Searching for Truth and Soul in Queer Cinema: An Interview with Director Nicol Ruiz

Nicol Ruiz’s feature debut, La Nave del Olvido (Forgotten Roads), stands as one of the most tender and groundbreaking works in recent independent queer cinema. Exploring a late-in-life romance with rare delicacy, Ruiz crafts a story about freedom, desire, and the courage to choose oneself, no matter the time or place.
We spoke with director Nicol Ruiz about her creative spark, the visual language of silence, navigating industry expectations, and what it truly means to make films with a soul.
1. "La Nave del Olvido" explores a tender and transformative late-in-life romance with extraordinary sensitivity. What original spark or personal reflection served as the starting point for this story and character development?Nicol Ruiz: I think the starting point was looking at the women in my life and realizing that they hadn't lived the life they wanted to live. Making this film was a way to give them the opportunity to be free. It was born as a love letter, and also from asking myself what happens to our desires as we age. Why does there seem to be an age at which we no longer have the right to fall in love, to discover ourselves, or to change our lives?
I was deeply interested in talking about a woman who, after living practically her entire existence responding to what others expected of her, discovers that she can still choose.
I also wanted to question how we represent older women in cinema. Many times they appear associated with motherhood, sacrifice, illness, or death, but rarely with desire, pleasure, or the possibility of starting anew.
For me, La Nave del Olvido is a film about freedom. About the courage it takes to recognize oneself, even when it seems too late. And about something that moves me deeply: the possibility of a person finding themselves.
2. Visually and rhythmically, your work creates a deeply immersive atmosphere. How do you approach the visual language and pacing of your films to mirror the internal emotional states of your characters?Nicol Ruiz: For me, cinema has an extraordinary capacity: it can make us feel something without needing to explain it.
I am much more interested in what happens inside a character than what they state verbally—and if they do express something verbally, it always relates to something subterranean; what is said is what remains unsaid.
I am drawn to contradictions, silences, and small actions that seem insignificant but contain an entire emotional universe.
That is why I conceive film language through the emotional experience of the characters. The camera is not just there to record what happens, but to build a way of looking at and feeling the world.
Pacing is also tied to this. I am interested in giving an emotion time—allowing a glance or a silence to exist without the need to resolve it immediately. I believe there is something deeply human in those beats that contemporary cinema often tries to rush.
I don't look for images to be beautiful for their own sake. I want them to have an emotional reason, where composition, light, sound, and time serve what the character is experiencing.
I like to think that viewers do not merely observe my characters, but for a moment, can inhabit their inner world.
3. Navigating independent queer cinema comes with its own unique set of challenges and rewards. How do you balance industry expectations with maintaining your distinct artistic integrity and voice?Nicol Ruiz: I think one of the difficulties of independent cinema—and particularly queer cinema—is that our stories often have to justify their existence to an industry that still operates under certain expectations about which narratives deserve to be told and how they should be told.
Sometimes it feels like queer stories must constantly explain their difference, their pain, or their identity in order to be understood.
I want my characters to have the freedom to be contradictory, complex, and even uncomfortable. I don't want them to represent a "correct" idea of what it means to be a woman or a queer person. I want them to be human.
Of course, negotiations exist when making films. We need funding, exhibition spaces, and people who believe in our projects. But I believe there is something non-negotiable: the honesty of our gaze.
I am not interested in making films to meet an expectation of representation. I am interested in making films that stem from questions.
And I believe there is a political stance in that as well: defending our way of looking at the world, even when it doesn't align with what the industry expects from us.
4. In your experience as a director, what is the most meaningful part of sharing these deeply human queer stories with international audiences across festivals and streaming platforms?Nicol Ruiz: One of the most moving experiences cinema has given me is discovering that a story rooted in a specific territory and culture can dialogue emotionally with people on the other side of the world.
La Nave del Olvido has traveled to numerous international festivals, and that allowed me to understand something very important: our experiences may differ, but there are emotions that connect us in unexpected ways.
It moves me to think of older people who can recognize themselves in this story—people who perhaps grew up in contexts where their desires had no place, where certain ways of loving simply could not be named.
It also matters to me that people who have never questioned these realities can approach them through sensitivity rather than just discourse.
I believe cinema possesses the power to expand our experience of the world—to allow us to look at another person's life without judgment.
For me, the most meaningful part isn't just the awards or international distribution. It is the possibility that a film can create a small shift in the way someone looks at another person, or even in the way they look at themselves.
5. What advice or insight would you offer to emerging queer and independent filmmakers who are trying to find their voice and tell authentic stories in today’s film landscape?Nicol Ruiz: I would tell them not to be so afraid of making mistakes. Allow yourselves to search, test, and make films that might not turn out exactly as you imagined.
Sometimes we are so preoccupied with finding our own voice, being original, and making something meaningful for others that we forget to ask ourselves what we truly want to tell.
I believe you have to look deeply inward, but also outward. Observe people, listen to them, be curious about their lives and what they express—their movements, their gestures. Pay attention to the things that make you uncomfortable, that hurt, that anger you, or that you simply cannot understand. Stories live there.
I would also tell them not to try to answer everything. We don't need to have absolute certainty about what we are telling. Sometimes we make films precisely because there is something we don't understand and need to explore.
And above all: make films that have a soul. For me, that is far more important than technical perfection or the novelty of a format. Sometimes we worry so much about how to tell something and finding a novel form that we forget what we want to say. A film can be technically flawless and formally bold, but if it lacks a soul, if there isn't something true beating inside it, what is it for?
Don't forget to enjoy making cinema. Because it is hard—extremely hard. Sometimes it feels like we spend more time trying to raise money to make our films than actually making them.
Yet there is something profoundly beautiful about building a world with other people, imagining something that does not yet exist, and finding a way to make it appear.
And above all, I would tell them: don't wait for anyone to give you permission to tell your story. Trust your questions, your contradictions, and your way of looking at the world.
Because it's not about telling perfect stories. It's about telling stories that hold a piece of truth. Stories that have a soul.
Editorial Note & AcknowledgmentsThe QueerFilmHub editorial team would like to extend our deepest gratitude to Nicol Ruiz for her generosity, profound insights, and for sharing her artistic vision with our readers. We wish her continued success with "La Nave del Olvido" and look forward to her future cinematic journeys.