In the 6th class B of the CEIP Antonio de Nebrija, in the Madrid neighborhood of Villaverde, today is a special day. For a few hours, they will leave behind the books and everyday lessons to enter the world of cinema for the first time, they will learn what is behind the productions that are seen on the big screen and they will become protagonists, writing and shooting a short film with the help of the people of MICE, the International Festival of Educational Film which in recent weeks is celebrating its ninth edition in Madrid with the screening of 47 short films made by children aged 8 to 17. 13 countries such as Mexico, Poland, Portugal, Argentina, Colombia, Croatia, Malaysia or Turkey (just to name a few).
The group that Maite Martínez tutors is not simple: like many others, it is very diverse both academically and socially, with late-aged students from Latin American countries and Morocco who, for the most part, have already repeated a year. But today, divided into five groups, the atmosphere is different. They started the day by watching a short film (made by the children) showing the different types of students in the classroom, and then, following the instructions of Nacho Goytre, MICE camera technician, they will start working on their own, which they will film in another session the following week. After deciding on the stereotypes to reflect on (“the one who is always late”, “the “influencers”“the one who is always in a bad mood”, “the one with the blowpipe”, “the one who always goes to the bathroom”), will work in groups to develop the scenes of their short film into a storyboards divided into four floors.
This will be one of three short films (this year two for Secondary and one for Primary) made in the current edition of the festival, which includes around twenty screenings in different schools and public spaces in Madrid, as well as in the municipalities of Coslada and Fresnedillas de la Oliva. Up to 3,200 students from the community will be able to enjoy films made by and for them. “It’s about bringing them closer to what cinema is, to the machine that is set in motion when you make a film, and to learn what a scene is, a shot, what equipment is needed, how to write a script and how to shoot it, obviously on a small scale. That they realize that it’s a collective effort,” says Goytre. And this is precisely what differentiates this festival most from others, because here the boundary between author and spectator is diluted, and even when they are not seen on the screen they identify with what is seen there.
Since its creation in 2016, with the help of MICE Valencia, the Madrid exhibition has maintained its aim of bringing cinematographic language closer to the educational field and offering young people a window to show how they see the world. Over the course of its nine editions it has woven a network of schools and cultural spaces – including in places such as Cuba, the Sahara, the Galapagos Islands, Mexico and Argentina – that use cinema as a vehicle to address social, emotional and environmental issues from the perspective of childhood and adolescence. And he demonstrates, in every shot, that learning can also happen through a camera, a script and a story told in a group.
Another way of looking
For José María Jiménez, director of MICE Madrid, the greatest value of this experience is not in teaching how to shoot, but in discovering another way of looking. “Most kids don’t know who the Lumière brothers were, or that at the first public screening a train appeared and people ran away because they thought it would run them over,” he explains. “Telling them about the origins of cinema helps them to love it, to understand that behind every shot there is a story and an intention, and also to look more carefully at what they consume on the screen”.
In meetings with school groups – like the one that took place last Friday at the Pipo Velasco Youth Center, in the Usera district -, the festival team retraces the milestones in the history of cinema through a theatrical show that culminates with a tribute to Alice Guy, the French pioneer considered the first person to shoot a fiction film. “She was a woman who founded her own production company, who filmed racialized people (and non-white people with painted faces) when no one else did, and who had to sign many of her films with her husband’s name so people would go see them,” Jiménez recalls. “The children are fascinated to discover it. At the end of the activity we make a short film with them about tricks, like those of Méliès, in which they make themselves disappear and reappear on the screen. It’s a magical moment: they come to see the films and end up being part of them.”
This direct contact with audiovisual language also has a visible impact. “They learn to work in a team, to negotiate and to put themselves in each other’s shoes. It is an activity that requires them to speak, decide and listen,” says Martínez, a sixth grade tutor at Antonio de Nebrija. For a class with students from very different backgrounds and with different learning difficulties, he adds, cinema also works as an emotional tool: “When they play a role they realize things that they otherwise wouldn’t perceive. It helps them channel their own emotions and understand those of others.”
In the screenings the students also discover that cinema can be a way to reconstruct memory. One of the titles that moved them the most is Daughter of the volcanothe documentary by director Jennifer de la Rosa, which investigates her own story of adoption after the tragedy of Armero, Colombia, in 1985. That eruption of the Nevado del Ruiz volcano caused an avalanche of mud and ash that erased the city from the map and separated hundreds of families; Many children were given up for adoption irregularly and today more than five hundred families are still looking for their children. The director, adopted in Spain, undertakes in the film the search for her biological mother – who may still be alive – and her past.
At the end of the screening the students had the opportunity to speak with her. “I remember one student came up to us crying and said: I felt very identified, because I’m also looking for my father“, recalls Jiménez. “And another Colombian boy thanked her for showing his beautiful country.” Jennifer’s story, he adds, served to talk in class about identity, migration and roots, and to bring them closer to the work of the Armero Foundation, which continues to try to reunite those families separated for 40 years. “That moment demonstrates”, says Jiménez, “that cinema does not only teach how to watch: it also helps to recognize oneself”.
The stories that young people tell
From the history of cinema to the issues that concern you today, the distance is not as great as it seems. The short films that are screened at MICE – but also those that the students themselves write and shoot – are an immediate mirror of their world, of what they see, what they feel and what worries them. “In Primary, issues such as the environment, recycling or the excessive use of screens often appear,” explains Jiménez, while in Secondary, other issues such as romantic relationships, gender violence, identity or harassment come into play. “In this edition, for example, one of the groups wanted to tell the story of a student who is going through a gender transition process. And the curious thing is that one of the kids in the group is going through that same situation.”
The director explains that many of these ideas arise from themselves, from a range of proposals that they choose and adapt. “We only give them the starting point,” he says, “but the development is theirs. They are very short stories, with only four shots, but there’s a whole debate behind them. In this case, they wrote a screenplay in which a trans colleague talks about his experience, and the short shows how the group reacts: some support it, others don’t understand it… It’s their way of putting what they experience on the table.”
This group work, however, is not always easy. Ghita Aguenaou, 11 years old, one of the sixth grade students participating in the workshop, tells it with the naturalness of someone who is learning what it means to create something together: “The most difficult thing is to agree. Sometimes there are things that are embarrassing to do and no one wants to do them. And it’s difficult for everyone to like the idea or the character they have.” This initial resistance, says Jiménez, is part of the process: “Making films forces you to listen, to give in and understand the other. And when they succeed, the result excites them because they feel that the story is theirs.”
Social media, of course, also runs through their narratives. “The short film in which the tiktokeras or the influencers“says Jiménez with a half smile. They are boys and girls of 10 or 12 years old who, in theory, should not have an account, but who already imitate the gestures, make-up or choreographies they see on the screen. A recent phenomenon that continually appears in the stories they create, along with other themes such as video games, omnipresent in the most recent productions, where students are inspired by their mechanics and visual languages.
Despite the geographical diversity of the works, the concerns are repeated: screens, coexistence, equality, mental health or conservation of the planet. “There are cultural nuances, but the substance is the same,” summarizes Jiménez. “It doesn’t matter if the short comes from Spain, Turkey or Mexico: they all talk about the fear of being alone, about friendship, about networks or about the future of the Earth. And it’s the most beautiful thing, given that the themes that interest them are universal.”
A seed that remains
What MICE leaves behind after passing through the halls is not just brief, but something more invisible and long-lasting. “We don’t want them to learn how to make films,” explains Jiménez, “but to understand what’s behind the images and discover that they can also tell about themselves.” For him, each workshop is “a seed that can germinate years later”, when these children watch a film, a news story or a social network with a critical eye, knowing that there is an intention behind every shot.
“These types of experiences make visible students who normally go unnoticed,” says Martínez. And, often, they are the ones who are most involved when the camera is turned on. Because in the end that’s the point: to look at each other differently, understand each other a little better and know that, when you tell a story together, something transforms, even if it takes a while to be seen.
