Emilio Mancilla is a Mexican actor, writer and theatre-maker based in Tāmaki Makaurau. He makes work for people who like their art a little sweaty: physical, dark, and perhaps a little strange. “I love making work that goes big when it needs to, gets ugly when it has to, and explores the surreal aspect of my mundane upbringing in Mexico,” he says.
Emilio was nominated for Best Emerging Artist at the NZ Fringe Awards, had two films screen at NZIFF last year, but puts “acting in my second language without passing away from the stress of it all” as his biggest achievement.
Here is Emilio’s Shameless Plug:
A thing I don’t regret at all in life is getting on that plane at 19 and moving to another country, scared out of my mind and speaking a different language. It felt insane at the time, which is usually how I know something is important, but back then, I didn’t. I had no idea that one decision would crack my life open in the way it did, or that it would lead me toward the work, people and opportunities I have now. Very stressful, yet… excellent choice.
The best advice I’ve received was: Trust your point of view and make it dangerous. Make the show you believe in, not the one you think will seem acceptable, then do the work to offer it to an audience with rigour and generosity. The danger is the point of it and the clarity is the service.
The moment I knew I wanted to be an artist was when I was sitting in the office of the director of a culinary school in Mexico ready to sign the papers to enroll. I looked through the window and saw everyone in the kitchen yelling like their lives depended on it. I thought, wow, this is hell, and also definitely not my lane at all. Then I remembered the first short film I’d ever acted in, (which was, to be clear, terrible), and something clicked. Bad short film or not, I knew I’d rather be over there, making strange little worlds, than being screamed at over a reduction. Though cooking is something I passionately do well now! – in my kitchen.
My biggest inspiration is Mexico, completely. The rhythms, the sounds, the smells, the clutter, the sentimentality, the vulgarity, the beauty, the constant coexistence of death and humour and daily routine. I’m very inspired by the mundaneness of life there, and the way that mundaneness can feel almost surreal when you’re looking at it from a distance. A man selling tamales at dawn, a devotional candle beside a Coca-Cola bottle, a party chair left broken on the footpath, a banda song being played too loudly to scare gringos away, a butcher shop, a nightclub, a funeral procession, all in the same emotional universe.
An artwork everyone should experience at least once in their life is I’m a Fool to Want You by Camila Sosa Villada. This is an immaculate piece of text that came up in a story of a friend who was sun-bathing at Mission Bay and I got so jealous, I looked for it and read it at the beach too of course. I’m obsessed with how little interest this wonderful woman has in behaving. She uses language people like to censor, she goes straight into the parts of life people usually prettify or avoid, and she never apologises for the mess of being human. What I really love is that every character, however flawed, feels driven by this deep ache for love and belonging. That absolutely gets me. I’m very fed by work that refuses respectability and still arrives somewhere tender. My favourite chapter is I’m a fool to want you in which somehow Camila involves Billie Holiday in the most incredible way.
My favourite album right now is Grasa by Nathy Peluso. I had the privilege of seeing her perform it live in New York, and I’ll never forget it. Watching a woman command the stage that unapologetically, with that much power, precision and nerve, was completely electrifying.
My all time favourite play is honestly, Skin Tight by Gary Henderson. I keep coming back to it over and over again because it’s just so emotionally precise and theatrically alive. There’s something about the way it holds tenderness and love, and longing so close together that really stays with me. It never feels indulgent, and it never tries too hard. It’s a play that’s deeply human.
My closest collaborator is my life partner, Tīhema. He’s the person I drag into everything: the music, the makings, the half-formed ideas, the rehearsals, the spirals, the “just watch this one more time” moments. He gets front row seats to all of it and, very generously, seems to enjoy the ride. I’m very lucky that the person I love is also someone with a sharp eye, good taste, and the patience to sit through my many artistic obsessions.
My personal motto is: If it scares me a little, or a lot, I’m probably in the right place. Not in a self-destructive way, I’m definitely not out here romanticising chaos for sport, but I do think the work gets interesting when I can feel my own taste, fear, instinct and desire all arguing with each other. If I feel too comfortable, I start to suspect I’m being lazy.
My shameless plug is my solo, MILLI, at Basement Theatre! See it from 7–11 April. It’s Mexican, physical, queer, a bit feral, and very much about love hitting hard. Book your tickets here.
