In his fourth feature, Mantícora, Carlos Vermut returns to the screen with a darkly gripping drama set in Madrid in 1980. The film follows a video game designer named Nacho Sánchez, tormented by a troubling perversion, as he navigates glassy, unsettling landscapes in a tragedy that centers on the figure of Julián. A glimmer of hope emerges when he encounters a young woman named Diana, played by Zoe Stein, whose presence intensifies a twisted tale of love and addiction. The film earned four Goya nominations, including best director, best screenplay, best actor, and best new actress.
Mantícora is a monstrous chimera with a human head. When did you realize that he was the perfect creature to describe the main character of your movie?
While writing the script, Vermut began modeling on the computer using a program called ZBrush. He found the character’s dedication compelling and imagined how he might operate within virtual worlds. A bit of research into common modeling practices revealed that the mantis is a favorite creature among modelers, and this choice added depth to both the film and the character. The manticoresymbolized the story in a way that felt natural and meaningful.
Describe your movie in a few lines.
It centers on a figure with a human face who is perceived by society as a monster because of his desires. At its core, Vermut frames it as a love story—a twisted romance between two intricate, shadowed characters with conflicting perversions. Even though there are moments when their closeness seems almost affectionate, the fabric of their relationship remains ambiguous and unsettled.
Is Manticore a hateful film?
Even though neither protagonist embodies virtue, Vermut does not view the tale as hatefully provocative. He directs the characters with respect and insists they are beloved by the filmmaker. The story invites audiences to accompany them rather than to vilify them.
“I like to face the things that scare me through cinema”
Is Mantícora considered the most disturbing work in Vermut’s career?
Yes, it is often described that way, and Vermut agrees. The disturbing impact stems from the protagonist confronting a deeply unsettling subject—his own situation—through a tone that can feel more realistic than his other films. The mystery and the suspension of reality contribute to that mood. Vermut emphasizes that cinema is a medium for confronting fear, and he believes looking Julián in the eyes is one way to address that fear.
The character in question is a pedophile. Cinema often tackles monsters and villains openly, but discussions about pedophilia remain particularly difficult. Why is that?
Because the subject is profoundly disturbing. The public’s rejection of wickedness tends to be tied to a fascination with power. Iconic villains like Darth Vader or Tony Montana have become culturally familiar, even glamorous. Pedophilia, however, triggers a different reaction. In Mantícore, the character harbors a deadly desire without acting on it, transferring it into a virtual space, which generates significant resistance from viewers. Vermut believes the denial of pedophilia is rooted in a deeper moral disgust than fear of violence or power.
In what sense does that distinction matter?
Denying pedophilia is more about revulsion than fear of a violent act. Pedophilia feels closer to us in everyday life, making it harder to confront. It is a fear of the unknown among ordinary people who could be among us, perhaps in a school or a teacher. Vermut notes that the fear surrounding pedophilia is more intimate and troubling than the fear of other crimes.
When watching Mantícora, it is natural to think of Frankenstein or the Werewolf, both monsters who are monstrous despite themselves. Vermut agrees. These figures are misunderstood and unable to connect because of their circumstances. Julián resonates with both, embodying a misunderstood monster who longs for connection even as society shuns him.
Worried that some may believe the movie appraises the pedophile figure?
It is a sensitive topic, but Vermut argues that giving a voice to a character does not equal endorsement, no matter how perverse that character may be. Showing a character we do not empathize with can prompt viewers to examine their own darkness. Vermut rejects the idea that pedophilia should ever be tolerated; he believes those struggling with this condition should have access to treatment. He senses the audience is increasingly reluctant to engage with characters they dislike, but he remains committed to presenting complex psychological realities.
“We must understand cinema as an art in which the grotesque and the unpleasant sometimes take place”
Julián claims that video game worlds can do anything that life cannot. Does cinema allow for every possible depiction?
In Vermut’s view, cinema can push the boundaries of power and representation. It is an art form that must be willing to embrace grotesque and disagreeable elements when they serve the story.
A few years ago, Sitges festival director Ángel Sala faced legal action over showing A Serbian Film in the official lineup. Vermut recalls the incident and notes that while he did not personally enjoy the film, he respects others who do. He believes cinema should have no borders and that fiction is distinct from reality. The duty is to understand that the fantastical world of fiction should not intersect with real life in harmful ways.
People often describe Vermut’s cinema as having a personal stamp. How would he define his style?
Vermut explains that his work is not born from a moral stance. He gravitates toward psychological dramas featuring morally ambiguous characters, constructing extraordinary dilemmas within ordinary settings. He also draws inspiration from popular culture, including manga, video games, literature, and film. He believes that the combination of these interests, along with the actors’ performances and camera planning, constitutes his distinctive approach.