Years ago I already wrote about Cienfuegos. I was saying that the first time I attended the Gijón Film Festival I ended up eating next to Karel Reisz, director of The French lieutenant’s wife and everyone wins. I asked him what Meryl Streep was like. “Professional,” he said. —And Debra Winger? —“Mnmnm, complicated,” and he smiled. A gentleman. Next to him was his wife, Betsy Blair, unforgettable protagonist of Marty. It was too much for a young impressionable film buff who was there after offering Cienfuegos a crazy idea that was received with more doubts than enthusiasm, but she accepted me and it was like being accredited in heaven. Next door, a tall boy was chattering; before leaving, he pointed to a film in my hand program and signed it; was Pi and he, Darren Aronofsky. There will be cities in which this is common, but it was not in Gijón, nor in Asturias.
For 10 days you could meet Frears, Chloë Sevigny, the hieratic Kaurismäki or the irreverent Virginie Despentes. Also Richard Fleischer, because that radical competition revered the classics. A winning cocktail whose creator was Cienfuegos. So recognizable, so discreet and at the same time so protagonist. Active, curious, fun, professional. He was the festival and the festival was him. It transformed an event without personality into a benchmark of modernity that, although due to its budget it could not compete with the greats, it had a sense of smell. That’s what Fran Gayo was for, who also left too soon. You weren’t going to see great productions there, but when someone dedicated themselves, you could proudly say “I already saw it in Gijón.”
Since I neither forget nor forgive—even though psychologists say it’s terrible, it helps to prevent the same stone from teasing you twice—when I heard the sad news of her death, I didn’t think about Reisz or Streep, only about the infamous government of Francisco Álvarez Casos, that FAC that honored its onomatopoeia and with so much hostility tried to dismantle everything that smacked of culture. Once installed in Gijón, they are still there, Cienfuegos was one of their victims. It was as unexpected for those who believed that his impeccable management would prevail as it was logical for those of us who suspected that it was not an economic issue, just despotism. They kicked him out without allowing him to enjoy the 50th anniversary of the festival he had put on the map. He did very well in Seville and Valladolid; the FICX took the worst part. He was irreplaceable. That column I wrote was of gratitude for his management; This one too, but I would never have wanted to write it.
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