Paula Romero has been making politically-charged films for over a decade. From 2012’s observational documentary on Indigenous life in Colombia, El Ángel de Itinsana, to 2016’s attempt to demystify the ‘Superwoman’ stereotype in 2016’s We Have Never Been Superwoman, Romero is determined to use her work to break down barriers and address historic injustice. This is a common thread which also runs through her work as a camera operator on feature productions such as Spanish Civil War film Digging Deeper and Protest – a 2024 film about the feminist movement in England – as well as her promotion of the multidisciplinary art project Where Are Our Nipples – a project across the UK and Spain exploring the taboo and redefinition of female nipples. As Romero prepares for a first foray into fiction, she tells Indy Film Library about the importance of pushing boundaries through art.
How long have you been making films for now?
I studied journalism for five years degree and then worked as a video journalist in South America and Spain. I produced audiovisual reports for various media outlets, but it wasn’t until 2012 that I made my first observational and anthropological documentary, El Ángel de Itinsana, about an Aruhacos Indigenous community in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta in Colombia. After that, I directed another documentary titled We Have Never Been Superwoman in 2016.
Was there ever a particular moment when you thought, “This is something I could do”?
So many times… I often find myself inspired by countless ideas that seem promising. However, there’s a significant gap between thinking you can do something and actually gathering the resources to make it happen. Many ideas fade away during this process. The ones that finally emerge are those that are slow-cooked, requiring effort, time, and money. These are the ideas I hold onto tightly because they spark a deep connection and passion within me.
Are there any particular artists whose work has inspired or influenced you?
There are many who inspire me, but I am particularly influenced by female directors such as Alice Guy-Blaché, Agnès Varda, Isabel Coixet, Carla Simón, Maite Alberdi, Justine Triet, and Alice Rohrwacher.
Indy Film Library has reviewed two of your works, and they are very distinct genres. One is a meditative experimental piece in which two dancers spar and reconcile with one another through movement; the other is a documentary about a woman fighting against sexist assumptions in the haulage industry. But both try to address perceptions around the assumptions around women – psychologically and physically, but also ideologically. How would you describe the common thread, or core philosophy, which drives your films?
I would say that while they belong to very different genres, both films tell stories about women navigating difficult times. In Mothertruckers, the protagonist uses imagination as a vehicle to escape reality, with creativity as her source of hope. In contrast, Isolation Terminal deals with mental health issues, where the two dancers who fight and reconcile are actually the same person, ultimately accepting and forgiving themselves. One film is an outward journey, exploring social conflict, while the other is an inward journey, delving into the mind and the challenges we face during times of extreme loneliness.
As a creator and as a person who has experienced moments of mental and emotional crisis, I first had to undergo a process of healing—both in life and through my art—to learn how to face and convey reality with hope. In Isolation Terminal, the dancers embrace each other, using love as a means of survival. In Mothertruckers, Lisa uses the road as a space to dream. I believe these narratives represent ways to find hope within the complexities of our social and political environments.
In my review of Mothertruckers I noted the film was uniquely ambitious for a documentary. With some beautiful animation and a “wonderfully bonkers finale” in which the subject Lisa Melbourne sprints into the distance dressed as an astronaut, it regularly blurs the lines between reality and fantasy. Do you think there might be more scope to make a ‘fiction’ story within that world?
Mothertruckers was conceived as a “pilot episode” for a potential documentary series. I was interested in exploring the hybrid genre and venturing into creative documentaries. Mothertruckers draws on a turbulent time, such as the transport crisis, which is part of the current situation in the UK. I was also intrigued by how to depict routine and ordinary life through the lens of imagination.
However, Mothertruckers was a self-financed documentary, and although it has done well at festivals, it requires a significant amount of time and money to get a project off the ground. For now, it remains a short documentary film. Nevertheless, I am confident that in the future, I will be able to develop a longer format with stories about female truckers. Despite having an ordinary job, their lives can be filled with exciting and compelling stories.
What did you hope to achieve by applying these dream-like sequences to the more grounded and ‘real’ segments of talking heads and candid footage?
During the research phase, I interviewed both male and female truck drivers. I was struck by the difference in their perspectives: men often saw trucking as a means to provide for their families, while many women viewed it as a form of freedom. However, trucking is a demanding job, involving long hours away from home, limited social life, a lack of work-life balance, and physical challenges. This led me to question what kind of freedom these women were seeking. I realised it was about breaking free from social conventions, such as the roles of wives or mothers. The constant movement and life on the road created a false sense of freedom. In our capitalist society, true freedom is almost unattainable. Therefore, I used animation and an imaginary world to depict freedom as a state of mind—one where we can dream beyond the constraints of reality.
Additionally, through animation and voiceover, Lisa narrates her drive to escape a productive system on the verge of economic collapse, evoking the post-apocalyptic worlds she imagines and writes about. Mothertruckers explores the limits of humanity in a mechanised and productive world, challenging traditional views of the trucking profession.
What has the reaction been like to the film from audiences? And how did Lisa Melbourne feel about the film when she watched it back?
The documentary has been very well received. It has travelled to four of the five continents and has been featured in more than 50 national and international festivals, including CINELEBU 2023 and OFF 2023, both Oscar and Goya qualifiers. It has won over 16 awards, including honours from the Seville European Film Festival, ATLANTIDOC 2022, and the Carmen Award from the Andalusian Film Academy. The film is also available on the FILMIN platform.
In addition, Mothertruckers has been screened in educational centres and within the framework of feminist meetings and talks due to its exploration of the world of transport. For Lisa, seeing herself on the big screen and becoming a role model in these spaces has been a gift. It has provided her with an opportunity to challenge and open minds within this highly stereotyped sector.
Isolation Terminal addresses internal and external conflicts in a very different way – with two dancers expressing their hopes, fears and frustrations through movement, before seeming to reconcile at the end of the film. I’m always a little wary of asking an experimental filmmaker to talk about their film, because as David Lynch famously pointed out, “the film is the talking”. But is there anything you’d like to add about what you were trying to say with this movie?
It was a way of expressing something I couldn’t put into words: a feeling, an emotion… That’s why I used dance and audiovisuals as a tool to generate another emotion in the audience. I don’t know if I succeeded.
The film is shot without language, which puts the bodies of Cristina Barcaza and Malena Grillidancers at the heart of whatever potential meaning audiences will glean from it. Unfortunately, that has also led to some viewers simply fixating on their physical traits rather than what they might be trying to say with them. An interview with Prisma stumped you when asking whether it was your choice that one of the performers had not shaved their armpits, and regrettably at the IFL screening of the film in February, one audience member was very insistent that you should explain why the dancers were not naked. Do you think that these reactions would be different if your film featured two people presenting as men?
Probably not. The objectification and sexualization of the female body are still prevalent in various forms of consumption. However, I am surprised that it is so evident and explicit, especially in artistic contexts. During the Prisma interview, I responded, “I can understand that in the 80s or 90s, having armpit hair was politically radical and challenged fashion or aesthetics. Today, I think society has already overcome these complexes, and if not, it is something that society should rethink.”
I still believe that, as a society, we need to review and address many sexist and patronising behaviours.
I find it disappointing, though it does shed light on how deeply entrenched machismo is, even in creative and artistic spaces. It highlights how pervasive the remnants of patriarchy still are. While it’s frustrating, these reactions can also serve as a reminder of the ongoing need to challenge and address these ingrained stereotypes.
How do Cristina and Malena feel about that? Is there a lesson (or change in behaviour) they would like audiences to take away from all this?
I can’t speak for them directly, but Cristina had the opportunity to address the audience’s questions and firmly redirected inquiries about her body, which she felt were entirely inappropriate. Both Cristina and Malena, through their performance, would likely hope that audiences focus on the artistic and conceptual aspects of the work rather than fixating on physical attributes.
The aim is to encourage viewers to consider the broader themes and messages of the film rather than getting distracted by superficial details.
As mentioned, in February, IFL was proud to screen Isolation Terminal at London’s Garden Cinema. Which other events has the film played, and what has the reaction been like there?
Not much, but I think people find it disturbing.
Going back to that interview with Prisma, they also asked you who your “target audience” was. The response you gave was possibly my favourite in the interview, because you said you didn’t have a target audience at all. A lot of productions are created and sold on being able to speak to one stereotyped group, and the assumptions of what they like or dislike, but Isolation Terminal is totally free of that. Do you think this is only possible within an abstract or experimental space – or do you think other kinds of projects could work in this liberated context?
Today, it is challenging not to create a distribution and sales strategy with a defined target audience. From the development stage, projects often involve creating dossiers that outline and specify the intended audience. Experimental formats, like Isolation Terminal, tend to operate within a more niche, closed circuit, with fewer expectations and less ambition, which allows for greater freedom.
However, designing an audience is closely linked to the project’s budget. The more financing a project requires, the more detailed its distribution plan must be to recover the investment.
While it is challenging to break away from these established structures, especially given the competitive nature of the industry and the need to demonstrate a project’s viability, there is potential for other types of projects to work within a liberated context. The degree of freedom a project enjoys is often determined by its scale and funding.
Besides making these films, you have also worked in television documentary field. I have met a lot of independent filmmakers who dream of being able to make ends meet with that kind of work – and to escape from the bar or the call-centre permanently. Have you got any advice for them on how they might do that?
Perseverance is the key. In my particular case, it also took me many years to get out of precarious jobs to more stable work. As a migrant woman in England, the process of reinventing myself in the country was particularly challenging, and there were many moments when I considered giving up.
However, perseverance has allowed me to make a place for myself in the industry and, at the beginning, accept jobs that were far below my qualifications and skills.
You have recently been engaged in documentary filmmaking in Saudi Arabia, on the border with Jordan. Saudi Arabia is routinely criticised for its human rights record – including for its treatment of the LGBT+ community, women, and political activists. How do you navigate that situation when working there? And what are you hoping to achieve with your engagements in the gulf states?
Saudi Arabia is a country that evokes to me many feelings of frustration, but witnessing its rapid modernisation is, at the very least, interesting.
As a woman, I have faced numerous challenges, but I am also aware of the class differences that give me, as a European, a degree of privilege over local women. Navigating this context requires sensitivity and awareness of these disparities.
In terms of my work, I aim to document a small part of this ongoing transformation. Despite the criticisms, the country is undergoing significant changes at a remarkable pace. My goal is to capture and reflect this transformation.
You’ve already covered a lot of ground, in terms of the genres your films have worked in – documentary, animation, experimental, dance, even a little sci-fi – are there any new frontiers you would like to push into with future projects? And would you like to take any of the techniques and views you’ve developed from your previous work into those fields?
My next project will be a foray into fiction, where I plan to experiment with new formats. After working extensively with documentaries, diving into fiction represents a fresh and exciting challenge for me. I look forward to applying some of the techniques and perspectives I’ve developed in my previous work to this new genre, particularly the innovative storytelling methods and thematic explorations.
Along with developing La Buena Hija as a feature-length fiction film, I am also working on biographical documentary features. Additionally, I am producing various projects in Spain through my production company and continuing to collaborate with other productions as a freelancer in the British TV industry.
Finally, how can people find more of your work, and support what you are doing?