Dos Veces Tú

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
A few years ago I finished Dos Veces Tú, a film that stayed with me for much longer than I imagined. At the time, it was described as “a visually stunning and emotionally brutal exploration unlike anything else in 2019 cinema” (Glenn Kenny, The New York Times), and over the years I understood that this quest to break down structures was also a mirror of my own life.

What that critic didn't know is that the process of making the film was, indeed, emotionally brutal for me. There were more than twenty editing cuts, many changes, and doubts along the way. And perhaps it's unlike anything else because, in the end, it was a direct reflection of my own essence.

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
I learned that nonlinear narrative is not an aesthetic whim, but a way of translating emotional chaos. At the time, Dos Veces Tú he had “a singular vision, a puzzle where the viewer must put the story together for himself” (Film Threat), and that marked me.

I unlearned the need to control everything. The film taught me that chance and intuition can be more powerful than precision. That an accident—in history or in life—can reveal a truth you didn't know you were looking for.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
Duality. Mirror. Guilt. Rebirth. I was obsessed with the idea of ​​how a single decision can fracture reality. The film “explores female intimacy from the perspective of wounds and desire” (Girls at Films), and I think that sums up well what motivated me: to look at what breaks, but also what is transformed.

Emotionally, I was living in a state of confusion and vertigo. I had just had my first daughter, I had changed work environments, I had recently separated from my lifelong partners, and I was beginning a new chapter. I was venturing into the world of coffee; it was almost simultaneous with the opening of our first shop. Quentin in Álvaro Obregón and that upstairs, in the Fosforescente offices, it was produced Dos Veces Tú.

I was taking a risk, betting everything on making my film at all costs. After several disappointments with Eficine and with different producers, things were finally starting to move. What I didn't know was that the real journey was just beginning. It was as if the story were writing me. That's why the film doesn't quite end—because neither do grief, love, and identity. 

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
Yes, many. It's difficult to go back almost ten years to remember which films influenced me, but without a doubt Tarantino, Woody Allen, David Lynch and Richard Linklater were influential: since I was a kid I wanted to copy something of their style.

One of the best fruits I harvested with Dos Veces Tú The day came when I read this review: “Imagine putting Pulp Fiction, Memento, Sliding Doors, Abre los ojos, Mulholland Drive and Y tu mamá también in a blender… and it still doesn't come close, because Dos Veces Tú has such a unique style that it's a singular vision."Film Threat) I was surprised because they mentioned my exact influences without knowing it. I never mentioned them in interviews; the critic, Andy Howell, didn't know me beyond a brief chat at the Santa Barbara Film Festival after-party, where the film had its US premiere, though he didn't see it there. Someone leaving the screening recommended it to him, and I later sent him a link.

I remember that after reading that review I sent Andy an email in all caps: I LOVE YOU, MAN. Finally, someone understood me; someone—a renowned critic—saw my film and wrote that beautiful piece. It seemed almost poetic that he recognized it instinctively. I think that confirms that the truest influences are those that stay with you, not those you cite.

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
I've learned to live without making films. Since the pandemic, I moved to Cuernavaca, and there's no film industry here. I tried: I applied to Eficine at least ten times in a row, with different projects—both my own scripts and those of other authors—but when life made it clear to me that it wasn't the time to film, I decided to listen to it.

Then all my creative energy was channeled towards Gramo, the coffee brand that has become my new artistic territory. But people often ask me if I'm going to make films again, and I always reply that I'm semi-retired, that I've already directed three films, and that I'm satisfied. Although, inevitably, a smile escapes me, and I say yes: I would love to make another film.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
Tough question. I've been out of the Mexico City food scene for five years, so my recommendations are probably outdated, but one place I've always loved is Tachinomi Desu, a small Japanese stand-up bar in the Juárez neighborhood. It has something very honest about it: no pretension, no tables, just good food, sake, and conversation.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
The soundtrack would be done by Nation of Language, a band I only recently discovered thanks to Live on KEXP. I listen to them almost daily, and they have that melancholic yet cool synth sound, like restrained hope. The title would be The redemption of boredom. 

Recommend one or more artists you follow who inspire you, and tell us what you like most about their work or their way of working.
I'm going to go off on a tangent here, but I think everyone is an artist. Stephen Curry, for example, is a basketball artist. The NBA season is just starting today as I'm writing this, and he probably only has a few games left, so we should take advantage of it and watch him play. 

Leonard Cohen, too. I recently met some of his fans who helped me discover layers of his work I wasn't aware of. His entire discography is worth revisiting, as is R.E.M.'s. And I just stumbled upon the Live Vol. 1 by Parcels, one of the best concerts I've seen on YouTube.

Regarding books, The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer, changed my understanding of consciousness, and The Sabbath by Abraham Joshua Heschel, reminded me of the importance of pausing, of inhabiting time with meaning.