Mexican director David Pablos, in competition in Orizzonti with En el camino, speaks about working with actors and non-professionals in Ciudad Juárez, exploring the codes of machismo and the taboos still deeply rooted in Mexican cinema. A journey that weaves together lived experiences, identity, and emotional landscapes.
For On the Road, you spent months with Mexican truck drivers and cast a mix of professionals and local non-actors. How did this experience shape you personally and influence the film’s narrative?
Making a film is a living process, always evolving. For En el camino investigation was essential: it brought ideas, scenes, dialogue. I was constantly amazed by the people I met, their faces, the way they dressed and related to each other. More than any other film, this one is built from those encounters. That’s why I wanted to work with non-actors. They change my ideas, they bring their own tone to the film. I listen to how they speak, sometimes I ask them to put parts of their own stories into the script. Even during casting I was trying to integrate what I found interesting – like the name Veneno, which came from a boy who auditioned and inspired me. I love working with non-actors also as a life experience. They discover a lot about themselves, they grow more confident and in control of their emotions. For me, the best world in cinema is when actors and non-actors come together, and that’s something I always look for.
The film explores masculinity in its brutality and toxicity, but also in its vulnerability and fragility. What drew you to portray this world?
Mexico is a country marked by machismo and by a specific upbringing in which men are not allowed to show emotions or express themselves, and where femininity in a man is seen as something to be ashamed of. This harms everyone, men and women. That’s why I’m very interested in talking about it: sometimes ridiculing masculinity, but also showing with empathy how it makes men fragile, vulnerable, and often blocks their path to happiness.
LGBTQ+ themes – and male nudity in particular – in cinema: do you think they’ve truly moved beyond taboo, or do they still retain a provocative edge? Do you see differences in how Mexican cinema approaches this compared to other film traditions?
I think male nudity still is a taboo. Maybe not as much as before, but it definitely still is, especially in Mexican cinema. Not just male nudity, but the representation of male sexuality, of gay sex on screen. Many people simply don’t want to see it. Because we live – in my case, referencing Mexico – in Mexico City, which is a bubble in many ways, we easily forget the reality of the rest of the country, which is very different. So yes, it’s very much a taboo, even more so in Mexican cinema. I think it’s good that it’s shown. Uncomfortable things need to be presented and discussed. I always say this: empathy. It’s very easy to reject what you don’t understand, but when you see it with different eyes, your perception can change.
Shot in northern Mexico, the film tells the intense love story between truck driver Muñeco, a family man, and Veneno, a boy marked by an unresolved relationship with his father. United by unforeseen circumstances, they embark on a journey through the raw, hyper-masculine worl...
Your film seems to echo Kerouac’s On the Road, where places become emotional landscapes. Did that novel influence your approach to shaping this journey?
I love Kerouac, I love On the Road, but I didn’t have it in mind while preparing this project. I haven’t read the novel in a long time, so it’s not fresh in my memory. Probably something from it is ingrained in me and translates into the film, but not consciously.
What drew you to set the film in northern Mexico?
I’m very much in love with northern Mexico, where I grew up. It has a very specific quality, very different from the rest of the country, and life there is fascinating. The Chihuahua desert is harsh, and Ciudad Juárez, where we shot, feels like a no-man’s-land: issues with safety, stories of violence everywhere, and its proximity to the United States shapes reality. Yet in such a hostile place, people come together, form a community, and that makes it bearable. This connection to the north – the landscapes, the people, the environment – moves me deeply. That’s why I chose to make this film there, as I did with two others. I feel like I belong to this place, and working there, relating to the people I cast, is something very visceral and powerful for me.
In this context of borders, isolation, and social decay, does the film suggest that hope comes from individual humanity rather than society?
Well, I think in certain places, yes. I’ll tie this to my previous answer about the north. During casting in Ciudad Juárez, I was shocked listening to people’s stories – how they grew up, how they arrived where they are now. We were casting in specific communities on the city’s outskirts. Victor, the main actor who plays Veneno, comes from one of these communities, where most young men work for a cartel. They’ve grown up seeing dead bodies, burned people, headless corpses, atrocities. Violence is so ingrained it’s become normal; it doesn’t scare them anymore. Most stories end with young people being killed. Living in this world, making these choices, is incredibly difficult. So sadly, yes. In my film – and in some realities in this country – this is not something society decides for you; it’s on you yourself. There is no help, no one to turn to, and that profoundly affects and moves me.
