CARLOS SAURA: ON THE SET OF ‘IBERIA’. SPECIAL FEATURE

Flamenco... on the set!

Silvia Calado. Madrid, January 2005
Translation: Gary Cook

Stand by, and... Roll 'em! The clapperboard gives the signal. And Carlos Saura gives the instruction to “Just act like you were at home.” Action. Feet start to brush gently across the polished wooden floor. The mirrors reflect the image of a group of young ballet dancers in casual dress, led by Aida Gómez. The lights define the space, warm, glowing. And the group advance to the sound of the opening bars of Isaac Albéniz's ‘Sevilla’, adapted for the occasion to a sevillanas structure by guitarist José Antonio Rodríguez.

Paco Mora (Photo Daniel Muñoz)

17-1. Second take. This is to be the closing scene of the movie ‘Iberia’, a musical that recreates the Catalan songwriter's ‘nouvelles impressions’ with a flamenco angle, to mark the centenary of what was the pinnacle of his life's achievement. The fact that the ‘Gran finale’ is performed 'por sevillanas' is no coincidence - according to the director, “musically-speaking sevillanas always struck me as something beautiful.” And the music on set that January morning - the last day of shooting - does true justice to this quote from the book of photographs ‘Flamenco’.

Unfazed by the silent to-ings and fro-ings of the film crew, the dancers continue to slowly move forward, their bodies upright, their arms curved, their expressions held tensely. From the control booth, the director's watchful gaze, veiled by his black hat, seems to lead them back toward their own reflections. The cameras film them from the front, from the sides, from above, at floor level... spying on them impertinently. With no apparent signal, the group breaks up, and the scene becomes one of a meeting on a street corner, where the conversation follows a sevillanas pattern. First sevillana. Second sevillana. Third sevillana. And the dancers suddenly group into a huddled mass as the powerful Paco Mora makes his presence felt. When Carlos Saura discovered the artist who was to play Herodes in the movie ‘Salomé’, he admitted he “wasn't aware there existed a bailaor with those characteristics: huge, solid, powerful, virile”. And he didn't want to be without him for this new production. Fourth.

Carlos Saura, the epicenter

The scene has to be done again, such is the meticulous nature of the film industry. The director comes down onto the set. His figure stands out from among the cosmopolitan gathering of actors, as if illuminated by some unseen spotlight. Everything revolves around his presence. With an outstretched arm, he re-drew the line along which Paco Mora's movements are to continue. In the words of the bailaor himself, “Carlos Saura has a great virtue, and that is that he knows just what he wants to get out of every number, out of every artist and out of every patch of light on the stage.” Everybody's asked to get in place for the second take. Action... Cut. The director comes down to talk with Aida Gómez. His instructions are more about attitude than they are about execution. So just before the clapperboard marks the next take, his serene voice tells all present to: “Remember: joy and enthusiasm.”

Photo: Daniel Muñoz

Photo: Daniel Muñoz

José Antonio Rodríguez's guitarwork is, once again, a delight. Percussionist and bassist play alongside the discerning guitarist, whose creations are much sought after by today's leading dance companies. The light is warm. The guitar is warm. ‘Déjà vu’ on the set. Children, teenagers, men and women... all of them 'por sevillanas'. “Why are sevillanas so taboo in the world of flamenco? Why that disrespect?” Whether he gets an answer or not, Carlos Saura carries on with his mission to put them firmly back on the flamenco map... just as he plans to do here with Isaac Albéniz who, like his contemporaries Manuel de Falla and the famous group of poets known as the 'Generación del 27', deliberately bathed his work in this popular Spanish - more precisely Andalusian - style.

“¡Con alegría, por favor!” Carlos Saura makes his appeal for joy, firmly. It feels like the final take. And hopefully it is. ...dos, tres, cuatro. All walk slowly toward where the musicians are, almost holding their breath. A heavy silence. And at last comes the director's eagerly-awaited proclamation: it's a wrap. Shouts. Applause. Uproar. A few photos for the album. The shooting is almost over, after days of intense work.

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