Penélope Cruz: “It worries me that there are still people questioning climate change and a host of other things that aren’t a matter of opinion—they are facts.”

The Madrid-born actress is one of the stars of La bola negra, the new film by Los Javis. She is enjoying a wonderful moment in her career and is using the opportunity to discuss the issues that concern her with writer Alana S. Portero in the cover story for the September issue of Vogue.

As this conversation with Penélope Cruz takes place, the mountains east of Madrid are burning, as are Ávila, Toledo, and La Vall d’Uixó, while fires are breaking out in Castelló. Speaking from Los Angeles—midway through hair and makeup for an upcoming Nancy Meyers film [an as-yet-untitled project in which the Madrid-born actress will star alongside Owen Wilson, Kieran Culkin, and Jude Law, among others]—she says she is “very worried about the fires” and “that there are still people questioning climate change and a host of other things that aren’t matters of opinion, but facts.”

Penélope has a remarkable knack for making those around her feel they have her undivided attention; even as she answers my questions—maintaining eye contact with the specific spot on the screen where my eyes would be—she exchanges subtle, knowing glances with the professional styling her character. She steers the conversation back to the relationship humanity is forging with the digital world and the resulting political landscape: “Facts, opinions, and lies all get jumbled together; human beings aren’t equipped to process so much information. It’s an experiment that’s going wrong—because it was bound to; it’s simply unprocessable. It makes me angry and fills me with sorrow for the younger generations forced to grow up with this; it saddens me that they can’t compare it to what we experienced. We can’t even put a name to it—it transcends institutional politics. I see it as a critical issue: how do you verify information, and where?”

Throughout our conversation, we frequently return to the subject of young people. “I have a soft spot for them—and I’m not just talking about my own children. I want to know what they’re going through, what they’re into, and what interests them, while also protecting them from this overwhelming flood of information that’s impossible to digest. Yet, our generation lacks the tools to do that; we don’t know what it’s like to grow up this way.”

It is inevitable to extrapolate this scenario of new technological tyrannies to the realms of culture and art; I share your pessimism—the fear regarding what a landscape dominated by Big Tech emperors, driven by the flow of data, Reels, TikToks, generative AI, and concepts like the “dual screen” (writing and filming in a repetitive, over-explained manner so viewers can follow movies and series without getting lost while looking at their phones), is doing to our minds, our attention spans, and our freedom. “I hold out hope for a movement of people who say ‘no’—who refuse to give in,” comes the reply. “I hope we rebel against the idea of ​​human beings being born without the chance to practice human connection, without the chance to experience boredom, without time to inhabit that sense of emptiness where everything exists. If minds lack that, it spells the end for many things—and it also goes a long way toward explaining the sharp rise in anxiety and depression over the last twenty years. We cannot simply look the other way and let new generations pay the price. We have to say no; not everything is acceptable.”

Regarding artificial intelligence, Penélope reflects: “Its applications in medicine and research are wonderful, but in so many other areas, it has already become a problem that is leaving millions of people out of work. People speak flippantly about the free time AI will supposedly afford us in the future, yet they forget that we humans need a purpose—something to drive us and give meaning to our lives—not to mention the danger of surrendering to such total control. What a good film, a good novel, or a painting evokes strikes a chord within us that the other cannot compete with, because it lacks a soul. My hope is based on the belief that we are more than just flesh and bone; I don’t practice any specific religion—I’ve spent my life since adolescence studying many of them without feeling the need to choose one for myself—but I do believe in God in my own way, and that we are more than just what we can see and touch here.”

There is something about her way of thinking and expressing herself that inspires hope—a vital spirit that has nothing to do with naivety but rather with a radical commitment to imagination, desire, and the tenacity required to bring them to fruition; it is an artistic attitude toward life that rebels against threats and narrow-mindedness, and it is highly contagious. Her character in La bola negra—the film by Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi that was acclaimed and awarded upon its premiere at Cannes—is the cuplé singer Nené Romero; she appears amidst the fire consuming the entire country—the Spanish Civil War—shining like a light that rises above fear and horror through music, dance, empathy, and humor. When the directors hesitated to offer her the role, fearing she might consider it too small, she replied, “Are you crazy? I would never judge a character by how many minutes they spend on stage.” Her first impression upon reading the script was, “I don’t know if they realize what they have here—they are geniuses,” and the instant rapport between them did the rest. “My first meeting with ‘Los Javis’ actually felt like a reunion; we spent hours talking about Pedro’s films—he taught us a shared, free way of seeing the world—we knew lines by heart, and we poured out our life stories to one another as if we had been lifelong friends.”

Penélope describes La bola negra as “powerful” and is certain that “it arrives at a pivotal moment that will really stir things up—regardless of your views—and awaken consciences, because it touches a universal place in the heart where we all speak the same language. Ultimately, we all want the same thing.”

How do you approach and prepare for a character like this—someone who, with just two songs and a single conversation, defines the contours of an entire country’s freedom and stands as the very embodiment of hope? Penélope reflects: “Nené is the answer to my question, ‘What is art?’ It’s that thing I found in Pedro’s work, in classical ballet, or in listening to Prokofiev while sitting in my living room as a teenager—times when I was going through hard moments and dreaming about what I wanted to do in the future. Art saved me; it gave me a guide, a path. I think Nené represents that.” As for the preparation, there were “months of singing and dance lessons, and staging and rehearsing the choreography. I love being able to sing and dance in a film; I danced for eighteen years of my life, and whenever I can bring that to a character, it’s pure happiness for me. I had only sung in Nine before, and I have a lot of respect for it; we worked on it extensively.” She continues: “The two numbers are very different; on stage, she speaks with that theatrical Madrileña swagger, but in the conversation with Álvaro’s character [Guitarricadelafuente], she is completely different. They are very distinct energies that required intense work, and that’s exactly what I love about a character.”

As we talk, hope gradually becomes the driving force of the conversation, and we can’t help but keep fueling it. I get the sense that we both need the kind of reassurance that everyone needs these days. We agree on how fiction—and the art created by others—saved our lives in some way, or gave them a meaning that left a lasting mark, both personally and politically. I ask her if she ever reflects on the fact that she is now that icon on the poster, that embodiment of a dream, that fantasy of possibility—terms Nené Romero uses in La bola negra to define cross-dressing and sicalipsis (the era’s risqué, transgressive performance style). “It really moves me when young people come up and tell me things like that; I know they mean it. I feel so lucky to be just one part of the group of people who build something bigger—like movies—something capable of sparking such important and inspiring things.”

Respecto a esta forma de entender su trabajo, insiste “Nunca lo quiero ver de otra manera, soy una pieza más de esto que hacemos, ni más ni menos importante que las demás”, y matiza, “Soy un vehículo que en el caso de La bola negra le sirve a Nené para existir, nada más, y me encanta”. Nos sonreímos a través de la pantalla en silencio y me parece que sus ojos brillan un poco, puede ser efecto del eyeliner que acaba de ponerse ella misma o un asomo de emoción, elijo quedarme con el segundo pensamiento, estamos hablando de fantasía y esa me parece muy hermosa. Penélope interrumpe ese momento de silencio. “Tengo tanta suerte, Alana. De pequeña rezaba con todas mis fuerzas pidiendo poder dedicarme a algo que me gustase, ojalá al baile o a la interpretación. Me resulta curioso haberlo tenido tan claro siempre. Te juro que todos los días rezaba por esto”. Le pregunto si sigue rezando: “No lo llamo rezar, pero sí doy gracias por poder seguir dedicándome a esto después de tantos años y seguir disfrutándolo”.

In that constant gratitude, one glimpses something rooted in class—in that girl from the working-class neighborhood who has conquered the world; and even though she is aware of it, I get the feeling she hasn’t quite fully wrapped her head around it. There is a truth in Penélope Cruz’s work that stems from where she comes from—an observation of reality grounded in reality itself—and an ability to bring that truth anywhere, whether it’s a musical, a social melodrama, or a pirate movie. Speaking of that working-class privilege—that enriching perspective we share—she says: “I get emotional talking about my neighborhoods, Alcobendas and San Sebastián de los Reyes; they made me who I am and taught me never to take for granted the fact that I can do this for a living. For instance, Nancy Meyers doesn’t understand why I thank her so much—she thanks me for my loyalty. The movie we’re shooting is a huge project; it almost fell through, but I waited for it. Her gratitude baffles me; back in my neighborhood—through my parents’ values ​​and what I witnessed growing up—I learned that there is a work ethic, a certain way of doing things.”

Regarding the potential rift between a segment of society—at least in Spain—and the film world—a divide that, in my view, stems from decades of malicious, class-based political manipulation—I wonder if Nené Romero, as a traveling performer—a figure embodying the old-school entertainers who toured from village to village to lift people’s spirits—might offer a way to bridge that gap and foster a better understanding of the acting profession. “I don’t want to generalize here. The fact is, many young people are returning to theaters to watch three-hour movies; they crave that stimulus and won’t let the ritual of the cinematic experience die out. I see this happening in both Spain and the United States, and it gives me tremendous hope. Especially over the last year, I’ve felt a shift. In a world that—as we discussed earlier—bears down on them, denying them the chance to truly express themselves or find their own voice while simply blaming them for all sorts of behaviors… well, I choose optimism. Even though I’m worried and scared about everything, I choose to focus on the good—and they are the good. We’re going to bring about that revolution; we aren’t damn robots.”

Via: Vogue Spain