Interview with Matilde Miranda Mellado on Salaman Extensor
Virtual affect, sensory images, and autobiographical science fiction
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One thing that really touched me in your film was this theme of trying to find a way to express an emotion that's very internal. And I wanted to ask about this process of trying to translate, through image and sound, the journey of the main protagonist, HAAYA, through this virtual landscape. What was the process of creating this landscape, and what inspired you to make this project?
I think what mainly inspired me was that, during the pandemic, I sort of fell in love. During that period, I took online classes with a Korean university, where I met this guy I fell for, so the story that appears at the end of the film is true. And that had never happened to me before, so it was very revealing to feel that kind of thing through a virtual platform. That's where the spectrum of love opened up for me, where I was able to feel it. So that was the main reason I wanted to explore this novelty, this virtual affect. After that, I wasn't very sure how to represent this place, or this story, because "virtual" and "affect" were the main keywords for the project, but they didn't have much prior visual representation to work from. I couldn't think of anything... it was like a void. So we started this project from nothing, just with these two words, and they were so elusive, two words to represent.
And I worked with my cinematographer to record our material surroundings, it was very... I don't know, it's not an experimental process exactly, but it's very hands-on. We were working during the pandemic, so we weren't together, but we were exchanging these recorded letters. We'd send each other videos. And we'd record our surroundings, like glass caught between lights, and film water. Together, we'd watch the videos that appear in the film and talk about what they made us feel. And then we started tuning into some of the emotions we felt the materials were conveying to us, and afterward we wanted to keep exploring. So that's how we decided to work with certain materials, with fire, for instance, and with a lot of water, and that's how we started building this material corpus of footage.
And then eventually we started moving into post-production, and we started creating these new images that were completely different from the first ones, and that's when the story started to unfold, because then I had these new images that brought in these other ideas, and it became just a matter of trying to see the material for what it was, and what it made us feel in the moment, and then trying to put that into words and sounds, and just working with that.
The images in your film are stunning. I was particularly moved by the images of that kind of aquatic group of ring-shaped creatures that are able to generate a new being, whose very difference from them causes it to separate. How did you arrive at such sensual and, at the same time, such alive imagery?
Those in particular were made with a kind of candle-like material, and we filmed it making a movement while it was hanging. We did that about five times, and because it was hanging, it moved very organically, it looked like something alive, something a bit marine. And that brought me back to a feeling I remember from when I was a kid, when I dreamed about my brother falling off a ship — that was my first dream. It marked me, so I sort of wanted to put that into the film. And with the first story, it was that very common feeling of feeling like you're separating from your surroundings, and sinking into that separation. Like, you're not evolving out of it, you're just surrendering to it. I wanted the first narrative to feel like that.
That's a really beautiful feeling you captured, because I feel like the film is about these two different... this feeling you just described, but there's also, at the end, a comment on the virtual sphere, with images of the real world, and I wanted to ask what the main, I won't say "narrative," but what this main dialogue was like, and how the naming evolved during the making of your film?
I think the first narrative came last. Like, I spent a whole year thinking about this story in a very sequential way, but it wasn't like it is now. And once I had all the images that interested me, without a clear order, I realized I wanted to tell this story more as three parts. Like three stories that were sort of talking about the same feeling, but the reaction of the online users shown in the film was different. So in the first story, the main protagonist surrenders, in the second she's looking at this world and feeling sad. And in the third you have HAAYA, who's sort of going beyond the feeling, because she's sad, but that's also opening up something more in her. So it was this three-step path for processing an emotion, and that's how I realized I wanted to build this narrative — but it was only at the end, once I had everything.
And I always had the names of the main users as HAAYA and SULLL8, I always wanted it to be this conversation. I like that because I think it's like a two-way thing, that sort of reminds me a bit of the dialogue between Plato and Socrates. They always have that kind of exchange, so it was something similar to that.
And what was the sound design process like? Because there's this blend of water movements, sea movements, and movements that feel very close to something marine. How was that created, and how did the idea of the Salamander space — which is also the film's name — take shape in the process?
The sound design came together with the music, because I was working with my friend and he makes electronic music. But I don't know, for me it's always like this, I watch the image without sound, and I sort of start trying to see what could go there, and what these things would make me feel. For example, in the film there's a red image, and it's a bit bloody, but I wanted to intensify that feeling with a sound of something wet and squeezed, and at the same time lighten the image with it. As if it looks like it's rising a little, like it's getting brighter in a way. I don't know, I just try to feel what the images are saying, and then I see if it works, and if it doesn't, then maybe it should be the complete opposite. So it's like playing with everything, until you arrive at what you want to express, but it's never what you want to express, it's just — it expresses itself afterward. You just need to know how to read the things that are coming out of the film itself, I think. And the name, Salaman Extensor, was the first thing we came up with, before we had anything else. We just put the name out there, it felt like something that was at once ancient and also futuristic. So that's the only reason it's called that, and it also gave us the first stone we laid down, and everything came after that.
I haven't seen your earlier work yet, so I'm curious whether you feel Salaman Extensor is a culmination of what you wanted to express as an artist. Do you feel that, or does the film represent a new, different chapter for you?
I think it's like a culmination, yes, or like a starting point for something. And I think that had to do with the pandemic, because during that period I realized I had more control over the material world, because I was forced to stay on the computer 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and do all my work there. And it was like, "Oh, this is kind of fun!" and it was easy to control everything, so there was this feeling that I could do whatever I wanted. So that was the start of it, and I was also taking a Korean course during the pandemic, and I had to do a final project for the course that was more like a science-fiction film, and during that I realized I could make something more autobiographical within that genre. And science fiction helped me try to express these things, shifting the perspective a little, like stepping a little away from your point of view and from reality itself. So with a program like Salamander, you can give yourself this framework that's separate from reality, so you can fantasize in that place, and that can help you process emotions just by shifting the framing a little.
You premiered the film for the first time at Festival ECRÃ in Brazil — how does it feel, as a young filmmaker, to premiere this film at this kind of festival, and how do you see the importance of experimental film festivals for the development of more radical, more singular work?
I feel very blessed to be able to show my work. Because Brazil, to me, is this place that I feel is very separate from what I consider to be my culture, but is also part of my South American culture. So it was great to be in this kind of gray area, of what it means to be from South America. And so it's like this otherness, but at the same time it made me feel very welcome. I don't know, it was very, very beautiful, but I also wasn't very... I don't know. I wasn't sure where I'd premiere this film, because I don't know of a festival in Chile that's similar to ECRÃ in some way. So I was thinking maybe I'd do something more on social media, to release it online. But I don't know, ECRÃ gave me this new outlook, and let me see this kind of experimental work on a big screen. And it was like, "Oh my God! I want to keep doing this!" But I also want to explore things on social media, and do both on a bigger scale. So I'm living with a very hopeful feeling for the future after the ECRÃ festival.