The Making Of
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"For Argentina the task of remembering is hard work, but the thousands of disappeared souls deserve no less..." Filmmaker Juan Mandelbaum illustrates why he made OUR DISAPPEARED, a personal look at the terror that took over Argentina in 1976.
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Filmmaker Juan Mandelbaum talks about how a casual Google search for a former girlfriend brought him back to Argentina three decades after he left the country; reconnecting with the parents and siblings, and meeting the children of his friends who were "disappeared;" and how, despite more worldwide awareness today, brutal tactics and torture are still sanctioned by many governments around the world.
What led you to make this film?
When I found out that my old girlfriend Patricia Dixon was among the disappeared, it was a big shock. A wall I had built around all my feelings about the disappeared came crashing down. Of course, I was always aware of what had happened and hated the military for it. But this was something else. So I went back to Argentina to find out what had happened to Patricia and others I knew who had also disappeared.
As I began to learn more, I decided to make a film that would tell their stories, and revisit our dreams for a more just society. It became a delayed grieving process that still continues. It was also a way to reconnect with Argentina on a deeper level after living away for almost 30 years. The time that has passed allowed me to hear from three generations—the parents, siblings, friends and the children of the disappeared. The point the film ultimately makes is that despite the savage repression, life wins in the end—the children of the disappeared are becoming parents now, ensuring that those who were taken will never be forgotten.
What were some of the challenges you faced in making this film?

Everyone I spoke with knew me or had a direct connection to one of the stories I was telling....I was very moved by how they trusted me with their stories, even though they had never told them publicly before.
Running my company at the same time as making the film was very demanding. Both were full time jobs. But everyone was very supportive, especially my family. Many, many nights and weekends were devoted to the film. I thought that locating people and convincing them to be in the film would be hard, but almost everyone opened up very willingly. Only a few didn’t want to participate, but they made it clear that it was for their own personal reasons. They had no objections to the film.
Locating some of the archival footage was hard, but I had a wonderful researcher in Buenos Aires, Dolores Miconi, who helped me locate great material. And I also looked in the U.S. and Europe. In Spain I found some man-in-the-street interviews done just after the coup, at a time when obviously no Argentine TV station was asking people what they thought about the military taking power.
How did you gain the trust of the subjects in your film?
Everyone I spoke with knew me or had a direct connection to one of the stories I was telling. The older ones, like Rafa and Ruth, knew my parents and knew me as a kid. I was very moved by how they trusted me with their stories, even though they had never told them publicly before. I shared some of my previous films with them so that they could become familiar with my style, which has always been very respectful of my subjects.
I also tried to create a very peaceful and relaxed environment for the interviews; several were set outdoors; you can hear birds chirping. Most of the people I talked with also saw the film in the fine cut stage. I wanted to make sure they were comfortable with what we were doing. It was hard for them, but all were very pleased with the final result.
Do you think there is the potential for something like the coup to happen again elsewhere in the world?
Unfortunately this level of politically inspired brutality happens all the time, but we rarely experience it firsthand. We just learn the number of people who are killed in some faraway land. We think, “Isn’t that terrible?” and move on. A film allows us an in-depth look into real people’s lives and deaths to understand the terrible pain and destruction caused by these situations.
How would you have told this story differently if you didn’t have a personal connection to it?
I would have looked for stories with the same kind of depth and characters that could engage an audience. I have been lucky that people have felt comfortable telling me intimate stories for other films I have made. But my connection to these stories was obviously very different—hearing people talk about kids that I had known, and in some cases loved, 30 years ago. Of course, exploring my own past and my country’s history was intensely personal as well.
What didn’t get included in your film that you would have liked to?
With my editor, David Carnochan, we had to leave out a number of very powerful stories—that was very hard. Our first cut was three hours and 15 minutes long; it was too devastating to watch. We wanted to make sure that the audience could follow the characters and not get the stories all mixed up. We also had to shorten the film by 15 minutes for the broadcast length and cut an interview with Patt Derian, Jimmy Carter’s Assistant Secretary of State for Human Rights, a very gutsy lady who confronted the Argentine military junta on their human rights violations. The interview is in the videos section of our website.
I also interviewed several brilliant commentators, but in the end decided only to include people who were connected to the stories or to me, to make the film more personal. I'm hoping to make this material available in the future.
Tell us about a scene in the film that especially moved or resonated with you.
Filming at the Navy Mechanics School, where up to 5,000 people were detained, tortured and later thrown alive into the river from airplanes, and where Patricia was almost surely taken, was really tough. There was a moment when I was on the central staircase. I was climbing the stairs and realized that the detainees like Patricia, shackled and blindfolded, would have held the same rail. A small thing like that hit me really hard.
Were there any technical challenges you faced while shooting, and if so, how did you resolve them?
We shot the film on HDV, which is a poor man’s high definition format. Doing the post-production in high definition was tough; there are still many technical challenges. We had to process all the photographs and archival footage, which came from many sources and in many formats. But it ended up looking gorgeous.
What has the audience response been so far? Have the people featured in the film seen it, and if so, what did they think?
Audiences of all ages and backgrounds—Americans who had never heard of the dictatorship, Argentines who lived through the repression, high school and college students—have all reacted very powerfully. Argentines have said that it’s the best film ever made about the subject. Others appreciate the way we present the political context of the 1970s to help audiences understand the motivations of both the revolutionaries and the military. All are profoundly moved—as am I when I see their expressions and tears after screenings.
People portrayed in the film have seen it. Obviously it’s hard for them to watch, but they have expressed their gratitude to us for presenting their stories. As Ruth says in the film, the greatest curse is not to be remembered. Ultimately it’s all about memory and justice, and hopefully the film will help with both.
The independent film business is a difficult one. What keeps you motivated?
I am fortunate enough to have a small communications company that offers me a production infrastructure that allows me to embark on projects that are close to my heart without needing funding for every step of the way, which is a challenge for many of my colleagues.
What keeps me motivated is seeing people’s reactions to the films, how these deeply painful stories illuminate a history that few are familiar with. No one will forget the stories in OUR DISAPPEARED/NUESTROS DESAPARECIDOS, and they often start by saying, “I never knew that...” which is enormously satisfying.
Why did you choose to present your film on public television?
I want to reach the widest possible audience, one that will appreciate the depth of feelings shown in the film. The film’s humanistic view is closely related to what PBS does best. Public television is the most coveted outlet for independent documentaries.
Is there anything else you’d like to share in this Q&A?
There have been an astonishing number of “coincidences” around the making and showing of the film that I will explain at length on the film’s Web site, www.ourdisappeared.com.
I’m not a mystical type, but it really gives me pause. All along I felt as if someone was pulling my strings. The image that I had was that I was on the crest of a wave that could crash at any moment but just kept going. Patricia’s sister Ale quotes St. Augustine, “The dead are invisible beings, they are not absent.”
There is a lot of mystery in how I found out about Patricia, then how I found Ale. How she knew exactly who I was; the poem she wrote that ends…, “She sleeps amidst the shipwreck and dreams that she awakens in the heart of a man who sheds his sorrow.” How Patricia’s old friend Mercedes Perez Sabbi appeared two days before I went to shoot in Argentina. How when we visited the Olimpo secret detention camp with Juan Manuel we found out that our guide, who was a survivor, had been there with his parents and knew his story—and many more.
We also worked a lot on the music for the film, which was scored by Gustavo Moretto, who himself left Argentina in 1977. So for him, this project was also intensely personal. He had a very popular band at the time, and the drummer’s sister is among the disappeared. We worked very hard to create music that matched the different political moments, and I think he did a masterful job. Plus all the new music was recorded live in New York with a group of fabulous musicians.
Another Argentine friend, composer Osvaldo Golijov, was very generous and offered any of his music. I chose two pieces, a choral piece from his La Pasión según San Marcos to open and end the film, and a stunning gunshot piece from his opera Ainadamar. I found this solidarity from everyone I asked.
What didn’t you get done when you were making your film?
Go on vacation.
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