For more than four decades, Carmen Maura has been one of Spanish cinema’s defining voices — and faces. Emerging from Madrid’s theatre scene in the turbulent years after the death of Francisco Franco in 1975, she became a central figure of Madrid’s countercultural movement the Movida Madrileña, which is where she met an aspiring filmmaker named Pedro Almodóvar (he had a bit part part in one of the plays she was working on). Almodóvar would eventually cast her in his first feature films, where she brought a mix of wit, edge and emotional precision to wild early works like Dark Habits (1983, What Have I Done to Deserve This? (1984) and Matador (1986). Then came a global success: the Oscar-nominated Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakdown in 1988. Conflict on the set of Breakdown led to a breakup with Almodóvar (they would reconnect, nearly 20 years later, for the Oscar-nominated Volver), but Maura never looked back. Her filmography ranges from Álex de la Iglesia’s dark comedy Common Wealth to Carlos Saura’s Civil War drama Oh, Carmela! and even includes a supporting turn in Francis Ford Coppola’s Tetro, in a role originally written for Javier Bardem. Along the way, she’s picked up three best actress Goyas —Spain’s Oscar equivalent — more than any other actress in history. 

The 79-year-old legend arrives at the Venice Film Festival with Calle Málaga, directed by Moroccan filmmaker Maryam Touzani and premiering in the festival’s Venice Spotlight section. The Morocco-set drama follows a Spanish woman determined to keep her childhood home — it’s a story about memory, belonging and second chances. True to form, Maura approached it with the same fearless instincts that have defined her career — including a nude scene she admits she once would have refused.

In a wide-ranging conversation with The Hollywood Reporter, Maura reflects on her early battles with her conservative family, her creative bond and eventual rupture with Almodóvar and her decision to keep far away from Hollywood: “I was glad I never had that ambition. I never aimed too high, and that helped me.” 

You come from a very traditional and conservative Spanish family [Maura’s great-grandfather was Spanish royalty, a great-uncle was Spain’s Conservative Prime Minister Antonio Maura]. What was their reaction when you decided to become an actress?

I remember the first time my dad saw me onstage. He realized how good I was, and he completely forbade me any contact with the theater world. It wasn’t easy. He even forbade me from doing it on an amateur basis — forget about doing it professionally. But I loved it so much that I was willing to have a very big fight over it. After some years, I married the university theater director, which allowed me to continue with an amateur theater group for a while. Eventually, the others all ended up doing different kinds of work, but I knew I wanted to continue. It was a big fight with my family, very hard, but I think it was the best school I could have had because I never had acting lessons. I didn’t go to acting school — I just did everything: coffeehouse theater, musical theater, bit parts on TV. I think I was lucky all along because I have a very good guardian angel.

This was also a transformative period in Spanish history, just after the Franco dictatorship. Did the conflict in your own family mirror what was happening in Spain? Did you see yourself as part of a countercultural movement creating a new culture for Spain?

Yes, I feel very lucky to have been part of the movement in Spain — it was a big change for everyone. I don’t think I would have become a professional had I stayed in that amateur group. I just knew I was good at it and wanted to keep doing it. Being part of that change put me in contact with people who had nothing to do with my environment. I discovered acting in film through short films, and I loved it. I got along so well with the camera, and I knew that could lead to great things. I never wanted to be a celebrity, just an actress. I wasn’t the perfect mom or housewife, but I had special timing and made good choices. When I decided to work with Almodóvar, people told me I was crazy — that I’d ruin my career. But for me, there was no such thing as a “career.” I just followed my instincts.

 Do you remember your first meeting with Pedro Almodóvar, and what did you learn from each other in those early years?

I knew of him — he was already famous in modern circles — when we did a theater play called Dirty Hands. I was the lead, and he played a very small part. Out of everyone, he was the one I liked best. He came to my dressing room often for long conversations. He wasn’t a great actor, but he was very smart. He made his first short film with me, and I encouraged him to keep going. With his Super 8 camera, he made Pepi, Luci, Bom and Other Girls Like Mom [1980], and I pushed him toward the big screen. What we shared was enthusiasm. He liked that I was natural and spontaneous, and I loved his stories and the way he told them. He had nothing — he even had to do all his sound recording himself — but he was so talented. We had a great relationship until we broke up, but it was a thrilling time in Spain. In 15 days, everything could change —you’d see porn sold on the street, actresses getting more money for going topless, political parties that had been sworn enemies shaking hands after Franco’s death. It was an exciting time, and I was proud to be part of it.

 In 1987’s Law of Desire, you played Tina, a transgender character. What did you think about the role at the time, and what was the reaction from audiences? How has that performance been received by the LGBTQ community over the years?

Pedro first tried to find a real transgender actor, but he believed I could do anything. I told him my breasts were too big for people to believe it, but in the end, it became one of my favorite roles. Watching the film later, I couldn’t believe that man was inside me. I saw firsthand the miracle of the camera — how angles could make me look taller and stronger. Pedro gave me the strength to play the part. In Spain, it was received naturally, as just another role. At the time, there was no strangeness about it, and even now I don’t think there’s any problem with the LGBTQ community regarding me playing the role. People seem to love it. 

Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakdown was a global success, but it also ended your working relationship with Almodóvar. How do you look back on that experience, and how close did you come to quitting acting afterward?

It was one of the hardest experiences of my life. Pedro completely changed the way he treated me — he didn’t like what I did and told me so in front of everyone. We didn’t click anymore. I thought about quitting forever, but I had already signed for another job, so I kept going. Acting has always been a game for me, and I enjoy it. Now, I’m happy for Pedro and proud to have been part of his career. I don’t hold grudges. Meeting that very different group of people early in my career was fantastic — it made me love my work even more.

Your new film Calle Málaga tells the story of a woman fighting to keep her childhood home in Morocco. What drew you to the role, and how was it working on a Moroccan set in Spanish?

When I read the script, I thought if Maryam could write something like this, she must be special. She asked me to appear completely naked. Five years ago, I would have said no, but now I’m [nearly] 80 and I said yes. I loved the idea of an older person getting a chance to fall in love again. I already had some contact with Morocco, but this time I had more time to immerse myself in the culture. The hardest thing was working every day with no days off, but they treated me like a princess. Maryam is a very demanding director who likes to repeat takes many times, but I adapted, and I hope she’s happy with my work. Tangier is a wonderful city, and it was exhausting but rewarding.

Of all your performances, which do you think are most important?

Of all my films, the three I’d choose are Common Wealth (2000) by Álex de la Iglesia, Oh, Carmela! (1990) by Carlos Saura, and the one you mentioned, Law of Desire by Almodóvar. I feel very happy with my career — there’s nothing I wish I’d done but haven’t. I have nothing left to prove.