Reel Movie Critic

Like Guevara, Actor Gael Garcia Bernal Travels Journey of Social (and Artistic) Discovery

Two years ago, I wrote that Gael Garcia Bernal was…”hands down the most magnetic young actor in movies today.” Boasting an impressive hit list of muscular performances, he’s etched out such memorable characters as the swooning, feral Mexican teen in Amores Perros, the sweetly oblivious and sexually liberated youth in Y Tu Mama Tambien, and the quietly devastating, morally compromised young idealist in The Crime of Father Amaro. Bernal, with a long list of Spanish-language credits on his resume, seemed to come out of nowhere with a fully realized screen exoticism and startling versatility—a cinematic one-two punch.

2004 may be his best year yet. As The Motorcycle Diaries’ young Ernesto Guevara, whose eyes are opened to the social and economic injustices visited upon Latin America, circa 1952, Bernal displays a vulnerability and goodness of heart that almost makes you forget Guevara’s radical next lifetime. Later this year, Bernal does an about face with a flamboyantly sensual, darkly homoerotic triple turn in Pedro Almodovar’s Bad Education.

There seems to be nothing this twenty-six-year-old actor can’t do. I recently caught up with Gael—and had a difficult time hiding my inner fan-boy—to chat about The Motorcycle Diaries. He proved as charismatic in person as onscreen, exploring topics from Guevara to the Latin American movie industry, from the search for identity to making movies as an act of love.

Lee Shoquist, ReelMovieCritic.com: You’ve chosen twice now to play Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara at two different times in his life. Can you talk about why there is this cultural fascination with Che? I’m not sure many young audiences today really ‘get’ what he was all about, actually.

Gael Garcia Bernal: Well, not only the young audiences; mature audiences as well. The knowledge of Che Guevara has been incredibly perverted in a way, though ignorance, basically. Now it’s not even in public schools. The Cuban Revolution is barely even touched, even though it’s such a recent episode in history. But at the same time, it was immediate—the response—and the universality of such a story that touches people. Because it’s a journey of discovery. It’s a journey of finding one’s identity. It becomes something special because it was the beginning of the conscience of Ernesto Guevara.

It could be anybody at that age, a twenty-three-year-old guy traveling around; twenty-three-year-old Latin American traveling around his country. The response was emotive and very spontaneous as well. We have all been young. We are all in a search, so people empathize. I think people pick up and try to learn more about the character and about who this person was, which is good because it’s good to analyze and go back and revisit history this way, so as to understand why we are at the place we are right now.

LS: Can you elaborate on this whole idea of the spiritual awakening as it relates to this film? As you said, it’s a process we all go through. And I’m wondering if you might talk about your life of the last few years and what you’ve gone through. I know that theme also runs through Y Tu Mama Tambien as well—this loss of innocence between two friends.

GGB: I think the difference between Y Tu Mama Tambien and this one is that they are both (about) the search and the discovery to find one’s identity, but these characters are playing themselves as mature people. In the case of Y Tu Mama Tambien, they were traveling and completely oblivious to their social context. And the purpose of Ernesto and Alberto traveling around Latin America was to get in touch with that context. So I hope that there is a huge difference in the intention these characters wanted to do.

Sometimes you do those journeys—I’ve experienced those journeys with that in mind—to get in touch with who I am and where I live. In every single journey you do around your country or territory—wherever you go—you find yourself, in a way, but also you get to know a place that you share.

I was just in Texas, and Texas is like a universe in itself. It belongs to the people that live there. Territory should belong to the people who live in that place. It doesn’t matter where they come from. Whoever lives in a territory should own that place. The people that work the land should own the land—not someone 6000 miles away.

The whole border of Mexico and the United States is a very special story. But in Latin America, the borders are completely arbitrary and fictitious. They don’t really apply to any reality because there is no need for that border to exist. It was just an administrative and bureaucratic borderline that was drawn. It was like the division of Africa. People were divided one day—now you were from Kenya, now you were from Egypt… It was all arbitrarily placed. The same happened in Latin America.

And ever since I was thirteen or fourteen, my experience has been (that), in a way, I started to travel for that purpose. I mean, kind of with that purpose but not with that object in mind. Inevitably it changes. If I traveled to the mountains to read and write, I was also traveling because there was a girl in the same course I liked. It ended up changing and having another significance.

LS: What about the idea of being an actor—not only obviously physically traveling to far off places to do the work, but also traveling, in a sense, emotionally in your roles? You do something like Che Guevara but then go on to work with Almodovar on Bad Education in a completely different psychological place. Do those fictional polarities help you understand who you are?

GGB: Oh yeah, yeah! Acting, like any other job, is a path to wisdom; a path to get to know things. But acting, in its very special, beautiful way, offers it to you in a completely different way. And sometimes in an abstract sense as well, by creating something; some kind of weird character that doesn’t necessarily exist, but you make it so convincing that it might as well exist. You get to learn a lot about the human condition; about yourself. At the same time, it’s really nice to be aware of that. That process of investigation with a character is so enjoyable; you can learn so much. And sometimes that process is completely thrown away with certain films that don’t require that. I’m not saying that every character has to be historical. It’s just the type of life that the character lives—the skills or the life that character lives, when you do that investigation and experiment for yourself. Sometimes that opportunity is wasted and it’s very sad when that happens.

LS: Are you saying there’s a difference when you are playing a character that’s a historical figure? For instance, is there a difference in the level of responsibility you feel bringing someone like Che to the screen as opposed to a fictitious character?

GGB: Yeah, there’s a different responsibility, especially with a character like this. The thing is that this character is one of the models or icons in history. The second World War is an important event for my life because the way I was born. If the second World War hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here talking. It’s such an important event. But at the same time, Ernesto Guevara is perhaps even closer to me, with much more relevance. If you put it in ranking order, for me, Ernesto Guevara is a person that definitely shaped the country and the ideologies and recent history of Latin America, (which) were based upon the Cuban Revolution. And therefore it’s a great responsibility not only to myself but also because of what it means to many people around the world, for good or for bad.

LS: Last night at the screening a funny question came up. A woman in the audience asked you about the rewards of making films and your motivations and so forth. You’re probably one of the most bankable stars today in Latin American cinema. Yet there still must be tremendous obstacles as an actor to making many of those films.

GGB: (Imitating sound of cash register) Cha-ching! It’s funny. I don’t know. The question she asked was, ‘Well, apart from the money, why do you make films?’ (laughs). It was like, ‘What?’ (laughs). I was completely surprised because she really didn’t know! It’s like, ‘Apart from the money? No. Just that. It’s the only reason why!’

Yeah, doing films in Latin America is like an act of faith. I mean, you really have to believe in what you’re doing because if not, you feel like it’s a waste of time because you might as well be doing something that at least pays you the rent. It is an act of faith; an act of love, perhaps; an act of trying to tell a story. Therefore, when you get involved in the production it’s incredibly, incredibly stimulating and positive, and you feel a sense of belonging from whatever position you’re working in that film, from the driver to the cameraman. Everyone feels a sense of ownership and co-authorship in the piece. Everyone participates. There’s a strong work ethic, which is great. At the same time, even though it’s a passion, they are bankable sometimes and they make money. Still, it hasn’t generated an inertia that makes an industry.

We have to fight against the odds. I think the most important thing is to have a platform of something to say; stories to tell. And if that is not developed, then we cannot develop anything. But first of all it’s that point of view. Then after the stories are there, then there has to be a strong fight, putting back together the pieces that will protect films from Mexico or Latin America. The Matrix can come to Mexico and they’re going to go with 800 copies; 1500 copies. And there’s not a single law that says no.

So sometimes there is no space for films to come out. And we don’t have the money or support to make a big publicity campaign. Film is such a game and a business. If they would tell me right now that the every single film that I’m going to see in the next year is going to be bad, I would still go. It fulfills a necessity. And if there are 1500 copies of The Matrix in Mexico, you’ll go because you want to go to the cinema regardless of what it is.

At the same time, when something is good—regardless of the push that comes behind it or the infrastructure or publicity or whatever—the word spreads incredibly and sustains it, and sometimes it’s very relieving. So we have to fight against many of those odds, which definitely as time passes and as things happen, you start to establish and open the door to many other people and to yourself as well, and to have a face that is needed. It’s not that you deserve it, it’s that there is a need for this space to be fulfilled. And it needs to get bigger and stronger. It would be great if you deserve it and you were there as well.

LS: You said a couple years ago that you were more interested in sort of carving out your career in Latin American cinema, which you have done, and that the calling of Hollywood and the roles that would almost inevitably be offered to you in there would not be interesting or challenging. Along the same lines, I remember an interview I once read with Salma Hayek, who told a story about being up for a role in a science fiction film where she’s be on a spaceship crew. Apparently, the director liked her test but someone else in the studio said, ‘No way. No one wants to see someone in this film who reminds them of their housekeeper.’ And now you are creating this kind of young icon status in high-profile Latin American and international cinema. I’m wondering how you feel now about that same issue of being a Latin American actor fitting into Hollywood. I know your friend Diego Luna has made a series of Hollywood films and has been doing interesting work, and now has a very good role in Criminal.

GGB: Well, plans of working in the United States, there’s nothing concrete. And I don’t necessarily- that prejudice might exist. Things happen like that. But at the same time, I’m sure Salma Hayek wouldn’t say no to playing a story that’s interesting about a housekeeper, although housekeepers rarely have the looks of Salma Hayek! Salma Hayek is one of the most beautiful women in the world. It’s very rare to find her in any position; in any job!

But what I mean by that is that I don’t hold any prejudice against doing a certain role. I don’t have any problem doing a janitor, because if there’s a character there, I don’t mind. It’s not about trying to make a character that is a Latin immigrant who makes it and has a lot of money. I don’t judge it like that. I do have a judgment with characters that become the wacky ethnic sidekick. And that falls into that category of ridiculous. And then you go, ‘Why?’ Why should they benefit from you? It becomes something about ‘they.’ Why should they use you in that way? And that is something that I’m not interested in. Some people might do it and it’s great. It doesn’t matter. But I’m just not interested because there are more interesting things like The Motorcycle Diaries and Bad Education—things and stories that fall more into place with what I want to tell, and are better stories that are more interesting, and kind of offer me a window of knowledge that these other films don’t.

LS: Although you are finally making an American film—The King, which comes out next year. Can you feel a difference working on a film that has a more substantial budget?

GGB: It’s a 1.5 million budget, which is nothing. Amores Perros cost 1.3 million or so. The thing is that here you get less for that money. The experience was the same—nobody was there because of the money. It was nice. It was the first time I had a place to change my clothes. The first time I had a trailer. It was really comfortable.

LS: Going back to The Motorcycle Diaries, I’d like to talk about the ‘big’ scene near the end of the film, which has to do with a river crossing. I think that is one of the great, great movie scenes, at least in recent memory. And I wonder if you might give me some insight into the creation of that scene. I know what it means of course, thematically, but for you as an actor, go back to that moment.

GGB: It was three nights of swimming. Three nights of swimming in the Amazon, in the night, in the river. It was really intense. It’s the moment in the film—in the journey—when the character decides to be on one side of the river, to celebrate the other side, to be with those people. And that’s where he should live. And I think those moments in life come to everyone like that. They come in such a way that you see that it’s either this way or that way, and sometimes we’re not careful to listen and to be conscious of that. But we need to make a decision, you know? I don’t know. Whenever choices are put forward to you, you have to decide, and one thing leads to a certain life and the other leads to a certain life. And you have a certain preference to one or the other. In this case one was about living well and being a successful doctor, and the other was about living where he should live; where his duty is.

And I think that is the significance of that scene. We obviously underlined and stressed it. If you read the diaries, it’s not such a big deal. He did cross the river, but he didn’t do it on the day of his birthday. It was just for the sake of, ‘Let’s see who crosses from here to there and see who gets (there) first.’ But in the dramatic structure it became certainly a cathartic point of which side of the river you want to live. Perhaps that’s the ultimate question that the film offers: ‘On which side of the river will you be?” It could be very cheesy as well. I’m glad that you saw it that way and that it got to you.