It’s a funny story in retrospect but on the night in question I was stressed out of my mind. I had spent nine months living in Venezuela filming what set out to be a documentary portrait of Hugo Chavez but turned into the extraordinary story of the 2002 coup that lasted just 48 hours.
Donnacha O’Brien and I returned to Ireland for the edit and by early 2003 we were ready to show The Revolution Will not be Televised to the world. I took a break from the film festival circuit and returned to Caracas to show it to friends we’d made along the way and arranged a viewing for Chavez.
Chavez and Castro had a very close relationship, almost father-and-son-like, and when I was leaving I asked him for a favour: to call Castro and ask him to meet me. I wanted him to be the subject of my next documentary. He called him there and then, and a few days later I was on my way to Havana.
I was no stranger to Cuba. My father had worked for Aer Lingus when I was a child and had taken advantage of the staff fares and the Aeroflot fuel stops in Shannon to take us all to Cuba on holidays. We went twice in the 1980s, when there were very few tourists and the beaches were spectacular and empty. This seemed like heaven, until it dawned on us that this was because locals weren’t allowed.
These were fascinating, educational holidays and left me with mixed feelings. I was a teenager, I loved the black and white images of Fidel and Che, the music, the fact that he’d stood up to the US and stood for values I admired. But then there was the rest, and as I grew older this complexity fascinated me. Here was a chance to try exploring it on film.
When I landed in Havana I made contact and was told Castro meet me “mañana”. That turned into almost a week of waiting around. Finally, late one afternoon, the call came, and I made my way to government buildings. I had a master tape of the documentary which was to due to be released in US cinemas shortly, followed by TV across the world.
He presented me with a welcoming bunch of flowers and a box of cigars. We clinked glasses; mine was a mojito, his was a soft drink. I remember wondering if perhaps I should stick to cola as well, but I was nervous so I downed my mojito, and in we went to the private viewing room which probably had about 20 to 30 old red velvet folding cinema seats.
It smelled faintly musty and in the middle of the middle row, one of the folding seats had been removed to make place for a worn old armchair and that was Fidel’s seat. I sat next to him for the next 74 minutes as we watched the documentary. He was hard of hearing, and every so often he’d lean in to me and ask me at the top of his voice what someone had just said, I’d shout back in his ear and fill in the gaps.
When it was over he embraced me and said: “Everyone needs to see this straight away, I’m putting it online tonight.” Things went downhill from there.
We were tied up in contracts with broadcasters and distributors all of whom had various rights and scheduled release dates dependent on exclusivity in their region. If the doc was released online we’d be in breach of all our contracts. I tried explaining this in ten different ways but he wouldn’t listen, we were standing in this room, I remember he was very tall, we were surrounded by his aides and various party members and the argument went on and on.
One of the aides had asked me earlier in the night if I had a camera, I did and he’d taken one or two photos for me at the beginning of the evening. I was aware of him now snapping away as we stood there arguing. At one point I turned to the entourage, pleading with them to back me up on this. They all looked away.
When I asked for the tape back, Fidel told me I could have it shortly but that someone had gone off on his orders, to make copies. At that point I must have knocked back another mojito.
There was no swaying him. I had no idea what to do. Eventually I asked him to please call Chavez and let him get involved in the dispute. I was just hoping he’d side with me, having watched the film the previous week. It was a shot in the dark; we’d got to know Chavez through filming but it wasn’t like I had his number.
Castro finally agreed. He called Chavez’s mobile. It rang out. At this stage it was getting late, and I asked him to try again. He did. No answer. I said try it again, please, just one last time.
Finally Chavez answered. Castro told him he thought the doc was terrific, that it needed to be seen by everyone, that he wanted to put it online tonight. The US were fast moving towards an Iraqi invasion, he said, and that this would show the world what Bush was capable of.
He said: I’m here with the “Irish journalist”, she doesn’t agree, she wants to talk to you.
I talked. Hugo Chavez listened and he got it. He asked me to put him back on to Castro and that was the end of it. Fidel promised he wouldn’t upload it.
I went back to my room that night and chainsmoked the cigars. I hoped he’d keep his word. He did.
Once I was over the stress, I flicked through the photos on the camera.I remember thinking I would have to frame them all.
A week later, I landed in LA for a screening. I was starving and running late so I’d dumped my case and emptied out my bag on the hotel bed – passports, cash, credit cards, camera – and ran out for some food.
Less than half an hour later I was back in the room. Everything was as I’d left it, but the camera was gone.
