Visit to the shooting.

Last week I attended the filming of Uncertain Glory. We arrived in the evening, the night about to fall on an Aragonese sky so clear that it almost seemed more palpable than the ground we were treading. Curled up below, in the shrunken space of some trenches, was one of the scenes in the film. In that den - it was the sensation produced by the filming area - about a hundred people moved without interruption, technicians of all kinds equipped from head to toe like a rope of climbers. It must be said that we arrived at a bad time: one of the two cameras, the one carrying the equipment on his back, had just broken a leg going down the steps of the trench. Although of course they surrounded him waiting for the ambulance, around him he followed the movement, anthill always in action, adapting to accidents and unforeseen events.

After dinner with fifty soldiers - the scene was curious - Isona warned us that they were continuing filming. We tiptoed into the trenches to see the next scene up close. We spied on the actors for opening one of the hideouts. "Yes, sir!" we were listening as Oriol, inside the trench, raised his hand in military salute. From the outside, I almost felt like I was watching those games where kids, in a corner of the yard, invent whole movies. But when we went up to see the shooting on the control screen, that space so collected and small suddenly became immense, solemn. Augustine was careful not to film angles, so as not to cut it, and nailed the camera to the restless faces of the soldiers, creating the impression of a much wider off-field than he actually was.

Suddenly I realized that cinema was also wit, invisible magic. Melias, now that I think about it, was a great illusionist. The films are not shot in immensity, but manage to make us imagine immensities behind the small window through which we look at them. On the other side of the window is the human rum-rum we know, an intelligent team of ants drawing pictures.

Aina Bonet, great-granddaughter of Joan Sales.