Interview with Marco Berger - Beyond the Male Body as an Object of Desire

By Daniel Ruiz, (Twitter: @tatoruiz)

Having discovered the films of Argentine director Marco Berger (1977) in my early twenties, it was like a breath of fresh air, a journey into my interest in homoeroticism. It represented the closest representation of what I was beginning to experience as a gay man and what I wanted to experience as an adult. For me and many of my cinephile friends (and queer friends, of course), Marco Berger is an icon, an idol, and a representation of our most idyllic dreams; a cinematic reflection of our most romantic and also steamy fantasies. It must be said.

This reflection – mostly through the screens of our computers – has also been a journey of self-discovery and unmatched joy. I mention those computer screens because experiencing Berger's films outside of Argentina required sailing the seas of piracy. Outside of his home country and beyond the spaces of the film market or festivals, Berger was (and perhaps still is in some way) somewhat of an "outcast" as a director and has sometimes faced significant criticism due to political correctness.

It seems that even in a progressive world like that of cinema, there are marginalized queer individuals. Besides his talent for portraying atmospheres and tensions between characters, perhaps one of Berger's great strengths, as a director, screenwriter, producer, actor, and acting coach, has been his ability to survive in the world of Latin American indie cinema. This is curious within the already intriguing world of regional cinema.

Marco Berger is responsible for films like "Plan B," "Absent," or "Hawaii," in which the majority of protagonists represent the "G" in LGBTQ+; the different identities, gender expressions, and sexual orientations that characterize the queer community. His films openly explore male desire and present male bodies as objects of desire. This stance is a political, subjective, and aesthetic position that receives various types of criticism but also resonates with the authentic interests of his target audience. Berger's cinema, which includes titles like "Taekwondo," "The Blonde One," and "Young Hunter" (available on Netflix), also touches on themes of denouncement, melancholy, and romance.

At the beginning of July, one of my film projects, a short film called "Mi nombre es Delirio" (pardon the self-promotion), was selected for a project development lab at the LGBTQ+ film festival OutFest. It's quite a rarity for a country like Peru. Apart from the surprise of such an opportunity, I was also thrilled to have the chance to meet this cinematic idol. It was as if the universe, a universe heavily immersed in cinema, rewarded me in every possible way. Taking advantage of this gift from fate, I decided to use this window of complete cinephilia and genuine freedom to share my admiration for his cinematography. I proposed an interview to him before our mentor-student relationship began, and he gladly accepted. I aimed to avoid coming across as a mere enamored fan, so I prepared relatively serious questions about his already extensive career, which includes ten released feature films and several short films. I also wanted to discuss his most recent film, "Horseplay," which premiered in Peru at the festival and is available for the entire Latin American audience (at a fairly affordable price) through the platform of the Association of Film Directors of Argentina: cinevirtual.com.ar. In other words, this conversation with Marco Berger could be complemented by watching "Horseplay," and hopefully, even if you are not familiar with his work, you can still enjoy it.

I cannot help but clarify that after this interview and my experience being mentored by Berger, the twenty-something Daniel felt completely satisfied and stimulated.

Q: What is the film you value the most or consider the most significant in your filmography?

A: So far, among the released films, "Hawaii" is my favorite. I suppose it is the most personal film, with the least expectation. It was a breakthrough for me, as after winning the Teddy with "Absent," there was a lot of pressure regarding my future work. People wondered what I would do next. They expect careers to be an upward progression, and you should always come up with something big and superior, aspiring to greater things. So, I stepped back from that line to avoid putting too much personal pressure on myself and made a very small, very personal film. I didn't expect anything from it. In fact, it is the film that many fans consider their favorite, even if you can't believe it, and that's why it has a special magic for me. I love it!

Q: It could be said that what the audience likes about your films is that sense of hope and nostalgia, something that resonates with many gay men, like "I wish I could do that or have something like that." Do you think it goes in that direction?

A: I don't know, it could be. I think it might be because it speaks a lot about the internal world and the process of falling in love with another man. For these characters, the world is not the issue; they themselves are the issue. I believe it has to do with that. Again, I must say it's a very special film, with its own magic, and the ending is quite magical. Sometimes it's hard to explain why something is more liked than the rest. I like all my films. Fortunately, I'm proud of all my films, but I have no doubt that, so far, my favorite among the released ones is still "Hawaii." Now I'm about to release a film called "The Astronaut Lovers," a comedy that might take "Hawaii's" place and become my favorite film, but all of them have something special; "Plan B" is also the film that introduced me to the world and became a classic. "Absent" is also a very beautiful film and has the Teddy (Teddy Award, given to LGBTQ+ films at the Berlinale). "Taekwondo" was also a breakthrough film for me, although it hardly has a story; it's more like a dreamlike vacation journey.

Q: Remembering several of your films and the emotional void present in them, I wonder if Marco Berger's cinema is melancholic. Is it somewhat like that?

A: Perhaps. I hadn't thought of it that way, but it's true that it can be seen as romantic and melancholic, as many of them are. I guess I just prefer that, the daydreaming, the melancholy.

Q: In an interview, you told an anecdote about your short film "A Last Wish," how it narratively worked very well, and you had high hopes for it, but nothing happened. Then you made "The Watch," and with that short film, you realized that what moved you the most and what you wanted was to tell stories that seemed interesting to you, what you would like to see, instead of just wanting to please the audience. Is that still a premise?

A: Yes. From that point on, my entire career has been like that. I don't make films to please anyone else but myself, at first. Luckily, many people think alike, share my taste, and enjoy my films. I don't make things to please festivals, critics, or anyone else. This happened almost by force because I had high expectations for that short film and nothing happened, it circulated, of course, but only when I became known. Then I thought, "Well, I made a film to please people, and it didn't work out, so I have to do something that I like because even if nothing happens, at least it serves me." I made "The Watch," and that happened, and on top of that, it was selected at Cannes and opened up my entire career. So I realized that was the way to go. We must not forget that a film is like a work of art, despite being immersed in the market, critics, the public, and everything, it remains an artwork that has to be for me, something I like. It has to have a primary communication with me.

Q: In your films, there are certain masculine sensibilities that seem repressed, only coming out in intimacy. Could it be that your characters are trying to hide something, trying to hide their true selves, and pretend to be heterosexual to avoid violence against them, for example?

A: I see it the other way around, actually. I don't think my films are about characters hiding their true selves. My films show characters who don't fit certain stereotypes, something that is often denied in the gay world. There's a belief that if a man is masculine, he must be faking it or lying, which isn't necessarily true. Sometimes being gay seems like it's a profession for many people, but it's just a part of your life, which relates to your intimacy and sometimes only to your sexual intimacy; the rest doesn't change. So, I sometimes feel that I'm criticized for supposedly promoting false masculinity when, in fact, I'm representing men whose masculinity is not directly related to their sexual desires. It's neither good nor bad, neither better nor worse, and being gay doesn't necessarily have anything to do with it. I always say, "Imagine that if there are people who have the desire to wear a wig, high heels, and compete in RuPaul's Drag Race, we should also understand that there are people whose desire is to wear pants, spit on the street, or whatever it may be, because we all choose a character in life." Desire can be present, and your desire may be to ride a motorcycle or herd cows and be a tough cowboy while also being attracted to men. It's not about taking a specific stance; it's about each person's right to choose what they want. So, in my films, I sometimes protect that space, while other films may not. I never make a film about a transgender character because I don't know that world well enough, and I think it would also be disrespectful.

If someone brings me a script that I love, I would do it, but I would do it with a lot of respect because I also believe in being coherent with what I know. I wouldn't make a film about extreme poverty because I never experienced it. I'm a kind of middle-class guy from Buenos Aires, and I have certain knowledge of the world. I also think that there should be space for a queer, empowered director to make their own films, and I don't have to occupy that space.

Q: Because you don't have any responsibility for that, right?

A: It's not my responsibility. And besides, we need to leave those spaces open; people will come into those spaces. It took me time. For many people, I took a long time to arrive, and I did in 2009. Some will arrive in 2025, and others in 2030. They will come, they will appear, but it's true that it's not my responsibility to cover all those spaces. If they asked me, and if I worked for the Latin American government, and they asked me, I would do it all, but it's true that it's not my job.

Q: A government of queers, of course.

A: Yes, a government of empowered queers.

Q: How has the fever of political correctness treated you? How has it been, for example, presenting your most recent film with others who are always saying they don't see themselves reflected? When you delve into your social media and see people's comments, especially from young guys, they say, "Again with a hegemonic body." And if you go to YouTube, they say, "Again, some sort of body, I don't know how to describe it, again, white men..."

A: I think they have a point, with "Horseplay," you could say, "Again..." But it's also true that the Argentine upper class, the rich and powerful, have bodies like that, they are white, and they are European-looking. So, that film, in particular, reflects that reality. Many times, I feel very hurt because I think I am an important part of Argentina's and the world's queer politics, so when they hurt me or make me feel bad, I think, "Well, hold on, I spent my whole career pushing for diversity, and yet, I'm being criticized. Why should I be criticized? At most, other people should come forward." It all depends on the day.

I don't have Twitter, so I never read all of these things you mention. Fortunately! I know there's a big part of the LGBTQ+ community that doesn't like what I do, they hate me, or they expect something else from me. But there's also a point where I can't do much more than tell the world as I see it, and that's why I say that focusing my career solely on the queer community requires a lot of effort. Besides, I'm also criticized from the other side. I'm attacked as a director and left out for making queer films. In San Sebastian, I don't exist, for example. There's a section called Horizontes Latinos, and I never existed for them, so that's also very painful. Many times, it has to do with homophobia and queerness, and there are many places where I'm excluded. And when I'm excluded by the heterosexual, heteropatriarchal world, it's like, well, where do I belong? It all depends on the day. Some days I feel hurt, and some days I think, well, I can't please everyone.

I don't think there's any malice in my films. What if I made a film about two indigenous people from northern Argentina, living in poverty? Surely, it would go to Cannes and other festivals, but it would also be false on my part because I know nothing about that world, I don't know what it's like to be born in poverty in a patriarchal province. For example, now that I'm analyzing all these Peruvian works about queer and queer movements in indigenous spaces, I thought they didn't exist, but apparently, they do. There are a lot of things I don't know, and, of course, I have the negatives: being from Buenos Aires, being white, and of Norwegian descent. People point that out a lot. So, it's like being stuck there. If I tell stories that don't belong to me, they'll criticize me for that, and if I tell stories about my world, my friends, what it means to be a middle-class white person in Buenos Aires, they also criticize me for reflecting the world. I don't think my films take away anything; they may not add to some spaces, but I don't think they take away from the queer community.

Q: I have seen your films on pirated websites, and many of my friends have experienced your cinema in the same way. In such a peculiar and complex industry like ours, I would like to know your vision on this because piracy could have added to your career in some way.

A: I love it because that's how my films circulate. First of all, I don't have economic ambitions; I believe there should be a free universal public library for cinema. I think products should be made public after five years. Mine and Marvel's, for example, but that's my worldview. It's like you said, thanks to piracy, my films circulate everywhere. It's true that I should have a place on platforms with the career and festivals I have. Netflix should release all my films; that would be fair to me, to the market, and to the people. But since that's not happening, and I've made ten films, and only one is on Netflix, the other nine are watched illegally and shared around. Sometimes it annoys me when I see, for example, "Butterfly" on YouTube with four million views. I think, "Hey, someone is making money from my film." I should be making money from my film, but on the other hand, I think, "Well, that's just how the world is." Luckily, I don't live off cinema, and cinema hasn't made me rich because I make independent films, without Ricardo Darín or famous actors. I live with my acting school, and that's going well for me, so I don't worry much about the system.

It does bother me, though, for example, when I find out that I released the film in Buenos Aires, and many people won't see it because they already watched it illegally. So, I think, "Hey, you knew it was going to be released in Buenos Aires." If you live in a small town in Peru, far from Lima, and you know the film will never come to your cinema, I understand. But if you live in Buenos Aires, and you know that all my films will eventually be released, even in independent cinema spaces, why do you watch it illegally? In that case, you're not respecting me.

Q: Let's talk about "Horseplay." Could we say that it's your most heartfelt film given its origin? (The rise of violence perpetrated by gangs or groups of men)

A: No. It's a very important film for me, but I'm not sure if it's the most heartfelt. I think "Hawaii" is the most heartfelt, given how special that film was for me. And "The Astronaut Lovers" was also a film where I asked myself, "What film would I make if I could only have one film that represents me entirely?" And I wrote it. But "Horseplay" was just a circumstantial film. I saw the news, and it impacted me. I wanted to make a film during the pandemic, and it seemed easy to make a film inside a gated community due to the bubble. So, I wrote it, but I don't know if it's my most heartfelt film.

Q: It can be seen as a social denunciation. Can we say it's your foray into a denouncing type of cinema?

A: Yes, of course. It's a social denunciation of the growth of a new global fascism represented by kids from wealthy families with absolute impunity over the world. So, yes. Regarding the foray into denouncing, no, because "Plan B" is also a social denunciation. "Absent" is also a social denunciation; it denounces child pornography and questions why a man can't relate to another man with the same ease he does with a woman. All of that is denouncing the world we live in, so practically, except for "Butterfly," most of my films are social denunciations.

Q: Some critics, journalists, or audiences say that your films fall between documentary and fiction. I suppose they see something so realistic that it's hard to believe there's some choreography behind it; it seems very authentic, almost improvised, but it's true that it's authentic direction from fiction.

A: I suffered a lot from that with my first film ("Plan B"), which seemed like a lucky film, as if it had all been improvised and I was lucky to have made it. At that time, it annoyed me so much. Oh, no! It was a fully planned film, completely acted. I think it's the film where they had to stick to the lines the most. It was as if I had given them Shakespeare, you know? You learn the lines as they are and say them as they are. The film seems so big that people can't bear the idea that it was scripted.

On the other hand, there's also this idea that I have to keep making films to prove that it wasn't a fluke or just luck, but that I have the talent to achieve that. With "Horseplay" or when they see something documentary-like, I don't mind; I take pleasure in feeling that someone believes it's that way because I'm representing reality very well. As often happens with the Dardenne brothers' films, where you might think, well, it's almost like they used hidden cameras to capture reality. My job is to create fiction and staging.

Q: But it's valid to ask that, right?

A: Sure. Sometimes I love it, but sometimes deep down, I find it unfortunate that they can't recognize my work.

Q: The 'Berger' trademark, the 'Berger shot,' which is a bit how it's known in the community (the shot of packages, of sexual tension between men). I myself have discovered a bit in my writing when I jot down ideas, something like "there has to be something Marco Berger-like here." What do you think about that?

A: It's beautiful when they say that, obviously. I love it! I believe that all these questions and everything that happens has to do with the impossibility of stepping out of the contemporary space, the present moment in which you and I exist. Those who watch, who expect me to have other bodies in my films, it all has to do with that. It's very difficult for us to analyze a work in the present. I think that in 60 years, when I'm dead, everything will be seen differently; everything will be understood differently, and people will view it from another perspective. But right now, because we're so immersed in this contemporary world, it's impossible to step back from the work, and that's why these analyses are made, like "Oh, well, Marco doesn't do this." Also, we need to understand that in 60 years. Surely, I'll be seen as a figure who opened up an important path in the queer world, and maybe they'll say, "Well, he didn't represent all parts of the community," or "He represented what he could."

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