Born in 1983, Gabriel Mascaro is a filmmaker and visual artist from Recife, Brazil. His documentaries and video installations were showcased at prestigious film festivals and artistic venues, including the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR), International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam (IDFA), Oberhausen, Clermont-Ferrand, Leipzig, BFI London, the Guggenheim, the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art, MoMA’s Documentary Fortnight, and the São Paulo Biennale.

His debut feature film August Winds premiered in Official Competition at the Locarno Film Festival in 2014, where it received a Special Mention. The film went on to win multiple awards and garnered widespread critical acclaim. Just the following year, the directed the reflective and observational Neon Bull, which also received excellent criticism. In 2019, Divine Love premiered at the 69th Berlinale. And just this year, The Blue Trail showed in the event’s Official Competition, where it won the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize (informally know as the Silver Bear for Best Film, the Berlinale’s second highest prize).

…

.

Nataliia Serebriakova – What inspired you to challenge the traditional portrayal of elderly characters in cinema and place them at the centre of a dystopian narrative?

Gabriel Mascaro – My great-grandmother started painting when she was 80 years old – out of nowhere. That really taught me how someone can rediscover life at that age. It happened after my grandfather passed away, and that subtle moment affected me deeply. It made me want to explore the elderly body in cinema – how can film approach this perspective?

We rarely see elderly protagonists in central roles in narrative cinema or literature. When I started researching references, I came across Ozu. His storytelling is amazing, but his elderly characters often look to the past—to the time that has already passed, a time they no longer participate in. There’s a sense of displacement, like they exist only in memory. Haneke’s work is also brilliant, but in his films, the presence of death is imminent—there’s always a looming deadline, a limit.

I saw a gap in how we portray elderly bodies in the present. I didn’t want to make a film about the past, but rather about a body that is alive, experiencing the contradictions of the present, rediscovering life. It’s interesting how traditional genres often don’t allow for this. For example, in dystopian films, elderly people are rarely protagonists. Rebellion is seen as something for the young. I wanted to break that tradition – bring the elderly into the genre and let them embody the experience of rebellion against the system.

So, the film blends elements of fantasy, dystopia, and even coming-of-age. But why should coming-of-age be limited to teenagers? There are so few rites of passage for the elderly. The one I created in the film is that when you reach a certain age, the state places you in a designated space.

NS – Was it easy for you to find the actress? Denise Weinberg’s well-known in Brazil, but I think this is your first time working with her?

GM – Denise is incredibly experienced, but not exactly famous in the mainstream sense. She’s done a lot of great work, but she’s not part of Brazil’s mainstream TV industry. And honestly, she doesn’t want to be. She actively refuses to conform to the aesthetic and industry standards of Brazilian soap operas.

That’s what made her perfect for this role – she’s passionate and deeply connected to the themes of the film. She often says she’s happier now, as an older woman, than she was at 40. And that’s a powerful thing to recognise – why don’t we acknowledge how strong elderly people can be in terms of desire, decision-making, and agency?

NS – And would you say the film is also a political commentary on how elderly people are treated in Brazil?

GM – Yes, I think this isn’t just the case in Brazil, but especially in Brazil. It’s a very exclusionary society when it comes to the elderly. There are no real policies in place to support them. If you go to Europe, you see elderly people going to the cinema, engaging with culture. But in Brazil, they’re at home. Just at home, doing nothing.

It’s really sad. There’s no real sense of celebration or respect for ageing. It’s like young people just stop talking to you. There are no asylums in the traditional sense, but elderly people remain isolated at home, disconnected from society. That’s why I wanted to create a character who defies this norm.

For me, using elements of a light dystopia helped explore this sense of displacement – of time and space shifting – not in a way that relies on high-tech gadgets, but rather to highlight cultural shifts. You won’t see flying cars in this film. What I’m really interested in is the deep cultural change – the shifts in behaviour and how society treats ageing. That tells us so much more about change than futuristic gadgets ever could.

And yes, there’s a fantastical and playful element to the “Wrinkle Wagon”.

It’s a kind of cultural metaphor – how society “removes” the elderly in a way that seems illuminating at first but is ultimately troubling. Officially, it’s called the “Citizen Policy”, but people just refer to it as the “Wrinkle Wagon”. There’s this common phrase: “Oh, you’re going to ride the Wrinkle Wagon.”

NS – In your previous films, Neon Bull and Divine Love, you already incorporated supernatural elements – these really unique, imaginative concepts. They seem to come entirely from your own mind. Why do you feel the need to include these elements in your films? Like, for example, that incredible blue snail in this one?

GM – I think I naturally lean towards a documentary-style perspective – believing in everything I create. So, when I introduce these bizarre, surreal elements, I film them as if they are completely real. That’s why, even though the worlds I create feel displaced from reality, there’s still a sense of naturalism to them.

A big part of this approach is humour – how people reappropriate cultural symbols and icons in unexpected ways. That’s how I arrived at the strange allegory of animals in this film. There’s a scene inside a processing factory for alligators, and there’s also this concept of “fish fighting back.” But underneath it all, you see the industrial exploitation of animals as a metaphor for the chain of capitalism.

Pop culture preserves these animal icons in a way, but I wanted to take that further – to create a moment where the audience encounters something truly enchanting within the wounds of this system. That’s where the blue snail comes in. It’s almost like a futuristic being, capable of giving someone a superpower—a vision of the future. It exists somewhere between dystopia and utopia, offering a glimpse of something beyond. In the end, this is a deeply passionate film – a film about life, about believing in something beyond what we know.

NS – I’m a big fan of Neon Bull, and I wanted to ask – how did your experience shooting that film help shape this one?

GM – Neon Bull was a very special experience for me. That film already reflected my deep interest in the body – in that case, exploring masculinity from a different perspective. It was about the contradiction of a cowboy who wants to be a fashion designer, which created this beautifully ambivalent character. But Neon Bull had a very formalist approach, and with this new film, I wanted to do something different. That’s why I shot in 4:3 – it brings me closer to the protagonist, making her world feel more intimate.

It also helped me avoid the kind of naive exoticism that often surrounds portrayals of the Amazon. The Amazon is breathtaking, but it can easily become a seductive visual spectacle that distracts from the film’s real focus. So the challenge this time was looking at the elderly body—finding new cinematic tools to explore that subject. I’m really happy with how it turned out. It was a new and exciting challenge.

NS – And I’d like to ask – why did you take this soft, almost poetic approach? Ageing and the story itself are harsh. The future for elderly people in this world is bleak. So why such a gentle tone?

GM – Yeah, I think that’s an interesting way to look at the film – like a dance. I wanted to create something playful, almost inviting. The soundtrack itself becomes a character.

We open with her dancing – it’s almost like an invitation: Come, let’s dance together. This is a film where we can hold hands, play, and even laugh at the situation. But beneath that laughter, I’m going to show you something much deeper. It’s a film that’s open to playfulness. You’re not laughing at the character – you’re laughing with her. It’s an invitation to experience the journey alongside her, to hold her hand and feel her struggles more intensely as the story unfolds.

She is open to life, to new experiences. Each person she encounters leaves a mark on her, slowly transforming her. And just when we assume that change is something reserved for the young, she meets an even older, bolder woman who opens an entirely new horizon for her. From the very beginning, she dreams of flying—but it’s another woman who ultimately helps her soar even higher.

NS – Can you tell me about the secondary roles? For example, Rodrigo Santoro is a huge star in Brazil, yet he plays a small part here, but with incredible intensity. And the Cuban actress—she’s amazing. How did you balance their presence around the main character, Teresa?

GM – The idea was to have the protagonist develop gradually, almost subtly. At first, she doesn’t seem particularly empathetic—she’s almost passive. But with each encounter, she accumulates something. Each supporting character flourishes more than her, at least at first.

She’s absorbing, absorbing, absorbing – slowly gathering strength. And when she finally reaches her moment of transformation, she’s like a fish fighting against the current.

We were very intentional about keeping this gradual evolution understated. It wasn’t about having a dramatic turning point where you suddenly see her change. Instead, we built up her growth in a restrained way, allowing it to unfold naturally. At the same time, I love making a film where each secondary character is powerful enough to carry their own story. Each environment is rich enough to be its own film. Rodrigo Santoro’s character, for example—I could have made an entire movie just about him.

Santoro is a huge star, not just in Brazil but internationally, with Hollywood films like 300. Yet, he was incredibly passionate about this project. Initially, he was supposed to arrive just a day before his scenes, but he called me and said:”I want to come a week earlier. I need to study. I want to experience this world”. It was amazing to see such an accomplished actor still feel that hunger, that need for research, as if it were his first film. That level of dedication was truly inspiring.

NS – I also wanted to ask—what role does the Amazon play in the film? There are elements that touch on climate and destruction. What message were you trying to convey?

GM – The Amazon is often consumed in a very particular way internationally—either as a symbol of preservation or as a site of environmental devastation. But I wanted to portray a much more contradictory Amazon. In the film, the Amazon is almost a character itself – a place where industrialisation collides with folklore, where pop culture and capitalism seep in and are re-assimilated in unexpected ways.

Take, for example, the alligator meat processing factory. Instead of cattle, it’s alligators. It’s a striking, almost surreal image, but it’s also deeply real. That’s the Amazon – it’s not just untouched nature; it’s a place of contradictions. Or take the massive piles of rubber tires. There’s no natural rubber in the Amazon anymore, yet mountains of used tires return to the place where rubber originally came from. That image feels almost dystopian, but it’s completely plausible.

I love working within that space – where something feels slightly unreal, yet entirely possible. It creates a sense of displacement, which allows us to talk about society in a more nuanced way than straightforward denunciation ever could. Sometimes, fantasy lets us reveal deeper truths about a culture than simple reportage.

NS – The Amazon is also an aesthetic force in this film. You made this film on theAmazon, and visually, it’s stunning. Could you talk about that?

GM – Yes. When I was younger, I worked with an NGO teaching Indigenous communities how to make films. It was a project called Video in the Village, and it deeply influenced me. I developed a strong connection with those communities.

A few years ago, I was at the Goa Film Festival in India, and I saw this huge casino on a boat. It made me think about the Amazon as a stage for contradiction, a place where different realities clash. That moment inspired me to rethink my script, to incorporate a sense of displacement into the film’s setting.

NS – Why is the daughter so unsympathetic toward her mother? Why does she align with the government’s policies? What led you to create her character this way?

GM – That’s an interesting question. In earlier versions of the script, there were many more scenes with the family. But during test readings, I noticed that audiences were quick to judge the protagonist for leaving her family. If you frame the story in a conventional family setting, people expect an explanation. “Why did she leave? What about her daughter? What about her grandson?” The audience lacks empathy for an elderly character embarking on a journey without justification.

So, I had to shift the focus away from the family nucleus to allow her adventure to unfold without the audience condemning her. It’s fascinating—when young characters rebel against their families in films, we accept it as natural. But when an elderly character does the same, it challenges our instincts. Over years of script development, I realised I needed to approach it differently. The film needed to present her journey in a way that felt almost surreal at times – so that we, as viewers, wouldn’t instinctively try to “trap” her back in her expected role. It’s revealing how we unconsciously confine the elderly to a certain space in society.

NS – The score plays a huge role in creating that magical atmosphere. How did you develop it with your composer?

GM – It was an amazing process. Actually, this is the first film my composer has worked on. The music is incredible. We had a palette of instruments we wanted to use – we aimed for something contemporary and electronic but also with a circus-like quality.

NB – What do you mean by “circus”?

GM – Yes, something playful, theatrical. I told him, “I want the audience to feel as if there’s an orchestra inside the cinema while watching the film.” The soundtrack doesn’t just support the emotions; it plays with them. For example, when the protagonist is far from the factory, there isn’t emotional music to guide the audience—it’s deliberately counterintuitive.

NS – Do you see a connection between this story – Teresa’s story of rebirth – and the rebirth of Brazilian cinema after Bolsonaro? Did that parallel cross your mind?

GM – I don’t want to sound pretentious, but I think it’s very special to witness what’s happening. I’m Still Here [Walter Salles, 2024] at the Oscars, and in some way, Brazilians are quite obsessed with them. Every year, you hear people say, “Oh, it’s not our time yet!”. Brazil has always longed for an Oscar, and there’s a certain sadness in never having won one. It’s funny how deeply ingrained this obsession is in Brazilian culture. But in a way, this anticipation and hope keep the dream alive. It helps connect people to Brazilian cinema—especially now, after the pandemic, when cinema has become more distant and largely reduced to streaming. This moment, perhaps, serves as a reminder and a reconnection.

NS – Brazil experienced two pandemics: Covid and Bolsonaro…

GM – Yes, a double burden, absolutely. People are really happy about having Fernanda Torres in the movie, and maybe that excitement helps Brazilian audiences reconnect with our cinema.

NS – Your film is clearly a post-Bolsonaro film.

GM – Yes.

NS – It feels very refreshing.

GM – Thank you. Actually, my research for the film started before Bolsonaro, during the script development phase. But after the pandemic and Bolsonaro’s presidency, I made significant changes. The script evolved to reflect the realities of that period, particularly how the elderly were deprioritised when it came to oxygen masks and medical resources. The idea that some bodies were deemed less worthy of survival than others – choosing between a young body and an elderly body – was something that profoundly shaped the film’s themes.

NS – Did you receive state funding for this film?

GM – The film is entirely financed through government funding from multiple countries. We had support from small cultural funds in my home state of Pernambuco, as well as from Brazil, Mexico, Chile, and the Netherlands. It’s an international co-production.

It was a very special proces – —bringing together different countries and talents to create this film. Since Neon Bull, I’ve had the opportunity to work on co-productions, and now I’m collaborating again with the Netherlands and Mexico.

NS – I’d like to follow up on the government funding issue. During Bolsonaro’s presidency, how was independent cinema funded?

GM – Under Bolsonaro, the issue wasn’t outright censorship. It was more subtle. Instead of banning films, the government froze cultural funding. They would claim they needed to “investigate corruption” in the arts sector, and while this was happening, funding simply stopped. People became afraid to speak out.

After Bolsonaro, the system started working again. Many projects that had been stalled for years – including ours – were finally able to move forward.

…

.

Gabriel Mascaro is pictured at the top of this interview, snapped by Guillermo Garza. The other image is a still from The Blue Trail.