Joan Miró i Ferrà was one of Spain’s most celebrated artists. He was born on April 20th, 1893, in Barcelona, Spain; his mother was a goldsmith, his father a watchmaker. His earliest art has been documented as having been created at the age of eight. He had a turbulent relationship with his father because of his desire to pursue painting.

Miró’s first show was ridiculed. Influenced by Van Gogh and Cezanne, he made a radical departure from traditional representative art, with The Tilled Field – a landscape with a unique composition featuring a large ear and eye. In that work he moved to reject framing and embrace the new wave of art and thought that was sweeping across Europe. Picasso and Kandinsky influenced him further and, although never a surrealist, he exhibited with Dalí and Magritte. His life traversed many of the greats in art, philosophy/psychology (Freud) and literature (Hemingway, Breton).

The turbulent historical times he witnessed – including Catalan nationalism, the Nazi invasion of Paris and Franco’s rule of Spain as well as his own bouts with depression – are covered in a new film for television: Miró. Given the tapestry of Miró’s life it is surprising that no one has ever thought to make a film of it before now.

At the Monte Carlo Television Festival, producer Tiffany Ruiz, director Oriol Ferrer, and the series’ star, Eduardo Lloveras, met with goldenglobes.com to talk about the challenges of capturing the great artist’s life.

Why make this film?

Tiffany Ruiz: There are several documentaries of Miró but no film.

From a production company perspective, we love to tell stories about figures that are less known. We wanted to do something about an artist. His story is really fascinating – we could do a series on his life. We talked with the family, the grandsons and the grandnephews, they were really open to share the story and gave permission. Afterwards we screened it for them. They were really moved by the movie because this is the first time that they saw a reenactment of Miró.

Also, this year we celebrate the 130th anniversary of his birth in April. At the end of this year on Christmas Day, the 40th anniversary of his death.

There are many documentaries about Miró. What is it that a fictional drama can bring to the audience that a documentary can’t?

Tiffany Ruiz: Documentaries are great because it’s realism. But you don’t see the guy in the kitchen talking with his wife.

Eduardo Lloveras: In a documentary you don’t see Miró crying and saying, “Mom, you didn’t want me.” There’s a crazy thing for me. When he was born, his parents wanted a girl really badly. Not a boy. When he was born and they realized it was a boy, they put him on the table kitchen and left him – just left him on the kitchen table. When I read that, it gave me goosebumps, because you can understand the loneliness and the relationship with the parents.

How tricky was it getting access to the art?

Eduardo Lloveras: The art in the movie is not real, otherwise I would’ve stolen something. (laughs). They gave me a coach because I’d never painted in my life. He coached me in the style of Miró. Meticulous. Very slow. It’s not Pollock.

Tiffany Ruiz: The paintings seen up close were reproductions. Those in the background were printed.

What was the biggest challenge you faced?

Tiffany Ruiz: Telling 40 years of his life in 84 minutes. We wanted to do it in chronological order because it’s easier to follow, but we incorporated flash forwards that guide us as we wonder why is he here or there. We start with him mature. He’s in a hotel in Washington waiting with his wife to receive the Guggenheim Award from the President Eisenhower. Then we go to the past as a kid and the conflicts with the family, the father, the fight about, “I want to be an artist.” “No, you have to be accountable.” Economics. That stuff.

Eduardo Lloveras: He leaves Barcelona, although for him it was a great city, the art was not evolving the way that he sees art. When he went to Paris, and met Picasso – I didn’t know it before, but Picasso was like a big brother to him, introducing him to all the poets and artists, realism, being a guy who provides security. Encouraging him, like, “Dude, you’re doing good. Keep going.”

There’s a really beautiful scene where Miró says, “I hate everything I paint. I don’t believe in me.” Picasso was like, “I believe in you because I’m watching this painter that’s new. That’s something.”

 

It’s interesting, during the Civil War, World War II, as an artist living in Europe, having to move around, not welcome in Spain because of Franco – he was more on the Republican side – fighting against fascism. When I think about myself growing in the economic crisis 2008, COVID, I see Miró going through all these wars and depressions; it’s also a story of overcoming.

What has stayed with you? Because when you portray a great man and live that person, you absorb some of it.

Eduardo Lloveras: It’s an honor, responsibility and pressure.  I was a little scared because he’s an icon. But once you start to read and know this man, and learn how to paint, to see art the way he does, watch interviews when he was old, work with a dialect coach, he speaks French, Catalan and Spanish. He’s from Barcelona, the same as me, but the accent is a little bit different, so I changed the Catalan accent and then when he speaks Spanish, he’s a Catalan speaking Spanish. Same, with French. It was really difficult. When he was young, he didn’t talk at all. What is going on inside to not talk? The books were really amazing in terms of knowing the inside world for him.

But personally – what did you take away?

The way he saw life, the small things. Like nature. He was happy standing on the beach with his feet on the sand. It gave a really good creative, positive energy, away from depression. After this movie, I don’t see nature the same as I saw it before. I gives me deepness. I can feel better in the world. I think that was a beautiful lesson from him.

Were you conscious of avoiding an impression/caricature?

Eduardo Lloveras: Director Oriol Ferrer is an amazing partner. With the accents and movements, it had to be close, but never an impression. Miró, no one knew. I changed the accent because I want to take risks as an actor. When I changed the accent, I sounded more hermetic and reserved. When he was young, the words struggled to come out, like he was fighting to communicate himself. But no one would’ve noticed because they don’t know how he speaks. He wasn’t a public person so we had a certain freedom.