It was the end of summer 1988, I was 11 years old, and Trianon was still a movie theater at the time. Darkness. The first image: The fog disperses as dawn breaks behind a lighthouse where the protagonist looks out at the waves: “The sea… It’s contaminated with radiation… Will it ever be blue again?”
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Maybe those in Cuba who want to make an obliging, critical cinema “to the extent that’s allowed”, or simply ads or reggaeton music videos, will be very happy now that they have been promised a legal framework.
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Cuban filmmaker Miguel Coyula: “I can’t remember when it was that I realized I was free. It wasn’t a sudden revelation, nor was it an impressive one. When I think about jail time or even death as a result of my work, without any kind of fear, I don’t think this has to do with being brave. Quite simply, my life is worthless if I can’t do what I enjoy and say what I think.”
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