In her latest endeavor, “White Roses Fall!” (in Spanish: “¡Caigan las rosas blancas!”), Argentinian filmmaker Albertina Carri follows Violeta, a director known for her breakout amateur lesbian porn hit, as she’s invited to go mainstream.
Unwilling to conform, she takes her project on the road — from Buenos Aires to São Paulo — chasing artistic, sexual, and political freedom. This ‘mutant film’ fuses erotica, road movie, and documentary, embracing the unpredictability of both filmmaking and life itself.
We spoke to Carri ahead of her seventh feature’s world premiere in the Big Screen competition of this year’s International Film Festival Rotterdam, running from January 30-February 9. During our chat, she spoke about her directorial approach, the absence of men in its world, the political landscape shaping its themes, and her inspirations as a filmmaker.
Albertina Carri. Photo credit IFFR.
When and how did you decide to embark on this project?
Upon finishing “The Daughters of Fire” (2018), we began to feel uneasy about continuing to work with the same group with whom we had made that film. Firstly, because a discussion group formed around issues that arose in the film, and secondly, because it exceeded our expectations — many more people were interested in it than we anticipated. Then, the team proposed a sequel, which I refused, suggesting instead that we revisit the characters and the road movie format while exploring how film genres shape both viewer and character subjectivity. I also wanted to return to certain ideas about territory that emerged in the previous film.
Your film blends erotic, road movie, non-fiction, horror, and oneiric elements. Moreover, men are essentially absent as characters or extras. Could you elaborate on these creative choices and explain what compelled you to pursue them with your co-writers?
It’s a reflection on film genres, as I mentioned before. But it’s also a film about language — what is cinema? What are the limits of a language? These are some of the questions the film explores throughout its journey.
As for the absence of men, it was a deliberate decision — to create a fantasy or utopia in a world full of women. This carried over from the previous film, where we chose not to work with men due to its many explicit sex scenes. “In White Roses Fall!,” we found it compelling to subvert traditionally masculine cinematic tropes — such as erotica with cars or horror’s fetishisation of technology, machines, and cameras — by reimagining them through a more playful, female-centred eroticism.
How did you cast your leads? Could you tell us more about your experience working with them on set?
The cast is the same as in my previous film. Back then, it was assembled by Rosario Castelli, an anthropologist and activist for women’s and LGBTIQ rights. I had never done casting before, but that was precisely the energy we sought — actors as committed to creation as they were to the social impact of an audiovisual work.
Returning to set for “White Roses Fall!” was a joy. Years had passed, and we had all grown, which allowed me to push them — in the best sense — into more complex narrative situations. Their characters undergo dramatic transformations, requiring meticulous direction. Since the film itself mutates, they had to embody this shift through their performances, both physically and emotionally.
Focusing on the technical aspects, what kind of vision did you share — or ultimately achieve together — with your DoPs, editor, and production designer?
Mutation and movement were our guiding principles. The staging shifts based on what happens to the protagonists and the landscapes they traverse. They flee from civilization, from Christian imagery that terrifies them, from connectivity and technology — seeking a more artisanal, magical world, less dictated by markets and capitalism.
But this abandonment comes at a cost — it has its contradictions, which are reflected in the mise-en-scène. Sometimes subtly, sometimes drastically, such as when we leave realism behind and enter fantasy. It’s cinéma vérité versus cinéma vérité but fantastic. This political gesture — breaking the narrative mould historically imposed on Latin American cinema — shaped our aesthetic choices in editing, cinematography, lighting, performances, and, most importantly, sound. The score is full of signs and symbols, creating a polysemy that challenges the figurative nature of the image.
Personally, I perceived this entire film as a cri de cœur, longing for political freedom and liberation from societal judgment. Do you think it can be interpreted this way? And did the current national and global ultraconservative political landscape influence the making of your film? If so, how?
Yes, it is a cri de cœur, without a doubt. It’s about humanity — how we relate to one another, to the planet, and to what we mistakenly call nature. I say mistakenly because it implies that humans are separate from nature, when in fact, we are part of it. If we truly recognized this, perhaps we would stop exploiting each other as we do.
In the cycle of life, everything is interconnected. We die, decompose, become fertilizer, fungi, roots, worms — then feed other animals, human or not, and the cycle repeats endlessly. The pandemic was a stark warning from the planet and from globalization itself, yet capitalism responded by doubling down, reinforcing its status quo of global inequality.
Cinema is deeply entangled in this system. The content pushed by platforms is increasingly conservative and passive — it asks fewer questions, provides closed narratives, and leaves audiences in a state of submission. This is precisely what today’s market-driven world seeks: passive consumers, subjects dominated by artificially created needs.
My film challenges these forms of domination while reclaiming fiction’s power to invent new worlds and ignite imagination.
Which women in film inspire you, and why?
Juana Azurduy, Agnès Varda, Chantal Akerman, Forough Farrokhzad, Alejandra Pizarnik, Anna Magnani, Ursula K. Le Guin, Donna Haraway … They are thinkers, poets, filmmakers who revolutionised language from the margins, and in doing so, reshaped the world we inhabit.
What are you working on next?
Right now, I’m writing my next novel, “Zumbido,” about communicating with the dead. Meanwhile, I have two film projects in development — one exploring the concept of the monstrous, titled “The Damage,” and another, “White Fire,” examining archives and the dictatorship.
