Manuel Yáñez-Murillo

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For this self-portrait in movies, I’ve decided to compose a full-body x-ray of my love for cinema —in a way, a compartmentalized version of my cinephilia, or a cardiogram of epiphanies. This is the result: for my eyes, Yasujirō Ozu (essential to have a clear view of things); for my voice, Lubitsch and comedy, my most beloved genre (all those lies which tell the best truths); for my ears, Lucrecia Martel’s aural system of (subversive) thought; for my sense of memory, Terence Davies' alchemy of nostalgia and poetry; for my heart, John Cassavetes; for my guts, the rebelliousness of Pier Paolo Pasolini; for my hands, the tactile and conceptual dialogue between Víctor Erice and painter Antonio López in "El sol del membrillo"; and for my legs, Linklater’s walking-and-talking ode to non-conformism. And then, finally, Murnau to keep one foot on the ground (a foundation) and Apichatpong Weerasethakul to set the other foot on the great cinematic beyond (a blissful future).