David Trueba i David Verdaguer: "It never happens, a synchronized orgasm; normality is more spontaneous and less frequent."

BarcelonaTen years after the publication of the novel Blitz (Anagrama, 2015), David Trueba (Madrid, 1969) directs the film adaptation of this everyday tragicomedy with the title of It's always winter (In theaters November 7). David Verdaguer (Despite the Sea, 1983) plays a landscape architect whose life is turned upside down during a few days at a conference in Belgium. His breakup with his partner (Amaia Salamanca) and the help of a woman 25 years his senior, who literally rescues him from the park (Isabelle Renauld), is an ordeal from which—though it may not seem so at first—something good could emerge.

Two years after They know that one (2023) the Davids reunite. Why?

— David Trueba: Out of affinity, but also because the character was perfect for him.

He's a character who doesn't wear Eugenio's mask, but he does have a sense of humor that can function as a mask—a sarcastic edge, a sad edge, too...

— David Verdaguer: Like Eugenio, I'm a specialist in this [laughs]. The film has a very subtle, buried humor, but it is humor nonetheless.

It was like that in the book. This film is the first adaptation you've made of one of your own novels. Did you decide to keep the essence of that novel, or were you tempted to change something?

— DT: The difficult part was reconnecting with the writer I was fifteen years earlier, when I started the book. I never would have guessed that this would be the most challenging aspect of the adaptation. Back then, I was much closer to the main character than I am now, when I'm closer to the female character. This gave me a shift in perspective; it was as if I were looking at myself through a keyhole: Who is this guy? Why was he writing these things? I was telling David that, after They know that oneWe created a character so controlled, so precise, so close to the image of a real person we had. I really liked the range of possibilities we had, of going from sympathy to antipathy, from melancholy to joy, from humor to sadness—you want to embrace it. I think he [Verdaguer] is an actor who has that range of tones, which was perfect. It was a difficult encounter between the writers, more so than between the actor and the character.

The story begins with a crisis, a breakup, which catalyzes the total collapse of this character. The couple was the lifeline for a man adrift.

— DV: Absolutely. The film begins with him struggling at work, so he quits his job and is single. He's a character who gets stuck in that moment of being dumped, which is winter, and for him, the whole year is winter because he's in a catatonic state. Things happen in his life, but he's in an emotional limbo, practically frozen.

Were you thinking about a midlife crisis? Since David has overcome it, well, I don't know about the crisis, but at least he's overcome his forties...

— DV: I had my midlife crisis at 38. I was precocious in that respect too, and I had my 38-year-old crisis quite late. heavyBut I've gotten over it. Now I'm heading towards a midlife crisis. If it hits me at 48, I've got six years left.

I don't know if you wrote it thinking about these crises that catch us in the middle of life.

— DT: No, I was thinking more about a person's overall crisis. While things are going well in their personal life, everything else remains dormant. When the romantic relationship collapses, the entire structure that was supported by that sense of stability within the couple is transformed into a total crisis. The character is paralyzed. For me, it's the story of a mental block. It's always winter It means you're turning everything around you into a winter because you're blocked, frozen, petrified, you have no feelings, you can't give anything, you can't receive what's offered to you. You have to break free from that paralysis, and that's what's difficult. Crises are good, they're like moving house, they help you distinguish what's essential from what isn't in your life, but you have to find the tools to get through it, because otherwise it's disastrous. Prolonging a crisis is what can destroy a person.

Two very different kinds of loneliness are found: his and that of the mature woman, who also carries a prolonged loneliness.

— DV: But it comes from a place of calm, of acceptance. My character gets a bucket of cold water thrown on him. It's very interesting, the intergenerational connection between them. We've seen a lot in movies of an older man with a younger woman, but we haven't seen as much of a younger man with an older woman.

— DT: Some people have lowered their expectations of life, partly due to age and maturity. Isabel's character says she's closed the chapter on love and feelings. Many people have closed this chapter because they think it will only bring them problems and disappointments. I'm always in favor of taking risks, because risk is what gives you the possibility of good and evil. Otherwise, if everything is confined and controlled, life is boring. And sometimes renunciation is more resignation than renunciation, which are two different things.

This couple creates discomfort. It's explicit when they have sex, but there's also a symbolic discomfort, in the looks people give them when they walk down the street. Did you want to explore this taboo?

— DV: That sequence is so long. I watched it again on Friday at home because I had to do the interviews... and I thought, "Damn Trueba, that's so long, so long. But it's necessary." We're all very left-wing and very cool, but when you see it, damn, it confronts you with something... Obviously, sex in old age, obviously yes, but then seeing it is something... that makes you uncomfortable.

— DT: Do you remember the filming? The silence that followed. And I said: we filmed this sequence to show the audience the discomfort, that this is something natural and shouldn't be so uncomfortable, and the discomfort of the people here—mostly young people—is fantastic, because this happens. There are people who deny that this happens: no, this happens. We're not used to seeing certain things, especially in film and television, because everything is controlled by a dictatorial idea of what beauty is, what sex is, what personal relationships are, the perfection we're supposed to have. It's these films where the couple does this, they hug and they already have a synchronized orgasm. It never happens, a synchronized orgasm, or maybe it does...

— DV: Sometimes it happens, with training.

— DT: ...with someone you already know, someone you already have some control over, and vice versa. Normality is beautiful because it's completely spontaneous, awkward, clumsy, and that's something you never see. I wanted that scene to have that discomfort, that feeling of being "blown out."

And what came after.

— DT: What people will say, right? It's very important. The film is about a person who is able to refute their feelings because of what others might say. And it begins with a denial: I didn't do this, I did it because I was drunk, there's no implication...

— DV: He spends the whole year denying the evidence that he misses this person.

And now, fifteen years later, when you record it, have you also experienced it differently than when you wrote it as a possibility?

— DT: I've never fully identified with the characters I write, because I like them to be somewhat more unlikeable than I would be, or somewhat more troubled, somewhat more complex than my own behavior. That said, I really liked the idea of telling the story from his perspective, which is: What have I done? How could I have done this? What will my friends think? And that body, which is different from the normative bodies in magazines, from what beauty is. Well, no: beauty is much more than that; often it's the passage of time. When I'm the director of the film, it's completely different: I'm somewhere in between. I think it's also a matter of your age, your personal experience. For viewers, it's very different to see the film at 30 than at 60.

There's a reflection on the elixir of youth. We've managed to prolong beauty, with ozempix or cosmetic surgery, but the energy of youth doesn't last; our gaze inevitably changes.

— DV: It has to be, right? Because if you don't accept the passage of time, you're a person who's somewhat out of touch with life. It's true that people's living conditions, diet, healthcare, and so on have improved, and people who are 70 now are nothing like a 50-year-old from 40 years ago. People in their 50s were considered finished, and now people in their 50s are doing very well, and in their 70s you find people who are active... but they're 70 years old. Denying this is ridiculous, especially in men. Because I think that women, due to the biological aspect of the menopausal transition, have a much more realistic awareness of their age than men. And when you're casting a film, for example, you encounter this, often very automatically. You start suggesting names of men and possible partners for this man, and then you do the opposite, and the suggestions are completely different. I mean, if the lead is Maribel Verdú, you cast men like this, like this, like this. If the protagonist is Mario Casas, you make women like this, like this. And no, no, no. The men's age isn't that important.

It's also true that fiction has been changing and is finally addressing what happens to women after fifty, isn't it?

— DT: We need to tell stories that aren't just about the euphoria of youth, adolescence, and self-discovery. There are also very interesting stories about other stages of life. People used to feel somewhat insecure. And actresses talked about how roles for women disappeared after 40, and they were absolutely right, because it's true. This is changing. I think people value mature stories and actors. But it's true that the stories are still almost obsessively focused on youth.

It's always winter It's a very restrained film. It begins with a breakup where no one throws dishes at each other. Is it even possible to have such a clean breakup?

— DV: I love that scene, because your mind races, and that poor man... My character is a poor man, but he's alert, he tells stories: that he was unfaithful during the relationship, the wonderful story about the cat, when he makes love to this old lady and immediately tells his friend, "I fucked a horrible old woman, I fucked her." It has many layers. The breakup seems to me one of the saddest I've ever seen. It's Nordic, European, civilized, but there's a sadness that you don't even fight anymore, right? It's so psychological that I think it's something very moving.

— DT: Then he explodes with others, but with his partner he has this restraint that's very important to him, to position himself differently from other men. If you can't do anything, why make a scene? It would be worse. You have to make the best impression, because that's what she'll remember. The main memories of a couple are the first and last time they're together, aside from moments of happiness or anguish. We're also used to seeing breakups portrayed with shouting, and many people are very civilized; they keep their anger or disappointment bottled up inside and then it comes out in other situations in their lives. There's that restraint that I like, because I'm a reserved person, I really like feelings, but also...

— DV: Control.

— DT: Because there's a lot of violence in love and these things, and I'm totally against violence, even verbal violence. What I advocate for is responsibility and autonomy. Two people make a decision, and you know it's a painful decision because you love them, the other person thinks they're hurting someone they love, but that's life, and you have to try to put yourself in the other person's shoes.

Landscape design allows us to discuss the meaning of art, its purpose. The protagonist questions whether art should be a source of shock or a balm.

— DT: I believe that literature and film are, on the one hand, companions, a way of understanding the world, but they should also be a stimulus, a source of discomfort. You have to create things that are understandable, that evoke empathy in people, but you also have to be critical, you have to push them to the limits of their patience and understanding. "Why are they doing this?" Otherwise, everything is too easy, while life is very complicated afterward. Love, relationships, work—all of this is always problematic, always conflict-ridden, and you have to put that conflict on screen.