In the town of Nueva Helvecia (Colonia), there are ruins of a mill that was set on fire in 1881. The town’s residents live amid ghost stories and theories about the mill’s origins and the causes of the fire. Through stories passed down from generation to generation, the residents piece together their own history—that of a town shaped by immigration and a past filled with buried events that are now coming to light.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sOEOpi1Xw4
*El molino quemado* can be seen in the Pocitos Theater at the Uruguayan Film Archive from Saturday, August 26, through Wednesday, August 30, at 9:10 p.m.
The mill serves as a way to talk about Nueva Helvecia's identity, right?
Yes. What drew us in was Nueva Helvecia, its people, and their obsession with immigration. Much more so than the windmill, taken out of that context. There are those who talk about Swiss topics, listen to Swiss music, and give their children Swiss names. And then there are people who fall somewhere in between.
Does it vary by age?
There's a bit of everything. For example, in the Swiss dance group, there are children who come every week, dress up, and learn those dances. Most of the participants are seniors, but they're not the only ones.
Did you know about Nueva Helvecia before the documentary?
I'm from Argentina, and I didn't know about it until I got involved in this project. There are three of us: directors, screenwriters, and producers. There's also a sound engineer and a photographer: Agustín Chappe and Joaquín Papich. When we went, we had a clear vision of who to film and which locations to use.
How did those visits change your relationship with Nueva Helvecia?
We went a few weekends, sometimes on specific dates. It’s an independent film, so we all had other jobs and couldn’t go more often.
When we finished filming, it felt strange to say, “We don’t have to go there anymore.” Going there so often in 2015 was such a big part of my life that I miss it now. I want to find an excuse to go.
There are 12,000 residents. By then we were already part of the community; we were like travelers who came back every so often. When we arrived, someone would usually say to us, “I heard you were coming this week.” It was great to feel that they were waiting for us.
What was the response from the people who saw the documentary?
Extremely positive. It premiered at Nueva Helvecia, and the Cine Helvético—which seats over 1,000—was packed. The audience asked for an encore screening, and they got one. And here, the theater was packed for almost every showing.
We’ve been told, “It’s a movie that makes you laugh and cry.” I know it by heart, so I don’t laugh or cry at any point because I know what’s coming. People generally like the cinematography. We put a lot of effort into it, and it’s clear they liked the result. Plus, they leave eager to visit Nueva Helvecia—they get that “I want to see the burned-down mill” bug.
How did your interest in telling this story come about?
There’s a personal matter. I realize it now, but I didn’t at the time. My mother’s family is from a town in La Pampa with a large German and Russian immigrant population.
There’s a Mennonite community nearby. At my grandmother’s house, there was always gossip like something out of *Romeo and Juliet*: “A guy from town fell in love with a Mennonite girl, and they can’t get married.” And for me, it was fascinating to have another culture in a town in the middle of La Pampa.
I was also interested in the creation of a legend. And well, my previous documentary had been about a phenomenon that’s very much a part of Montevideo: the murga. I wanted to shift my perspective. It was an opportunity to step outside my comfort zone: Parque Rodó, Cordón, Pocitos, Downtown.
Were you satisfied?
Yes, we’re very happy. Since it was an independent film, it was difficult not only financially but also in terms of managing our time. We had to take on jobs on set, in advertising—whatever came our way—because we had to pay the bills. That slowed things down. Some help would have been nice to give us a boost and get it done faster.
Did you think they weren't going to finish it?
I knew we were going to finish it, but I didn't know if it would be last year or in 2024. The good and bad thing is that we didn't have any deadlines. It takes discipline to work without money, without bosses, and with no other motivation than the desire to finish it. You have to put a lot of energy into it. I'm very proud of that.
How does the mill function as a tourist attraction?
In the movie, a man talks about how, when he was a kid, it used to be a gathering place. Street vendors would even come by to sell candy. That doesn't happen anymore, but there are more people there on Saturdays and Sundays than during the week.
There are several theories about what happened to the mill. What's your take on it?
If you go to Nueva Helvecia and ask anyone about the burned-down mill, everyone has a theory. It operated as a mill for five years; as a burned-down mill, it’s been there for 136 years.
We try to find different ways to engage with the place: from historical, scientific, and recreational perspectives.
At the premiere, people were playing detective. I never had that kind of interest; I’m more interested in what’s happening with that place now than in finding objective truth. If I had to choose… I like to think it caught fire from an accidental spark, that all those theories are just ways of explaining something whose only explanation is “just because.”
In the film, there is a contrast between the mystery of the mill and the tranquility of the surrounding nature.
Sure. It’s a rural area—open plains, wheat fields, cows—and then suddenly you arrive there and there are trees standing side by side. It’s native woodland, full of the sounds of nature, like birdsong. We worked with the shifts in sound. There’s a very stark contrast. Nueva Helvecia has changed over time, but the mill has remained frozen in time.