A Story About Productivity, Vitality and Creativity: in Conversation with Gabriel Mascaro
© The Blue Trail (2025)
This interview contains spoilers about the movie The Blue Trail / O Ultimo Azul (2025), which will be released in Belgium on the 26th of November, and has been in cinemas in The Netherlands since the 18th of September. Read with caution.
Gabriel Mascaro started as a documentary film maker and had his feature film breakthrough with August Winds and Neon Bull. In his new film The Blue Trail he again uses very vivid imagery, this time switching the Brazilian sertão for the Amazon. Critical as always, he seems to be pushing further even further towards socio-political allegory and dystopian fantasy. The film gained praise as one of the best Brazilian films of the year, and is getting a very good reception in Europe as well. João Pedro Diaz and Koen Vanderschelden met with Mascaro on the day of the sold out Belgian premiere of the film during Film Fest Gent.
Koen Vanderschelden (KV): Where did the idea to make a coming-of-age film with an old lady as the main character come from?
Gabriel Mascaro (GM): At some point, after my grandfather died, my grandmother started painting at 80 years old. It came out of nowhere: we’re not an artistic family and have no tradition of that. Suddenly, she began painting — and painting well! That really left a mark on me. It was a seed that made me look at the elderly female body differently. So I decided to contribute to that gaze; to make a film about awakening to something new at the age of 80. I took that emotion as inspiration to create something new. The way I look at my grandmother is the same way I look at Tereza, the main character.
And then I started doing research. There are so few films in the history of cinema with elderly protagonists. And when there are, they’re usually about death: the loss of a friend, their own death, terminal illness — stories about bodies saying farewell. When they’re not about that, they’re about an old person disconnected from the present, living in the past, nostalgic for glory days gone by, mourning their youth. I wanted to do something different. To look at the present and throw this woman into movement, into desire, into life force.
Then it was a question of finding the right genre. Which genres deal with desire and impulse? It’s films about youth, right? Coming-of-age stories, dystopias, road movies — young people discovering life. So, I wanted to make a film that plays with all those genres, but with an elderly body at the center.
KV: But at the same time, you also make a critique, at the beginning of the film, of the ‘colony,’ right? The place where the elderly are sent when the government considers them too old. The balance between care and paternalism is remarkable when it comes to the elderly.
GM: Yes, curiously, the state in this film is both autocratic and a welfare state. It’s an institutional state that claims to take care of everyone. However, you soon realize that, in a very particular way, it doesn’t. It’s a kind of care from the state’s perspective — care on its own terms. So, it’s a state that, oddly enough, forces you to wear a diaper, to have your diaper inspected, and forces you to leave when told. At the same time, it’s not that classic dystopian authoritarian state. It could be the past, or the present — the film doesn’t have a strict relationship with time. It’s like an alternate space-time.
João Pedro Diaz (JPD): Tereza is fascinating, and so is the actress playing her, Denise Weinberg. How did you build that character, and what was your collaboration with Weinberg like?
GM: It was very special. I didn’t know Denise while writing the script. She is more known in theater. In Brazil, the first generation of actresses working in television was heavily pressured by the television industry to stay young, get facial procedures, and hide their aging. So, it was hard at first to imagine who could play this role since none of the usual TV-names fit. Then I looked to theater and found Denise, an extraordinary actress who completely aligned with the character.
She believes deeply in defending the space of aging, in redefining beauty for older women in Brazil. It’s rare to see women aging without procedures. She told me, “Gabriel, my wrinkles are my creative tools. They’re how I express emotion as an actress.” When she read the script, she was thrilled and said “Finally, a character that represents older women honestly." Roles for older women are often caricatures after all - the sweet granny always complaining.”. Denise was surprised to be the one filming every day. It gave her a renewed vitality. And besides that, we had over 20 actors and actresses from Manaus, the capital of the Amazon region. It was beautiful. I didn’t know the local theater scene there very well, so it was an immersion, discovering such talented artists. Rodrigo Santoro also joined for a special appearance, which was wonderful.
KV: This interview will be published in Rephrase Magazine. For me its name has a double meaning: we support writers by helping them rephrase their sentences, but we also try to publish stories or interviews with people who are rephrasing social debates. We’re an openly progressive magazine, trying to change things through the stories we tell. So — how does your work try to ‘rephrase’?
GM: I think the first rephrasing in this film is within cinema itself, more specifically the genres that normally don’t allow older bodies to be protagonists. Why can’t an elderly body be rebellious? Why can’t it fall in love, rediscover itself, have a rite of passage that isn’t death? The Blue Trail questions all that — rethinking genre, narrative tradition, and looking at the elderly female body through the lenses of desire, rediscovery, and vitality. It’s about a woman who wants to fly — and who finds out she’s capable of flying much higher than she ever imagined.
JPD: Another remarkable actress is Miriam Socarrás, doing a great job as Roberta in the film. She’s Cuban, right? How did you meet her?
GM: I had such a hard time casting in Brazil that I opened it up to Latin America. I started looking in Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela — and eventually found Miriam in Cuba. It was fun to imagine a ‘Portuñol’ character there. Miriam also brought a new face to the film — moved it away from whiteness, you know? If I had cast someone from Leblon or Copacabana to steer a boat in the Amazon, it wouldn’t feel right. Having Miriam, with her red hat, steering the boat — it was perfect.
We also met through the internet, which was an interesting experience. I started asking friends in Latin America if they knew any older actresses they could recommend. Then someone told me: “Hey, I just met this Cuban actress at the supermarket — amazing, strong, she could handle the Amazon.” So immediately, I knew that would be her. It was a total leap of faith as I had never seen her act, but once she arrived, she enchanted the entire crew.
I kind of knew it would happen that way. She arrived fifteen days before shooting, and we still didn’t have an actress — I thought, “Damn, this better work!”
JPD: The Blue Trail is a very dystopian, fantastical, almost absurdist film. You create a dystopia by filming reality, in a way. It is a realism that dialogues with fantasy. How did you manage to capture that?
GM: It’s like creating a small dislocation of reality, a subtle absurdity. And by looking at the world through the lens of absurdity, you realize there are plenty of absurd things happening every day. Take the abandoned park, for instance. I was shocked when I discovered it and in pure disbelief that a place like that could exist. Brazil is full of such things — the dystopia is already there, ready-made.
KV: Why did you choose to shoot in the Amazon region?
At some point, it became important for me to look at the Amazon from a different perspective than it’s usually portrayed. So not just the preservationist, environmental view. I wanted to make a film about the clash between the elderly body and productivity. To think about productivity in an Amazonian context was a fascinating tension. When I discovered the alligator meat factory, I was shocked. It is madness that this happens in Brazil. It’s the perfect setup — a production line that speaks about the Amazon, and about a cultural shift that normalizes the idea of an alligator slaughterhouse.
Those elements — that contrast between economy, productivity, culture, and this aging body forced into confinement in the name of efficiency — added to the dystopian tone. At the same time, there’s the river — winding, disorienting, but also where you rediscover life — both personally and philosophically. I had worked in the region before, about 20 years ago, teaching filmmaking to Indigenous creators. So, writing about those memories and then filming there felt natural. It was challenging but also beautiful. We worked with a local crew from Manaus who are very experienced in filming the river and its environment. So, it wasn’t quite as hard as Fitzcarraldo!
JPD: Speaking of the formal aspects of the film. I feel like it starts more rigid — the framing, the static camera — and then it loosens up. As the film and Tereza's journey progresses, the camera becomes freer, the cuts less strict.
GM: Yes, that was intentional. We wanted to start with a more ‘boxed-in’ film: less horizontal, fewer wide lenses, and more square compositions. That’s why it has a 4:3 aspect ratio, in contrast to the usual widescreen landscapes. We didn’t want to fall into the seduction of the Amazon’s beauty for beauty’s sake. We wanted to focus first on the body rejecting the exotic appeal of the Amazon.
Then, later on, we thought about cinematography again. At the start, when she’s under state control, the camera is fixed. When the state loses control over her, the camera goes handheld, it becomes fluid. So when she breaks free from the grip of her daughter and the state, the last static shot is of the airplane. She’s leaving the travel agency and sees the plane on the runway. After that, the camera goes handheld. That’s when the journey begins. There are one or two exceptions, but it’s a clear cinematographic shift; you can feel it.
KV: You also make fantasy and inventive cinema. What’s it like doing that in Brazil?
GM: Creatively, Brazil already has so many surreal elements — it’s such an invention in itself — that it feels natural to play with that. So much of what I film, or the “crazy ideas” I imagine, actually exist when I go research them. For example, I might think, “What if there were a soccer game with roosters involved?” And then, sure enough, you’ll find it exists somewhere. Brazil is full of that — the absurd is already real.
JPD: The fish fight — is that real?
GM: Not really, no, although there’s also a whole culture of ornamental fish in Manaus, so it connects. But it did exist back in the 1980s when I was young — or at least that’s the story. Supposedly, during a dengue outbreak in the Northeast, they brought this Asian fish — from Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos — to eat the mosquito larvae. It’s a super resilient fish; it can survive days in a sealed bag. So, they spread everywhere. My childhood memory is catching them in streams, keeping them in aquariums, and watching kids make them “fight”. Not to the death, of course — in the film, it’s more stylized — but that’s the origin. The fantasy version turns it into a kind of Amazonian fish casino, but that doesn’t actually exist.
KV: And that imagery comes from the Northeast.
GM: Curiously, yes — it comes from the Northeast, not from Manaus.
KV: But even so, it feels rooted in real history. That interests me — the Pernambuco and Northeastern cinema that’s been emerging in recent years. There’s a tradition there too.
GM: For sure. When I started making films, about 20 years ago, most filmmakers of my generation had to live in São Paulo or Rio — the industrial, commercial centers — just to survive doing cinema. Everyone had to leave home. I’m probably part of the first generation that really benefited from regional public policies, from the first Lula government, which promoted diversity in production and encouraged new regional film hubs. That’s been amazing.
Now, 20 years later, we’re reaping the results — with around a dozen films circulating internationally. At BFI London, for example, there were two Brazilian films — both from Pernambuco: The Secret Agent (Brazil’s submission for the next Oscar’s) and The Blue Trail. Here too, probably.
KV: The Secret Agent is indeed coming out soon.
GM: Yes, that’s part of the results of those public policies — we’re seeing them now. It’s no coincidence that this hub has formed. Twenty years ago, Brazil exported a very limited kind of cinema; now we have two Pernambucan films showing abroad. That’s very special — it speaks to decentralizing the cinematic gaze, allowing new “Brazils” to emerge — from the North, the South, everywhere.
KV: Yes, I also watched Manas, which was filmed in Belém.
GM: Is it screened here?
KV: Yes, it took a while, but it was released. Brazilian cinema is doing great. I read this week that the film industry’s contribution to Brazil’s GDP is now higher than the automotive industries.
GM: That’s crazy, huh?
KV: And that’s new — from recent years. Do you know how that came about? Is it connected to the same investment plan?
GM: I think the success of I’m Still Here (the Brazilian film that won an Oscar this year, you can read more about the film here) helped show that.
KV: This seems like a really important moment for Brazilian cinema. This does not seem like just a flash in the pan.
GM: I think this “flash” lasted longer than usual — maybe not just a year, but three. I’m Still Here, Homem com H, The Blue Trail — all released theatrically. Now The Secret Agent is coming, and that’ll boost things again. Maybe not as big as I’m Still Here, but still strong for the next two or three years. Hopefully the earlier public policies gave us enough breathing room for a longer life cycle. Because that’s what it takes — it’s long-term.
Back then, everything was more regulated by public policy. Today, it’s more complex — it also involves streaming. Streaming platforms have kind of dismantled Brazil’s cinema ecosystem. Just like the evangelical churches wiped out neighborhood cinemas, streaming doesn’t have quotas to support or produce Brazilian cinema — which makes things tough.
They do play a role in creating audiovisual works and generating jobs, but in the end, what kind of films get made? They own the rights, control the creative process — the platform has to approve everything. There’s less freedom than when a public policy funds an auteur film.
JPD: Yes, maybe we can also talk about that. The film has had a really good international reception. It won an award in Berlin, and now you’re here at this major festival in Belgium. How do you feel about this response? What’s it been like?
Oh, it’s been a huge joy, really. You work on something that you nurture for so long, you know? We know how hard it is to make cinema circulate. Around the world, the biggest bottleneck, the biggest challenge isn’t just financing production, but actually getting the film to play in theaters — that’s even harder. Because that’s a whole different market, the distribution market. So, with great joy, we managed to premiere first at the Berlin Festival, in competition, and we came out with the Silver Bear award. That gives the film visibility; it helps a lot. We’ve been sold to more than 86 countries, and with that, the film screens at festivals and then goes into theaters right after. I think that really changes things — it’s not just a film that plays at a festival, it actually gets released. That gives it a much longer life. So, it’s really wonderful to be able to help the film reach that. And it’s very special to bring Brazilian cinema to so many festivals and to know that it’s also being shown in cinemas afterward. In Europe, there are still neighborhood theaters — compared to Brazil, where most of those have turned into evangelical churches. Here, in places like the Netherlands, if you think per capita, the number of local cinemas that screen Brazilian films is maybe ten times higher than in Brazil.
KV: What are the next steps for the film?
Well, it’s happening — and distributors often use festivals to create these kinds of encounters. The festival itself makes it possible — they bring me here, something the distributor usually can’t afford. So beyond screening the film and doing Q&As, festivals help with promotion. Because it’s so hard to get a film into theaters — and even harder to let people know it’s playing. So after the premiere, the next step is to do the national festivals in each country — Ghent, London — and then work on the theatrical release. Because that’s when the film really reaches the public. Unfortunately, many films never make it past festivals — that’s the reality.
João Pedro Diaz is a Brazilian film editor based in Ghent. He has worked as an editor of feature films such as Aurora (João Vieira Torres, Visions du Reel 2025 competition) and assistant editor to major productions with renowned directors such as Walter Salles, Maria Augusta Ramos, Aly Muritiba, amongst others. João obtained a master in Film Studies at the University of Amsterdam.
Koen Vanderschelden works as a policy advisor in Ghent. With Rephrase, he aims to diversify the Flemish media landscape by pushing new voices and narratives to the center stage, envisioning a more just society.