Williams, Ennio Morricone's name, or Carlo Rambaldi, were the cartoonist. Romantic comedies, biblical stories, musicals, space films and more perturbing films (from Time Bandits to Stand by Me), trial films, espionage films, R rated films, police films: Axel Foley, Riggs and Murtaugh, John McClane, 48 hours, Midnight Run. Those films and so many others received no awards, and are not used in film school, because they did not change cinematographic language but kept it alive. As time passed, I grew up, travelled, read, went to film school; my preferences became broader through the contact with my classmates and teachers. Nevertheless I still have a peculiar attraction for those films which reflect the director's ideas, opinions or vision of the world, remaining faithful to the idea of it being a show. And besides cinema, there is life with all its intensity and complexity. Now that the movie is finished, I realize that I worked on the line which separates the real world -that of our work, the country we live in, our partner, and all other aspects of adult life- from the universe of cinema. I realize that even without intending to do so, I took care of making that line even thinner. On one hand, in order to cross the threshold of everyday life and visit the territories of great adventures of the films that captivated me so much when I was a child lead by characters rather close - characters we could very well become or meet. And on the other hand, to explore the inverse procedure: to introduce into adult life some elements that used to be more frequent in cinema. I'm not referring only to certain fantastic elements or to the action sequences but to values as simple as courage, honesty, and camaraderie.