For her third feature, Spanish filmmaker Carla Simón is going back to where it all began — both geographically and emotionally. Premiering in competition at the Cannes Film Festival on Wednesday, Romería marks a poignant conclusion to Simón’s loosely connected trilogy of family-centered dramas, each inspired by different chapters of her own life. The new film follows Alcarràs, which won the Golden Bear at the Berlinale in 2022, and Summer 1993, her celebrated debut.

In Romería, Simón turns the camera inward once more, this time to explore the aching absence of parents lost too soon. Drawing from her late adolescence, the story centers on 18-year-old Marina, an orphan who, at the age of 6, lost both of her parents to drug addiction and AIDS. Marina travels to Spain’s Atlantic coast to meet her estranged paternal relatives for the first time. What begins as a formal errand — securing a scholarship signature — unfolds into a quiet reckoning with a legacy of addiction, AIDS, and generational silence.

Visually lush and emotionally layered, the film reunites Simón with cinematographer Hélène Louvart (La Chimera, The Lost Daughter) and blends her signature neorealism with a surreal edge. Though Romería may be fiction, its emotional truth is raw and deeply personal. “At some point, I realized I could never ask [my parents] the truth, and even if they were here, I wouldn’t know if the stories they told me were real—because that’s how memory works,” Simón says. “So I decided to invent what I needed to invent.”

Simón spoke to The Hollywood Reporter ahead of Cannes about confronting a forgotten chapter in Spanish history, letting fiction do what memory can’t, and why she hopes her daughter never makes a film about her.

This film is being pitched as the third in a kind of family trilogy. Was that something you had planned out well ahead of time?
No, I think it happened more in the making, actually. We looked at the definition of trilogy, and it’s not quite accurate because it should be the same characters, and it’s not. These are three totally different and separate films. But for me, it’s a kind of closing of a cycle because all three films talk about my family. I have a very big family with lots of stories. So for me, it was quite natural to start talking about that. Now I think I will look in other directions and stop bothering my family. So maybe “trilogy” isn’t the right word, but there is a connection between these three films that are very tied to my personal and family stories.

Tell me about this new one. What was the origin of the idea? Was there a specific place or event that triggered it for you?
I think it mainly comes from my frustration of not being able to know my parents’ story. I lost them both when I was a kid, and at some point, I wanted to know more, but it was difficult. I tried asking their friends and my family, but memory is very subjective. You try to put pieces together, but they never quite match. At some point, I realized I could never ask them, and even if they were here, I wouldn’t know if the stories they told me were real because that’s how memory works—you keep remembering and changing things. So I think it comes more from this desire to build a story, to build my own identity. Through film, I could invent what I needed to invent to tell this story that I feel nobody else could tell me.

How close did you want to stick to the facts of the story? Did you research and try to find specific details about your parents, or did you feel free to invent since it’s fiction anyway?
Honestly, there is a lot of fiction in the film. I always start these three films by talking a lot to my family, observing, and collecting memories from everyone. But at some point, it has to work as fiction. So there are many things I made up just to make the script and story work. I did take a trip to meet some of my uncles when I was the age of the main character, Marina, but the research felt endless. At some point, I just had to invent things for the story to work properly. Even the characters are quite fictional—the family configuration isn’t exactly like my real family.

What elements in the movie are directly taken from your family—whether a character, event, or situation?
I think the main character’s attitude—how she faces this situation of discovering her family at this age—is very similar to how I faced it. She has this distance, this desire to know, but also this reluctance to get too involved. I feel she’s very close to me. The film also became about the desire to become a filmmaker, which is also part of my story. The emotions I felt during this journey are very close to reality, but specific scenes are quite fictional. The locations, though, are important—they’re the places where my dad was born and raised, and where my parents’ love story happened. So many things are taken from reality, but the scenes themselves are invented.

Was there anything in the writing process that surprised you? Did you discover something you didn’t expect while working on the script?
Maybe at the beginning, I wasn’t fully conscious that I wasn’t just telling my story but also trying to piece together my parents’ story and a whole generation’s story. In Spain in the ’80s, there was a moment of freedom and partying that ended with many people getting hooked on heroin and drugs. A whole generation was affected, and we don’t talk much about it because it caused so much pain. This is part of Spain’s historical memory. While writing, I realized I wasn’t just talking about my parents but about this entire generation. The film became more political than I initially intended, which was a happy surprise because it means the film also talks about Spanish history.

How has your family reacted to your previous films? Are they annoyed or angry when you change things?
With my first two films, I worked a lot with my family’s cooperation. My brother is the musician for my films, and my sister acts in them or helps if she’s not acting. It’s like making films with family—I involve everyone. They know what we’re doing. With Alcarràs, about my adoptive mom’s family, they were a bit afraid of how they’d be portrayed, so I read the script with them before shooting. This time, one of the uncles in the film is very close to me, and he actually plays himself — he’s a notary in real life. I like to involve them. When they see the films, it’s always been okay because I make sure to portray them in a complex but human way. They haven’t seen this one yet, and I’m always nervous when they do, but we’ve talked a lot, so it should be fine.

Did you approach this film differently from your previous two? Has being more established changed how you worked?
You do gain confidence. With the first and second films, you feel like you have to prove something. This time, I felt freer, which allowed me to take more risks. The structure of the script — her meeting each family member and then imagining her parents’ story — was something I might not have dared to do before. Each film should be a challenge; you shouldn’t just repeat what you’ve done. Being on my third film gave me the freedom to accept that if something doesn’t work, it’s okay. Growing as a filmmaker means taking risks.

Is there a specific scene or day on set that was particularly challenging or that you’re especially proud of?
I love filming big family lunches, they’re very Spanish, and I’ve done them in all three films. But when I’m actually shooting, I always think, Why did I write this? It’s so difficult. You have 12 people talking at the same time, eating, and it’s hard for them to sit for eight hours. This time, we shot with two cameras and tried a different approach. The tone shifts during the scene, and they end up singing together, which was tricky. Another challenging but fun scene was the dance sequence — a kind of musical moment where they all dance to an ’80s song. It was my first time working with a choreographer, and it was really exciting to try something new.

Casting the actress who plays a version of you — what were you looking for?
It was a challenge. We saw about 3,000 girls—it’s a great age because many want to participate in castings. The girl we found had never acted before; she was coming home from Girl Scouts when someone from casting approached her. She was perfect for what we needed, but it was the hardest casting I’ve ever done because she had to play two characters — herself and her mother. Many girls could do one part but not the other. It took us seven or eight months to find her, but it was about intuition. She could embody both roles, and I felt a connection to my teenage self through her.

How has making these films changed your relationship to your parents’ story?
I feel closer to them. When you spend so long writing and thinking in images, you can’t help but feel connected. It was important for me not to judge them for what they lived through. Many families feel shame about this period in Spain, but I don’t. This generation shaped who we are now—they rebelled against the dictatorship and changed society in the ’70s. Understanding this through the film has brought me closer to my parents and made me appreciate their generation more.

You’ve said this is the last of your family explorations. Are you looking to do something completely different next?
I think so. Family is fascinating because you don’t choose them—the relationships are complex, full of history and unconditional love, but also traumas. I think family will always inspire me, but now we’re preparing a flamenco musical, which has nothing to do with my family. I’m also pregnant with my second child, and I feel like now is a good time to look forward, not just to the past.

If your children come to you in 20 years and say, Mom, we want to tell your story, what would you say?
I’ve never thought about that—it’s a new question! I couldn’t say no—that would be unfair after what I’ve done. But it depends on who I am in 20 years. Maybe I’d struggle to let go of my role as a director. But I’d probably have to say, Do whatever you want—because that’s what I’ve been doing.

Maybe you could produce it and keep some control.
[Laughs] Exactly.