‘Sleepless City’: Madrid’s Cañada Real shantytown proudly raises its voice at Cannes

The journey has come to a successful conclusion. A decade ago, Guillermo Galoe, 39, began visiting Cañada Real, the Madrid neighborhood considered the largest informal settlement in Europe: 8,000 people living on both sides of a 10-mile-long, old cattle track, just a few minutes’ drive from downtown Madrid. Specifically, he went to Sector 6, the southernmost sector, between the Valencia highway and the border with the suburb of Getafe.

Galoe began teaching film workshops at the same time as collecting his first Goya Award for Best Feature Documentary, for Delicate Balance, in 2017. “I didn’t take out the camera to film them until after the first two years, because a camera provokes a violent act, that of putting it in front of someone, and it involves a tremendous power dynamic,” he recalls at Cannes.

He began filming, shot a short film, Aunque es de noche (Even Though It’s Night, 2023), which competed at Cannes and won the Goya in its category. And he kept goingg. “I had a feature film,” he recalls.

That’s why he stayed in Cañada Real, with his people (“I’ve been there every week, with the sacrifices that entails”), and those residents are the ones who enjoyed most, on Monday, attending the premiere of Sleepless City in Cannes during Critics’ Week. “And the idea is, in some way, to remain there.”

Some of the protagonists, thanks to the transition from short to feature film, are making their second appearance at Cannes. The Madrid regional government headquarters may not receive them, but at this festival, they’re seen on screen, and they’re loved on the red carpet.

Sleepless City is not a continuation of the short film, but rather an expansion and refinement of that universe, narrated through the friendship between two teenagers, Toni and Bilal. Each seems to have their days numbered in the settlement. The former, a Romani, watches as his mother struggles to get an apartment; the latter, a North African, begins to prepare for a move to the south of France.

Meanwhile, they spend their days filming themselves with their cell phones, playing with image filters. All around them are drugs, poverty, and despair. But there is also pride, a love of freedom, courage, and rebellion against pre-established notions. “We decided to make a film with their community, not about that community,” Galoe reflects.

On screen, this communion with the residents of the settlement — which has been without electricity for years — allowed for impressive camera shots and a depth of field that reveals meters and meters of life. Everything feels true because everything is true.

“Everything has nourished us,” confirms the filmmaker. “I realized how far we had come when filming the final sequence, which is extremely important to me. The van moves down that street in a straight line, as if it were a Wild West territory. We managed to blend more cinematic aspects, with circular camera shots, with that extra-cinematic life that is added with the animals, or the demolitions.”

Galoe was driven by a challenge: “I wanted to live up to the space.” And to its inhabitants: “Many are fighting to maintain and improve Cañada Real. That’s why I focus on the intimate. The sociopolitical aspect is there, but the priority is the characters,” a mix of actors who got their start with the short film, with other residents who have come along for the journey.

What will happen to Cañada Real in the future? And to its residents? “I don’t have answers, but I do have many questions that appear on screen. It’s interesting to realize, for example, that those who are relocated to apartments end up trapped in neocapitalism, which keeps us in cells with only a refrigerator, a microwave, an oven... Consumption and needs multiply.“

Galoe continues: “A character points out: ‘That’s where they want to keep us under control.’ It’s true, because it also perpetuates the ghetto. The story of Cañada Real isn’t a temporary one, it’s an eternal story: that village that is dismantled and disappears like a ghost and appears elsewhere. All in all, let’s be critical, not romantic. I’m worried about those children who see a guy using heroin on their doorstep. Those children are our children too.”

There’s something else: racism. “Of course. That’s why I talk about what social policy truly reflects the needs of its inhabitants. Let’s think, for example, about Romani people, whose identity includes mobility.” The filmmaker pauses for a moment. And then raises his voice: “Let’s not forget that they’ve been discriminated against in this country for centuries. There’s an intergenerational problem that we have to address and stop.”

The filmmaker wants to end the interview for Sleepless City, which will be released in Spanish theaters in September, by talking about the community. “We must put ourselves in the other’s shoes,” he begins. “And not just economically. They lack electricity, access to culture. Cañada Real has been stripped of many basic needs. And I think we’ve given something back. Sleepless City is a collective event. Of course, there’s an aesthetic focus, and it’s shaped by a perspective, that of the filmmaker, but it’s also enriched by what those two teenagers were filming. In this way, the audience sees how they see their world and how they see themselves. Suddenly, the screen explodes with color. And that, too, is Cañada Real.”

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