From 1960 to 1974, Sara Gómez (1943–1974) was the only female director at the Instituto de Arte e Indústria Cinematográfica (ICAIC), the first cultural body formed after the Cuban Revolution in 1959. Besides being the only woman film director at ICAIC, Sara Gómez was also a Black woman and a feminist, characteristics that left an indelible mark on her cinematic gaze. During the golden years of Nuevo Cine Latinoamericano (NCL), which focussed on anti-imperialist struggle, the first female director in Cuban cinema brought together the issues of gender and race on the big screen, complicating analyses that limited themselves to questions of class.

De cierta manera (1974) is Sara Gómez’s only feature film, presenting itself as a “feature-length film about certain people, real and fictional”. After being finished by Gutiérrez Alea and García Espinosa, it only premiered in 1977, three years after it was ready for release.

The film opens in an informal court, which by the end will be revealed as a Workers’ Council. Before the verdict, there is an abrupt cut to the demolition of a building. The title credits roll amid images of construction and demolition, which are then left behind as the camera moves among the streets and people on the outskirts of Havana. A narrator tells us this is Miraflores, a very poor neighbourhood, sick from the worst aspects of capitalism — unemployment and marginality — and a place where the revolution intends to bring houses, schools and spaces for organising.

Yolanda (Yolanda Cuéllar) is a young middle-class teacher, educated, politicised and independent (divorced), who lives in the centre of Havana and works in a school in Miraflores. Despite the shock of discovering a reality that she thought no longer existed in her country, Yolanda becomes involved with Mario (Mario Balmaseda), a worker who was born and has lived his whole life in Miraflores. Just like Yolanda, Mario is a revolutionary, although his behaviour with his friends and co-workers distances him from the regime’s stance on the dignity of work. What’s more, Mario aspires to be a member of the Abakuá, a men-only secret society originating in enslaved communities.

The relationship between Yolanda and Mario drives the narrative, interspersed by documentary excerpts explaining and clarifying the questions arising in their arguments. While Yolanda represents the well-heeled face of the revolution, Mario brings with him the legacy of a mentality that, according to revolutionary ideology, will need to be eradicated for the new world to emerge. Aside from her relationship with Mario, Yolanda also has a relationship with the neighbourhood, through the school, its students, their mothers and her fellow teachers.

Featuring wonderful musical moments and shot with great sensitivity — always affording the most fragile their dignity, and foregrounding individual histories, faces, looks and, at times, smiles — De cierta manera asks questions that deconstruct the discursive edifice of the revolution. For example: have all activities and behaviours considered marginal disappeared, or should they? Who defines what is marginal? How do we relate marginality, poverty and race? What conditions do women live under in post-revolutionary Cuba? Where do men fit, in this structure?

As already mentioned, we return to the opening court scene at the end of the film, now from a different perspective. Mario leaves the court room before the final verdict is handed down. Once again, we see the metaphorical images of buildings being built and demolished. There is no closure, only the necessity of staying alert to the path ahead and its contradictions.

Una isla para Miguel (1968) is part of the Trilogía de la Isla (1968-69), made up of En la otra isla (1968), Una isla para Miguel (1968) and Isla del Tesoro (1969).

The Isla de Pinos is a correctional camp for building New Men. The film opens with a montage of images of young men arriving at the island. At a certain moment, a narrator’s voice tells us that this neo-colonising project on the Isla de Pinos poses its new owners a problem: the arrival of many young men from the city, aged 13 to 17, known as Vikings for their violent behaviour and who obey only the law of the street: how to be a man, macho, a friend. The belief is that these young men need to be re-educated and to learn a work ethic.

To the wonderful music of Chucho Valdés, the film contemplates life on the island — from a conversation between educators about the difficulty of guiding these marginalised youths, to the various facets of the education project, which combines theoretical lessons, practical work and leisure activities. The course programme also incorporates a self- and group-evaluation system. This is where Miguel appears, a young boy who resists re-education.

Miguel was brought to the island by a brother-in-law, as he has other siblings at home and is not yet of legal age to work. Gómez paints a portrait that respects the dignity of Miguel’s family — especially its women — considers his youthful age, and dives into the real problems of families seen as marginal in Cuba, ten years after the Revolution.

Over its 20 short minutes, the film even has time to introduce us to comrade César, a product of the re-education system and bursting with revolutionary ideas, who is a teacher on the island. At the end, César and Miguel sit together and talk, friends now. César tries to persuade Miguel to change his attitude: “you should be a revolutionary like me”, “you should be the first to help me”. Miguel listens, smiling, his head down. In the final shot, César tells us: “I know that Miguel, as my friend and as a man, will do the right thing.” With one phrase all the carefully constructed discursive structure is dismantled; after all, the ethic of “the street” is what rules.

Sara Gómez films the Isla de Pinos in a measured fashion, not to create a revolutionary pamphlet, but to show what was being hidden from view and place, in a new context, questions that emerge across her work: have all activities and behaviours considered marginal disappeared, or should they? Who defines what is marginal? How do we relate marginality, poverty and race? What conditions do women live under in post-revolutionary Cuba? Where do men fit, in this structure?

Sara Gómez’s courage is inspirational and the questions posed by her work are extremely relevant in Portugal, 50 years on from the Carnation Revolution.