Barcelona Metropolis

We are at the Library of Catalonia, beneath the impressive 15th-century arches and surrounded by a striking series of theatre posters. Among these stones, Clara Segura has brought to life characters such as Antigone, Filumena Marturano, the Bride (Bodas de sangre, Blood Wedding), Antonietta (Una giornata particolare, A Special Day), Nawal Marwan (Incendis, Incendies), Svetlana Alexievich… and many more to come. Few actresses possess Clara Segura’s magnetic stage presence and overwhelming talent, combined with her approachability and intellectual honesty to engage with any contemporary issue.

She is an actress with no limits. In February, she won her third Gaudí Award and was nominated for her first Goya for the film Creatura [Creature]. In March, she finished the second season of La trena [The Braid] at the Teatre Goya, and in April, she began rehearsals for Tots ocells [Birds of a Kind], the epic drama by Wajdi Mouawad, directed by Oriol Broggi for the Grec festival. This autumn, the play has returned to the theatre listings.

Quite good. Turning fifty does make you see it as a sort of halfway point. You realise that, in reality, it’s a bit more than halfway through life, which prompts a reflective moment: “Wow, there are still things I want to do. Where should I focus?” This reflection has been happening for a while now. You start to gain a clearer understanding of how you want to spend your time and how you don’t. Time seems to slip through your fingers like sand, so you set priorities: cherishing time with your children, who grow up so quickly, and with your parents, who are ageing. It feels like life is accelerating, almost like a downhill race, because time seems to pass more quickly.

Mainly, you think about where you want to go next. You don’t want to just repeat things for the sake of it; instead, you want to refine and enhance your approach. You think, “Let’s give the machine a bit more power while we still have the energy”.

When I’ve taken the lead on projects myself, like with La trena or with Bruno [Oro], I’ve felt that I was truly deciding what I wanted to do, and those have been rewarding experiences. Now, I see things with much greater clarity. I experienced something similar when I directed. You venture into something uncertain and then realise it’s a language you’ve been working with for years. Essentially, you’re on stage and observing your colleagues, and it’s very satisfying because you can see when things are working. It’s been very fulfilling. The challenge is that these are long-term projects, spanning two or three years, and if it’s film, four or five, and they need to fit in with whatever choices you make along the way.

I haven’t felt that way in a long time because the audiovisual world is incredibly cruel, and for the last twenty or fifteen years, I’ve been saying: “What’s happened to my face?”

Well, when the camera angle or lighting isn’t right and you see yourself, you think: “What’s going on here?” So, I’ve come to terms with it; it’s a bit complicated to like what you see, and that’s that. We just accept it. You have to be liked for things other than your looks because, obviously, your appearance will deteriorate and won’t always be there.

Yes, I think it was a bit easier in the past. Theatre still has certain advantages, like the fact that if I want to, I can play Juliet [she makes a gesture typical of Italians, touching her chin as if to say “I don’t care”]. Who says Juliet has to be fourteen? In theatre, we can do whatever we like; we can push the boundaries a bit more. We are less constrained by our image, and that’s the beauty of it: the ability to transform into something we’re not. The pressures of the audiovisual world are much harsher. I’ve always had mixed feelings about it – appreciating some aspects but disliking the constraints on our image. I don’t want women to feel they have to change their bodies to get work or to be liked, and I refuse to accept that because it’s not the real issue. The real problem is the belief that our appearance is the problem; if you accept that belief, you’ll end up facing a double challenge: external pressures and internal self-doubt.

Yes, yes [laughs]; but I’ll also say that we still go around saying, “There’s this amazing cream”…

[Laughs.] Yes, but the real issue is that our audiovisual industry is very lacking in this respect. I openly criticise it, with much affection, but I always use this example: how many bald actresses with a belly are working for the same salaries as bald actors with a belly? None. There is a tolerance for the male physique that isn’t extended to women. I resist this kind of cinema that doesn’t include everyone. New voices are emerging – new female directors, screenwriters and writers, as well as new male directors, screenwriters and writers – who are presenting a broader, more diverse reality that can resonate with everyone or with very specific groups. Other film industries, such as those in Norway, Denmark and Germany, are embracing non-normative diversity. I believe an important social revolution is underway, but change is still very slow.

It has been liberating in many ways. I see women much younger than me with much clearer ideas about this diversity, who say, “My body is mine, and I’ll do what I want with it”, without anyone telling them whether they should wax, whether stretch marks are acceptable or whether their body is attractive. I find this wonderful. I think it’s heartening to see that these women, thanks to the efforts of our grandmothers, our mothers, and ourselves to some extent, are now declaring, “Enough is enough”. It’s just like saying, “Sister, I do believe you”.

No, not personally, but I’m sure I’ve normalised many things that weren’t normal. Now that I’ve put on my [feminist] glasses, I can’t take them off. When I see a camera focusing on a girl in a tight t-shirt during a concert, I think, “What is this about?” It feels very unsettling now, whereas before it seemed normal. I also realise that many of the frustrations I had, which I blamed on myself, weren’t actually my fault. If I felt upset about porn, it wasn’t because I was repressed, but because it reflected something unequal. It was based on the male gaze, with no discussion about my pleasure as a woman, what I enjoy or seeing women experience pleasure. Over time, I’ve come to understand that it wasn’t my problem but society’s.

That’s not quite what happened. The truth is, I fought for it, and my salary was eventually matched. I didn’t end up doing the show because another project came up.

It is surprising, but how many plays with female leads are there where you could bring Espert and Sardà together? That’s why we came up with La trena. 

It’s not exactly that, but we might end up working together. There is an idea in the works, yes.

[Laughs] No. I think I’ve always managed to downplay it because, otherwise, I would have spent a lot of time worrying about it instead of focusing on what needs to be done. And secondly, I would have imposed more limitations on myself. I believe the image people have of an actor or actress is very subjective. It’s a narrative. You might describe me one way, someone else might describe me another way, and I’ll have my own perspective. I don’t want to get caught up in it because, on bad days, you’re bound to see yourself in the worst light, and I’d rather not waste time on that.

I notice it in the street when I see someone smile at me. The appreciation I get is lovely, and I feel valued, appreciated, even loved. And that’s enough for me.

I don’t feel that way because if another film like The Sea Inside had come my way, I probably would have pursued it. But those opportunities are rare. As Bardem put it: “This is not normal”. Wherever there’s a good story, I want to be involved. I tend to reflect more on the times I’ve said no to opportunities that I didn’t see potential in, and I’m often relieved I turned them down. I’m glad I did.

Of course, but how much of that is quality content? That’s the real issue. Everything requires sacrifice at some point, whether in theatre or film. Three weeks of night shoots? For some projects, I’d prefer to be studying De Filippo. There’s a huge amount of audiovisual content, but much of it doesn’t interest me. I don’t want to bear the burden of a story that doesn’t move me.

The story needs to be one that I want to tell at this moment, or it should highlight something I hadn’t considered but realise needs to be addressed. What does it bring to the table? What issue are we touching on? Sometimes, simply making people laugh brings me great joy, but I especially enjoy it when the humour has a bit of an edge.

It’s more selfish. I focus on the experience I’ll have. Do I like the play? Yes, great. Have I never worked with this actor or actress before? Perfect. Is the script wonderful? Then everything else will follow. Because what remains of a play? Nowadays, not even the programme survives – just a QR code, and not even a photo. What stays is the memory, and that’s the true greatness of art. A quote from Guardiola in a documentary comes to mind, where he says that titles are eventually forgotten, but the joy people felt watching a team play isn’t. I believe what you remember is the feeling you get from an artistic performance, what moves you when you see Michelangelo’s David. In art, it’s the sensations that stay with you.

I think it was the readings we did in secondary school. Lorca fairly blew my mind. How can someone write like that? When we performed Blood Wedding, I felt as though it had been inside me [pointing to her head] for a long time and had finally come out.

Tots ocells [Birds of a Kind] is a story that connects concentration camps, the Israel-Palestine conflict and the United States. It provides a snapshot of a century and an ongoing conflict. It has always been unresolved, but now there’s a lot of bloodshed. This was coincidental, as the play was decided upon beforehand. I believe there is more dialectic in this play than in Incendies. The issue of verbal misunderstanding carries much more weight because it encapsulates this conflict perfectly. There is a search for identity, obviously, but also an attempt to find explanations for what is inexplicable – hate. Why do we hate?

Yes, because any out-of-context fragment can be misinterpreted. What happens on social media right now can be explosive. But if you watch the entire three-hour play, you’ll find yourself constantly going back and forth – no, yes, no… Don’t approach it with preconceptions, because, at its core, it’s a pacifist play. During rehearsals, there were moments when you’d think, “God, I can’t tell if this is happening to the actor or to the character”. I still don’t understand why these words, when combined the way Mouawad does, are like bombs. When you say them for the first time, they really hit you.

It is a bit challenging. Otherwise, you end up living in the past, clinging to that moment. When I look at the posters of the things I’ve done here, they are quite different. Of course, there are figures like Mouawad, Lorca, De Filippo… Shakespeare himself is a challenge in itself, but what’s really difficult is recreating the sensation of breaking new ground and discovering a new way of performing.