“The question is not whether we believe or not believe in God; the question is whether God believes in us.” The phrase was uttered by Amador, very drunk, leaning on the bar of La Naval, the bar where a group of shipyard workers without work met. Mondays in the sun. The first time I heard Celso Bugallo say it was at the casting tests we had done in Vigo a few months before. I had written it, but I was overwhelmed to hear it on his lips. From the moment I stepped foot in that room I felt like I was already part of the film. In his deep gaze, in his sullenness, in his hands and in his strong, sculpted features, I thought I saw those of Amador that day, his strength and his dignity as a worker, his lucidity, his wounds.
When Celso showed Amador’s excesses, his unnoticed loneliness, his bad wine, everything became real. Rarely have I seen so much truth, so much depth, on camera. I remember with emotion a night shoot, a scene with Santa, the character played by Javier Bardem in the film, both of them sitting on the floor, laughing like two children, like two men. Like two Siamese brothers, that’s what they were after all: classmates, workers. If one falls, we all fall, Amador told him who was once his disciple, and in doing so he reminded him of where they come from, who they are, where they belong.
Celso knew how to transmit tenderness, pain, humanity to the character; and that delicate balance, that of dignity in defeat. Through him he embodied the loneliness of the bars, the ashamed silence, the desperation of those who walk along that death row of civil life that is unemployment.
Then we did Amador together, with Magaly Solier. And just a few years ago The good boss, where he plays Fortuna, a faithful man, who works with his hands, loyal to the point of submission. Much of the weight of the film, including its ending, fell once again on his burdened, manual worker’s back.
His gesture, his look, the way he spoke, the way he was silent: everything about him was true. The truth of an actor who worked without a net, who showed his viscera, and to whom I owe some of the most exciting moments I have experienced on a set. On the other side of the scale, giving meaning to everything, its simplicity.
This Monday in the winter sun I can only celebrate his frank laughter, the company he has been, his kindness. He leaves as he lived, elegantly and quietly, but all the characters he has been remain with us forever.