Paulina Urrutia, actress and former Minister of Culture of Chile: “Alzheimer's is a death in slow motion”

In September 1997, Paulina Urrutia He was 26 years old and performed in the theater The seducer, by Benjamín Galemiri. He approached one of the functions Augusto Góngora, star of cultural journalism. “We received the public in the lobby, and one of my colleagues assured me that Augusto had come to see me. I didn't believe her, but what was I going to do with that gentleman who was 17 years older? As in bombastic love stories, of course, the journalist and the actress fell in love. Góngora directed the culture area of ​​Chilean National Television until 2010; Urrutia (San Miguel, 55 years old) became a union delegate for interpreters, worked in cultural policy and thus ended up as Minister of Culture during the first presidency of Michelle Bachelet, from 2006 to 2010. After Bachelet's first term, Urrutia He returned to the stage (“Public service is wonderful; politics is horrible, and I accepted only for the first reason”) and Góngora continued his work in favor of culture and that Chileans would not forget the terror suffered during the dictatorship. of Pinochet, collaborating on books such as Chili. The forbidden memory.

Two personalities whose professions delved into memory, and to whom in September 2014 a neurologist announced terrible news: Góngora suffered from Alzheimer's. Some time later, Urrutia invited documentary filmmaker Maite Alberdi to one of the classes he taught at the university. “Then it had not yet been released The mole agent, but in my country it was already well known. Among the students was Augusto. And that's how Maite came into our lives.” From her came the proposal to record a documentary, with years of filming (including the pandemic, in which Urrutia sometimes controlled the camera), which have ended in The infinite memory, Alberdi's documentary on the Oscar shortlist and which premiered in Spain last Friday, the day this interview was conducted: Urrutia accompanied some of its screenings in Madrid this weekend.

What follows is a summary of an hour and a half talk, in which Urrutia will hold back tears on numerous occasions. “I take interviews with a certain distance. I want to talk, although not with the press, because I am experiencing a mourning [Augusto falleció el pasado mayo a los 71 años], a process with its complexities, its moments. It's strange. Normally, the subject of a documentary does not speak to journalists. I have not seen encounters of an octopus with reporters,” she jokes.

Ask. How did Alberdi's proposal come about?

Answer. He sat down and told us that he wanted to film a love story. And I looked at her and thought: 'This girl is crazy. What is she talking about?' I refused, but Augusto and his children accepted. In fact, for me it was a documentary about Augustus. Maite recorded a lot of time with him and the occupational therapist going to museums, when I was still out on the streets, and I was still working directing a theater and at the university, where he accompanied me. In the end, the film focused on the last period, when I wanted him to feel alive doing the things he liked: talking, posing challenges…

This type of disease can be faced in a multidisciplinary way. Not as a health problem but as a social health problem. The cases are increasing, they will create a more vulnerable society… And its impact on the economy will be, and already is, brutal”

Q. Góngora never hid the illness.

R. Yes, the doctor diagnosed it at the end of 2013 or beginning of 2014. And in 2016, a journalist from the news supplement The Mercury He asked him for an interview to tell what was an open secret, although a highly respected secret, and Augusto was delighted to do so. Later he liked being in the front row at events for Alzheimer's patients.

Q. In the film is all his daily struggle and deterioration.

R. Over time I learned that fighting is a useless waste. It doesn't make sense, because that person is going to forget you. I always saw it as a game. My task was, when these moments came where he was absolutely lost, to reduce his anguish. Not telling him who he was or who I was, but offering him a coffee, which Augusto really liked at that moment, calming him down, chatting calmly and then explaining where we were and who we were.

Q. You did not take part in the creative process, nor in its premiere at Sundance in January 2023. Why?

R. Because it's Maite's film. For example, she filmed her children a lot and in the end they don't come out. Or Augusto with the therapist or at the cafe with his friends. They were Maite's decisions, because she wanted the love story. What's more, I didn't see the documentary until after Sundance, because that January I couldn't move due to Augusto's illness, and before its European launch at the Berlinale. I did travel to Berlin, and in Chile I have been supporting its promotion.

The important thing is not that Augustus remembered me, but that I remember Augustus. I am part of what he left on this earth and that is the true memory, that of the culture, that of the heritage, the collective one.”

Q. Do you feel like the pandemic has changed our perspective on neural diseases?

R. The pandemic passed as if nothing had happened. We didn't learn. Alzheimer's is a slow-motion death and we already know what that means. Did you want to live up to 100 years? Well, you still have to live through death, feel your physical, mental and emotional deterioration. And that's with a disease that affects an area of ​​the body that is the least researched. It can only be faced in a multidisciplinary way. Not as a health problem but as a social health problem. The cases are increasing, they will create a more vulnerable society… And their impact on the economy will be, and already is, brutal. Not only Alzheimer's, but also depression and other disorders, because they do not only affect those who suffer from them, but also family, friends, caregivers… In Chile we have a special mentality when faced with misfortunes, and we do not regret them. We are a country that by nature is faced with devastation. It's horrible, you can't believe everything that happens to us. When there are volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, when the mud reaches the roof of the houses, we do not fall into despair. Directly, we rebuild. And yes, on the screen you can see me losing my nerve, crying, but we all have a really bad day and that doesn't mean that a beautiful night arrives and incredible things happen.

Q. On screen Augusto misses his most precious asset, his books, while you talk about memories. Everything is memory.

R. Let me emphasize: the important thing is not that Augustus remembered me, but that I remember Augustus. I am part of what he left on this earth and that is the true memory, of the culture, of the heritage, of the collective. For me, that infinite memory is the real one, the one that remains when we disappear. We think that we are
going to face the drama of oblivion and it turns out quite the opposite: Augustus was a man who worked for memory against the dictatorship, and now he is more alive than ever: you are writing about him now and Augustus is dead. He said that memory had to be balanced: we cannot forget the damage caused or suffered, and at the same time recognize and recover what was built. Only then will it be productive. Memory is not about keeping the pain numb, on the contrary, let us open the wound, thus facing the dignity of continuing to live with balance. People believe that the film is going to talk about the drama of oblivion… And no, on the contrary, it strengthens the memory, the memory of it, and its discourse is more present.

Q. After his discussions, he greets the spectators one by one at the end. Because?

R. I do a very theatrical thing. When people leave the cinema, I thank them for coming… You don't know the affection, the amount of opinions, the things they say to you. Anywhere in the world, and I have traveled with the film from the US to South Korea, it is exactly the same. Absolutely transversal. Right-wing people in Chile say to me: 'Greetings and all my respect.' As if because you think differently you don't deserve the same respect! We are a very polarized country, and Augusto and I, easily identified with the left… In short, the public of any ideology has supported the film, making it the highest-grossing documentary in our history.

Q. How did Augustus' children approach the process?

R. They took over from me at home, and I spent this Christmas with them, because they are also my family. For them he was an absolutely admirable father, because he was a father Kramer. Thanks to that, they are beautiful beings. However, I understand that for any child this illness is very difficult, because my relationship with Augusto is equal to equal, while for a son they are the hero they idolized.

Q. Have you not felt embarrassed when you see the images?

R. Look, Maite left the camera during the pandemic because she didn't want to lose contact. And precisely that material became the essence of the testimony. One needs to say what is happening to them, and at that moment I felt that need for a witness of what we were experiencing. People are very impressed by this, they believe that Alberdi has reached the heart of cinema: today everything is shown, everything is exhibited. Whereas in The infinite memory came into our house, the film enters into something truly intimate, into a truth that is not made to be shown.

Q. Do you regret anything?

R. No, although later I see myself in pajamas [risas] or the out-of-focus images when I was filming… How did Maite accept this? [risas]? Well, because it is a living material and it let life sneak in.

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