INTERNATIONAL FESTIVAL
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Mikeldi of Honour

En la inauguración recibirá el galardón el gran realizador argentino Mariano Llinás, con el que ZINEBI reconoce el poderoso aliento creativo y la radicalidad estética de toda su obra, que se encuentra entre las más innovadoras del panorama internacional del cine contemporáneo.El guionista y director Mariano Llinás (Buenos Aires, 1975) es miembro del grupo de cineastas El Pampero Cine junto con Laura Citarella, Alejo Moguillansky y Agustín Mendilaharzu. Este colectivo ha desarrollado un sistema de producción basado en el rechazo de los procedimientos industriales y en su radical independencia de las fuentes clásicas de financiación. En 2002 Mariano Llinás realizó su primera película, titulada Balnearios. En 2008 dirigió Historias extraordinarias, su segundo largometraje, que fue aclamado por la crítica y tuvo un gran éxito de público en Argentina. Su último trabajo, La Flor (2018), se ha estrenado en la 20a edición del festival BAFICI de Buenos Aires, en el que fue ganador de la Competición Internacional, y también obtuvo el Hubert Bals Audience Award en el Festival Internacional de Cine de Rotterdam (Países Bajos).

El Festival Internacional de Cine Documental y Cortometraje de Bilbao (ZINEBI) acoge en su 60a edición el estreno en España de esta extraordinaria y singularísima película, un imponente proyecto visual y narrativo de 13 horas y 45 minutos de duración. Como ha escrito el propio Mariano Llinás, “el film no pretende utilizar la experiencia previa de una actriz para dotar de una emoción particular a una serie de imágenes, sino que La Flor aspira a construir, a constituir dicha experiencia emocional. Que esa experiencia sea la película, que los espectadores puedan ver la carrera de una serie de actrices suceder ante sus ojos como parte de un mismo film”.

La Flor es un monumental complejo narrativo integrado por seis historias independientes y sucesivas. El punto de unión que tienen entre sí es que cada una de ellas está protagonizada por las cuatro mismas actrices: Pilar Gamboa, Elisa Carricajo, Laura Paredes y Valeria Correa. El universo de dichas ficciones es radicalmente diferente de un episodio a otro, de hecho el realizador se propone desde el principio poner de relieve esa diferencia extrema. Asimismo, los personajes que las cuatro actrices encarnan en cada relato aspiran la misma variedad. Pilar Gamboa, por ejemplo, es una hechicera en el primero, una cantante pop en el segundo, una espía muda en el tercero, ella misma en el cuarto, un personaje secundario, casi invisible, en el quinto y una cautiva huida en la pampa del siglo XIX en el sexto. Cada una de las actrices habrá de saltar de un universo ficcional a otro, como en un baile de máscaras. El objetivo de Mariano Llinás es doble: por un lado, convertir a las actrices en máquinas de narrar, depositar en su cuerpo la obligación y la responsabilidad de dar cuenta de dichas ficciones para provocar en nosotros, como decía Samuel T. Coleridge, la suspensión voluntaria de la incredulidad que es el n último de cualquier práctica artística; y por otro lado, que el salto de una ficción a otra nos revele, a lo largo del vasto trayecto narrativo, el verdadero rostro de esas mujeres.

Como observa Álvaro Arroba en su artículo para el catálogo de esta edición, “La Flor deja el poso (y el peso) de haber leído una voluminosa película. De asistir al mismo tiempo a una elefantiásica novela (clásica y metalingüística al tiempo, como 2666 de Roberto Bolaño) y a su propia adaptación cinematográfica. Encontramos algún precedente de esa sensación en la historia del cine y se reconoce fácilmente pues son películas guiadas por un principio creador que tiene mucho que ver con el placer, como Max Ophuls y su obra final, Lola Montes (1955), la postmoderna y ambiciosa biografía femenina de una mata-hari de la que La flor parece una multiplicación masiva. Películas en las que un grupo de creadores pone toda la carne en el asador como si fuera la primera, pero también la última. Nacimiento y testamento a partes iguales”.


La flor. The pleasure principle

ZINEBI is delighted to bring you the Spanish premiere of La flor, the longest fiction film in cinema (fourteen and a half hours long), directed by Mariano Llinás. To look closely at this great film-maker, we have to consider two fundamental facts that may not seem important at first glance: that he carries about him the aura of a patriarch (he is large and portly) and that he lives in the port neighbourhood of San Telmo.

His productions are the last ones made with sweat and toil: you need a lot of strength and physical stamina for such an impressive deployment of energy (ten years of intercontinental filming and the encouragement of a constantly mobilised group of friends – the actors and technicians at El Pampero Production Company). Llinás is an insatiable, Wellesian character (he also smokes Havana cigars at bull fights) who carries a staff worthy of a biblical prophet when he is filming, in much the same way that Sam Fuller carried a Colt .45. In interviews and writings, he confesses to being obsessed by the example of the prophet Noah, seeing cinema as an ark for saving things from the past. “All of the animals I like are in La flor. If we would like to look at the film indulgently, it is like Noah’s Ark (Sauve qui’il peut le cinematograph). We must remember that the 20th century is over, and we are responsible for safeguarding the things we like from that period. That is why, as we said, the first thing we suspect when watching his films is that they have been made by an exemplary inhabitant of San Telmo, with its cobblestone streets, full of markets and peddlers, like a trip back in time (throughout the whole of the 20th century) and space (which separates but also connects America and Europe). Llinás is a nationalist from a district that contains a pars pro toto of the Western world during the last century, the only street where being a resident makes you an internationalist.

It has been ten years since Historias extraordinarias (2008) (screened at ZINEBI in 2011, when filming of La flor had already been going on for two years). That film was like a garden full of forked pathways (Borgesian, he confesses), a mesh of stories within stories set against the century surrounding them. Remembering Godard, somebody called them “Histoire(x) du cinema”.

La flor is more reminiscent of Cervantes than Borges and arrogantly takes place over several continents, especially in South America, but also in the main European cities and areas of Russia and Asia. The arrogance of occupying other territories through fiction has been (since the 1920s) a prerogative of Hollywood film, where even Jesus Christ spoke English. It has taken 100 years but the important thing about La flor is the exact reverse. Its appropriation of nearly all the classic cinematographic genres (thriller, musical, spy story, idyllic love story) and their corresponding iconic places for Spain and South America. An epic reverse theft that South American cinema needed but never had. The arrogance of Llinás and of the four actresses from Piel de Lava (Valeria Correa, Laura Paredes, Pilar Gamboa and Elisa Carricajo), who play several roles and are multiplied on screen, is that of the “conquistadores” recovering (not without a certain pride) territories. Carricajo and Gamboa taking the Eiffel Tower and the Reichstag.

La flor leaves us with the sense (and the weight) of having read a sizable film. And of simultaneously having watched a massive novel (classic and metalinguistic in time, like 2666 by Roberto Bolaño) and the cinematographic adaptation of the same. We can find a precedent for this sensation in the history of film and it is easily recognisable as these are films guided by a creative principle that is strongly linked to pleasure, such as in the case of Max Ophuls and his final work, Lola Montes (1955), the ambitious, postmodern female biography of a Mata Hari, of which La flor is like a mass multiplication. Films into which a group of creators put absolutely everything as if it were their first but also their last. Birth and testament in equal parts.

Álvaro Arroba

El Festival Internacional de Cine Documental y Cortometraje de Bilbao (ZINEBI) ha decidido conceder el segundo Mikeldi de Honor de su 60a edición al cineasta tailandés Apichatpong Weerasethakul, que lo recibirá en la gala de clausura del certamen. Con este galardón el festival quiere mostrar su reconocimiento a la prolífica filmografía de uno de los grandes directores del cine contemporáneo, una obra cargada de exigencia personal, una fantasía desbordante y una gran hondura poética.Bajo la sospecha de no ser más que una muestra más de exotismo cinematográfico, llegó a Europa a finales del siglo pasado la incipiente obra del tailandés Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Criado en el noreste de Tailandia, había estudiado arquitectura en la Universidad de Khon Kaen (cuya provincia es escenario de la mayoría de sus obras) y posteriormente en la School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Un cadáver exquisito de ficción y no ficción llamado Mysterious object at noon (Dokfa nai meuman, 2000) catapultó su carrera desde su estreno en el Festival Internacional de Cine de Rotterdam. Tras esa opera prima, la ascensión fue meteórica: premiado en Cannes con su Blissfully yours (Sud sanaeha, 2002), repitió en el festival francés con Tropical Malady (Sud pralad, 2004); mientras, Syndromes and a Century (Sang sattawat, 2006) fue la primera película tailandesa que compitió por hacerse con el León de Oro de la Mostra de Venecia. En el estado español fue ZINEBI, en 2004, el primer festival que programó parte de aquella sorprendente obra mediante la exhibición de sus dos primeros largometrajes y seis cortometrajes.

En poco más de un lustro, Apichatpong se había ganado un lugar en el canon audiovisual del siglo XXI. En un primer momento, el fulgor procedía de sus célebres hiatos: los largometrajes del realizador tailandés que llegaban a algunas salas comerciales estaban marcados por partirse en dos narraciones aparentemente separadas la una de la otra. Detrás del efecto de este mecanismo narrativo recurrente (y que ha ejecutado siempre de una manera brillante), su obra audiovisual parece íntegramente creada en esa región fronteriza (cada vez más ancha) que separa ficción y realidad. Así, el realizador profundizó en esa convicción íntima, de honda raigambre baziniana, de que toda película de cción es un documental de su propio rodaje. Apichatpong siempre declaró que su aspiración era imbricar ficción y realidad en cada obra de tal forma que sea imposible saber dónde empieza y acaba cada una.

De este modo, muchas veces propone que los personajes de sus ficciones los construyan los propios actores -siempre con la ayuda del realizador- basándose en sensaciones y experiencias propias o prestadas; o que, en los fragmentos que podrían considerarse más documentales abunden los pasajes en que los intérpretes cuentan historias de ficción (sueños, temores, recuerdos, leyendas, etc.) que alguna vez Apichatpong reconstruye como si se tratara de una ficción. En la mente humana conviven recuerdos y fantasías y, al igual que en estos trabajos del realizador tailandés, casi siempre con absoluta normalidad. No resulta extraño, por tanto, que el realizador no dude en facilitar a su público que se abandone al sueño, como recientemente ha hecho en Sleep cinema, instalación presentada en el pasado Festival Internacional de Cine de Rotterdam, y en la que, por un precio de 75 euros la noche, los espectadores podían alquilar una cama para dormirse, si así lo deseaban, ante una selección de imágenes en movimiento procedentes de los fondos del EYE Filmmuseum de Amsterdam, y que se proyectaron en una pantalla oval de grandes proporciones.

Ficción y no ficción, sueño y memoria, narración y observación marcan en gran parte el estilo Apichatpong, cuyos personalísimos rasgos se perciben en largometrajes inolvidables como Tío Boonmee recuerda sus vidas pasadas (Lung Boonmee raluek chat, 2010), que logró la Palma de Oro del Festival de Cannes, o Cemetery of splendour (Rak ti Khon Kaen, 2015); pero que quizá se advierten de manera más directa y desnuda en sus abundantes cortometrajes y mediometrajes, de los que ZINEBI ha seleccionado para su 60a edición 22 de los primeros y dos de los segun-dos. Entre ellos, sus dos últimos trabajos: Blue -que acaba de estrenar en el Festival Internacional de Toronto, cuya première en España tendrá lugar en Bilbao-, y Song of the city, su aportación al proyecto colectivo Ten years Thailand, que incluye además un mensaje crítico y político nada desdeñable en defensa de las libertades ciudadanas. Junto a él, participan nombres destacados del cine tailandés contemporáneo como Aditya Assarat, Chulayarnnon Siriphol o Wisit Sasanatieng.


Realer than real. The work of Apichatpong Weerasethakul

As the decades pass by and the traditional way of showing films breaks down, there are ever more noteworthy exceptions to the old paradigm that “all lesser cinematography admits a greater film-maker”. Fortunately. Figures once as great as Abbas Kiarostami (or earlier, such as Theo Angelopoulos, or still earlier and now classics of Japanese cinema: Kurosawa and Mizoguchi) were a seedbed for slowly breaking down the ethnocentric reading that characterised the Western World during the 20th century.

Suspected of being no more than just another example of cinematographic exoticism, the incipient work of Thai producer Apichatpong Weerasethakul arrived in Europe at the end of the last century. Brought up in the north east of Thailand, he had studied architecture at Khon Kaen University (and this province is the setting for most of his work) and then at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. An exquisite corpse of fiction and non-fiction called Mysterious Object at Noon (Dokfa nai meuman, 2000) catapulted his career from the moment it premiered at the Rotterdam International Film Festival. After this first work, his rise was meteoric: awarded for his Blissfully Yours (Sud sanaeha, 2002) in Cannes, he returned to the French festival with Tropical Malady (Sud pralad, 2004), while Syndromes and a Century (Sang sattawat, 2006) was the first Thai film to compete for the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival. The first festival in Spain to add some of his amazing work to its programme was ZINEBI, in 2004, when it screened his two first feature lengths and six shorts.

In just over five years, Apichatpong had earned a place in the audio-visual hall of fame of the 21st century. At first, the furore was about his famous hiatuses: the feature-length films by the Thai producer screened in some commercial cinemas were marked by splitting into two narratives apparently separate from each other. Behind the effect of this recurrent narrative mechanism (which he has always executed brilliantly), his audio-visual works seem to be wholly created in that (ever broader) border region that separates fiction and reality. Thus, the producer delved deeper into that intimate conviction—in true Bazinian tradition—that all fiction films are a documentary of their own filming. Apichatpong always said that he aspired to interweave fiction and reality in every work so that it was impossible to know where one ended and the other started.

In this way, he often suggests that the characters in his fiction are created by the actors themselves (always with the help of the producer) based on their own or borrowed sensations and experiences, or that there are lots of passages (in fragments that could be better considered documentaries) where the actors tell fictional stories (dreams, fears, memories, legends, etc.) that Apichatpong sometimes reconstructs as if it were fiction. In the human mind, we find memory and fantasy side by side and, like in this work by the Thai producer, that is almost always absolutely normal. Therefore, it is not strange that the producer does not hesitate to help his audience give itself up to dreaming (with a recommendation that—if my memory does not fail me—was only made before by Kiarostami) as he did recently in Sleep Cinema, an installation presented at the last Rotterdam International Film Festival, where—for €75 a night—spectators could rent a bed where they could sleep, if they liked, before a selection of moving images from the Amsterdam EYE Filmmuseum collection, which were  projected onto a huge, oval screen.

Fiction and non-fiction, dreams and memory, narration and observation largely mark the Apichatpong style, the highly personal traits of which are perceived in unforgettable feature-length films such as Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (Lung Boonmee raluek chat, 2010), which won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Festival, or Cemetery of Splendour (Rak ti Khon Kaen, 2015), but which is perhaps more directly and blatantly seen in his extensive short and medium-length films. We have selected 22 of the first and 2 of the second for this year’s ZINEBI. They include his two latest works: Blue (which has just premiered at the Toronto International Festival and will have its Spanish premiere in Bilbao) and Song of the City, his contribution to the collective project Ten years Thailand, which also includes a critical, political message in defence of civil freedoms that is far from negligible. He is accompanied in this project by well-known names in contemporary Thai cinema, such as Aditya Assarat, Chulayarnnon Siriphol and Wisit Sasanatieng.

A few years ago, on the occasion of the premiere of Tío Boonmee…, Apichatpong told Diego Lerer that he liked magical realism. He compared it with science fiction, as it took “elements of fantasy to talk about the present”. He said that, in his opinion, “fantasy is more real than what we call reality”. It doesn´t seem crazy to think that Macondo could be Khon Kaen in Thai and that it may not be simply by chance that Apichatpong’s next feature film is going to be filmed in Colombia in 2019. It will be called Memory.

Rubén Corral

The Big Day of Basque Cinema

In its 60th year—and you can do a lot in sixty years—ZINEBI would like to renew its commitment to cinema produced in the Basque Country and to the development and projection abroad of our audio-visual industry. This has been our aim since 1959, the year that saw the foundation of the International Ibero-American and Philippine Documentary Film Contest of Bilbao (the festival’s original name even though it sounds like something out of a time warp today). In fact, from that time right up to this year, the festival programme has included the very first works by Basque film-makers from at least four different generations: Pío Caro Baroja, Néstor Basterretxea, Fernando Larruquert, José Antonio Sistiaga, Pedro Olea, José Ángel Rebolledo, José Julián Bakedano, Imanol Uribe, Antton Merikaetxebarria, Juan Ortuoste, Javier Rebollo, Ramón Barea, Ernesto del Río, Julio Medem, Juanma Bajo Ulloa, Asier Altuna, Jon Garaño, Borja Cobeaga, Begoña Vicario, Haritz Zubillaga, Koldo Almandoz, Isabel Herguera, Víctor Iriarte, Laida Lertxundi and Izibene Oñederra, amongst many others. Sixty years are quite a few years – enough to allow us to contemplate most of the passage (and the weight) of the history of moving images in our country.

In 2008, coinciding with the 50th International Documentary and Short Film Festival of Bilbao (ZINEBI, as it was newly branded in 2000), the festival gave a warm tribute to some of the first of these film-makers—Caro Baroja, Basterretxea, the then recently deceased Larruquert, Olea, Uribe and Bakedano—in acknowledgement of their courage in their profession and even their civic value during the harsh conditions of the post-war period and Franco’s dictatorship.

What we now know as Basque Cinema was a label that came into use in the late 70s and early 80s, during the transition to democracy in Spain, in accordance  with the rebellious and promising atmosphere of those times and the heated debates on Basque and Spanish short films—very closely related to struggles for democracy in other places, especially Latin America—that provided fodder for all kinds of universities and cultural institutions around the country, amongst which the Bilbao festival particularly stood out, until it eventually turned that critical, specialist atmosphere into a mark of its own identity. Shortly afterwards, the commercial success of some of the first feature films produced in the Basque Country in those days—significantly La conquista de Albania (Alfonso Ungría, 1983) and especially La muerte de Mikel (Imanol Uribe, 1983)—allowed the Basque Cinema brand to quickly gain a permanent pass into the Spanish cinematographic market.

ZINEBI aims to continue looking back at the past while also towards the future of film produced in the Basque Country. Therefore, on its 60th anniversary, it is going to hold the 1st Day of Basque Cinema, which will be on Saturday 10 November. This event will comprise two very special sessions:

1.- Screening of the Basque short films that are competing in the festival’s official section (AZ)

The following have been selected this year: Ancora lucciole (María Elorza), Amor siempre (Maider Fernández Iriarte), Azken otsoa (Iker Maguregi), Cadoul de Craciun (Bogdan Muresanu), Il dolce far (Richard Sahagún) and It is All Right Here (Teresa Sendagorta).

2.- Special Mikeldi of Honour to film-makers and other professionals in Basque Cinema (BBAA Museum)

This is a cordial tribute to some of the leading figures in cinema in Bilbao during the post-war and the transition periods and also, equally cordially, to the figure and extensive work of the great plastic artist and film-maker from Guipuzkoa José Antonio Sistiaga.

Before the 1970s, film directed and produced in Bilbao has historically been reduced to a series of barely connected attempts and experiences. During the three decades before the Spanish Civil War, it is worth mentioning the pioneer films produced by the brothers Mauro and Víctor Azcona and especially their feature film entitled El mayorazgo de Basterretxe (1928). From after the war, in the mid-1960s, the medium-length documentary Ría de Bilbao, directed by Pedro Olea in 1966, is worthy of note.

As mentioned above, it is in the 1970s when we begin to see producers, directors and other professionals in Bilbao whose work will manage to provide continuity to cinematographic production in our city. They include the people we are paying tribute to at this 60th event:

José Ángel Rebolledo (Bilbao, 1941) studied Industrial Engineering but dropped out to take a degree in Film Production at the Spanish Official Film School (EOC) in 1973. In 1975, he directed the experimental short film Arriluce. He has also worked as a film editor, production assistant and screenwriter. In 1983, along with Imanol Uribe, Javier Aguirresarobe and Gonzalo Berridi, he founded the production company Aiete Films and, in 1985, he made his first feature film, Fuego eterno.

Anton Merikaetxebarria (Bilbao, 1944) is a director, screenwriter, critic and film essayist. He holds a diploma in Cinematography from the London Film School (1969–1971). During the 1970s, he directed several shorts, such as Rumores de furia (1973), Arrantzale (1975), Santuario profundo (1976) and Ikuska 3 (1979). He has been a critic in the Basque media, such as Egin, Muga and Euskadi and, since 1985, in the daily newspaper El Correo. In 2003, he published his essay El enigma Ingmar Bergman.

Alberto López Echevarrieta (Bilbao, 1945) is a journalist, polygraph, critic and cinematographic essayist. With a degree in Journalism from the Official School in Madrid, he worked as a news reporter for Radio Popular in Bilbao and was then editor of the newspaper Pueblo for ten years. He has also been a member of the ZINEBI organising committee. His works feature El cine en Vizcaya (1977), Cine vasco, ¿realidad o ficción? (1982) and Bilbao, cine y cinematógrafos (2000).

Santos Zunzunegui (Bilbao, 1947) is a critic, image theorist, film writer and emeritus professor of the University of the Basque Country (UPV/EHU). His work, for which he has obtained extensive national and international acknowledgement, started at the magazine Contracampo (1979) and has continued since 2007 at Caimán. Cuadernos de cine. His works include Mirar la imagen (1984), El cine en el País Vasco (1985) and his monographs Robert Bresson (2001) and Orson Welles (2005). Ha has recently won the Euskadi Essay Award for his work Bajo el signo de la melancolía.

             Juan Ortuoste (Bilbao, 1948) co-founded the Bilbao production company Lan Zinema (1973) with Javier Rebollo. After a few years of intense activity in the field of advertising, the company produced the short films Carmen, 3º G (1978) and Agur, Txomin (1981), amongst others. That same year, he debuted as a director with the comedy Siete calles (co-directed with Rebollo). In 1985, he produced Golfo de Vizcaya and, in 1989, he directed El mar es azul. He has alternated his work as a producer and director with that of screenwriter and film editor.

Ramón Barea (Bilbao, 1949) is a theatre, film and television actor, playwright, scenographer and film producer. As a film actor, he has worked on more than one hundred films and with directors such as Iciar Bollain, Álex de la Iglesia and Borja Cobeaga. As a director, he debuted with the short film Adiós, Toby, adiós (1996), followed by Muerto de amor (1997). He also directed the feature films Pecata minuta (1999) and El coche de pedales (2004).

Javier Rebollo (Bilbao, 1950) has worked mostly as a screenwriter, producer and director with Juan Ortuoste at the production company Lan Zinema. He directed the feature films Golfo de Vizcaya (1985), Calor…y celos (1996), Marujas asesinas (2001) and Locos por el sexo (2006) and, with the production company Karambola Producciones and the collaboration of the writer and screenwriter Mª Eugenia Salaverri, he has directed La buena hija (2013) and Txarriboda (2015), amongst others.

Ernesto del Río (Bilbao, 1954) debuted in film direction with the short films Octubre 12 (1982) and El ojo de la tormenta (1983), both co-directed with Luis Eguiraun. In 1985, he co-founded—with the latter and other partners—the production company Sendeja Films. In 1987, he directed his first feature film, El amor de ahora, followed by No me compliques la vida (1990), Hotel y domicilio (1996), Valeria descalza (2011) and Umezurtzak (2015). He was the director of ZINEBI from 2000 to 2017.

As mentioned above, the culmination of the Day of Basque Cinema at ZINEBI60 will be a well-deserved tribute to the figure and the prolific and highly personal work of José Antonio Sistiaga (San Sebastián, 1932), one of the most relevant artists of the historic avant-garde of the post-war years in the Basque Country, along with personalities such as Jorge Oteiza, Eduardo Chillida, Néstor Basterretxea and Rafael Ruiz Balerdi. As an experimental film-maker, at the Bilbao festival in 1968, he presented his groundbreaking Ere erera baleibu icik subua aruaren…, which received the Experimental Cinema Award at that 10th festival. It was a 7-minute-long short made up of frames that had been hand-painted one by one and which the artist subsequently retitled De la luna a Euskadi. Fascinating material, which has now disappeared, which was the source of the feature film with the same original title, thought up by his friend Balerdi, that premiered in Madrid in 1970 and was later well received at festivals and exhibitions in Barcelona, London, Paris and New York. From 1988 to 1989, the artist used the same technique for his Impresiones en la alta atmósfera, designed to be screened in horizontal 70mm format in cinemas with giant IMAX screens, the same exhibition medium he used during the same period for his Han (sobre el sol). In 1991, he directed Paisaje inquietante nocturno and En un jardín imaginado, where he used a different technique and 35mm format for display. The Sistiaga tribute session will also include the exclusive premiere of the feature-length documentary Sistiaga, une histoire basque (Manuel Sorto, 2018. 96 min.), dedicated to this great Guipuzkoan artist’s way of being, existing in this world and creating. There will first be a screening of a special ZINEBI production entitled Ilargian (2018) and directed by the animation group from the UPV/EHU Hauazkena, which reinterprets what remains in the memory of the artist of that lost short film, De la luna a Euskadi (1968).

This session and the screening of the short documentary film are in a video season called El arte del tiempo, curated by Guadalupe Echevarría, as part of the events organised by the Museum of Fine Arts of Bilbao on the occasion of the exhibition Después del 68. Arte y prácticas artísticas en el País Vasco 1968–2018. In this way, ZINEBI aims to collaborate more closely with the museum and enrich this 60th anniversary event on recent audio-visual production in the Basque Country.

ZINEBI60 is awarding a Special Mikeldi and expressing the fondness of the festival organisers and the people of Bilbao for these nueve novísimos of film produced in the Basque Country, nine virtuous citizens who—through their patience and perseverance—have created films that now form part of our cultural heritage, which is what the young Basque directors competing in the official section of this comprehensive anniversary of the Bilbao festival are now on their own way to doing.

Because not losing sight of the past and providing a testimony to the present is a good—surely the only—way to envisage the future.

Luis Eguiraun
ZINEBI Programmer