Spanish National Cinema

by Núria Triana-Toribio

This study examines the discourses of nationalism as they intersected or clashed with Spanish film production from its inception to the present. While the book addresses the discourses around filmmakers such as Almodóvar and Medem, whose work has achieved international recognition, Spanish National Cinema is particularly novel in its treatment of a whole range of popular cinema rarely touched on in studies of Spanish cinema. Using accounts of films, popular film magazines and documents not readily available to an English-speaking audience, as well as case studies focusing on the key issues of each epoch, this volume illuminates the complex and changing relationship between cinema and Spanish national identity.

224 pages, Paperback

First published December 19, 2002

About the author

Núria Triana-Toribio is Senior Lecturer in Spanish at the University of Manchester.

Reviews

[Mesut Bostan · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is not another chronological history of Spanish cinema, but a meticulously crafted, incisive deconstruction of the very idea of a "national cinema". Author Núria Triana-Toribio approaches her subject with a central, provocative question: "Is there such a thing as Spanish cinema?" By exploring this query, she reveals a century-long struggle to define what "Spanishness" means on screen.

The book's greatest strength is its refusal to accept the official, top-down narratives of national cinema. Instead, it dives deep into the ideological and class-based conflicts that have shaped Spain's film landscape from the early 20th century to the post-Franco democratic era. Triana-Toribio masterfully contrasts the "high art" or "quality cinema" championed by auteur critics and state-sponsored cultural policies with the popular, commercial films that were actually watched by the majority of the Spanish public. She gives voice to the genres often dismissed by critics, such as the "españolada" musicals and comedies, showing how they were not simply escapist entertainment but powerful, albeit contested, tools for representing national identity.

The book is an essential read for anyone interested in how film, politics, and culture intersect. It goes beyond a simple analysis of movies to examine the entire "cinema apparatus": the influence of critics, the role of cultural bureaucrats like José María García Escudero and Pilar Miró, the impact of censorship, and the motivations behind government funding. It shows how even when filmmakers from different political camps disagreed on what national cinema "should be", they often shared an elitist disdain for what the public actually enjoyed.

Ultimately, this book provides a theoretical map that is universally applicable, offering a critical framework for understanding how any nation negotiates its identity through its films. It reveals that the search for a singular national cinema is a project of constant invention and re-invention, a struggle between idealized self-image and messy, popular reality. For film scholars, historians, and anyone keen on understanding the cultural forces behind what we see on screen, this is a truly groundbreaking and indispensable work.