LAS INQUIETUDES DE SHANTI ANDÍA

[THE RESTLESSNESS OF SHANTI ANDÍA]:

SPANISH CINEMA AND
LITERARY MARITIME ADVENTURES IN THE 1940s

Diana Callejas Pérez

Universidad Autónoma de Madrid

By looking at Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía [The Restlessness of Shanti Andia]

filmed in1947 by Arturo Ruiz-Castillo , we will do a study of the relationship between film and
literature, especially and concretely in terms of Ruiz-Castillo’s film and the literature of the
Generation of 98 in the 1940s. This film would be the first feature film of this director from
Madrid, and it is based on the novel of the same name by Pío Baroja from 1911.
Through this comparative analysis of the film and the Basque author’s novel, we will
discover attractive concomitances and interesting differences, all of them very suggestive at a
visual and narrative level. One of them will be the parallel personalities (Baroja in Shanti in
the book as viceversa in the film), there being at the same time a very evident parallelism
between the work Pío Baroja, Ruiz-Castillo and Pío’s brother, Ricardo Baroja, passing the
same elements from one medium to another. It is a case of the “romantic sea” which unifies
the works of the three creators in literature, in film, and in painting or etching, respectively.
Because of the peculiarities we find in the above-mentioned film and its literary story,
we will discover a world hardly investigated in the history of Spanish cinema as is the
adventure genre, in this case, adventures taking place at sea. Through the comparison
between Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía and La nao capitana [The Flagship
Nao](contemporary films with the representation of the sea in common) we will try to explain
why an historical vacuum exists in the treatment of this genre in Spain in the 1940s, bringing
to bear new (re)visions of the figure of Ruiz-Castillo, one of the filmmakers celebrated in this
volume.

LITERATURE AND FILM: A GENERAL OVERVIEW

The binomial, film and literature, has been, from the very beginnings of film, a
formula for certain success, in addition to guaranteeing the certainty of the status as a work
of art to the resultant film, since it is based on a literary text already codified as such. What is
also certain is that this union brings with it its own problematics. Based on Luis Quesada’s
classification in his work La novela española y el cine, we can come to have a framework for
the understanding of the possible cinematographic adaptations. The original text can be
translated from the linguistic text to the cinematographic image as a faithful illustration,
reconstructing in the photography and in the sound the scenes, the action, and even the
dialogues from the book. Or, just as well, the original written text can be recreated, based
on the elements of filmic language, conserving the original spirit, but introducing, as is
 51

necessary, changes at the level of characters or scenes; which is the case of Las inquietudes
de Shanti Andía. Lastly, another form of cinematographic adaptation would be the capturing
of certain situations, scenes, characters, etc. from the original novel, and using them as a
point of departure in order to create a totally or partially different work, varying the central
focus and conception from those established by the novelist. 1
One of the most common handicaps which film must face as it adapts a literary work
to the screen is economical. The majority of literary works adapted to the big screen are
ones with great scenery, numerous characters, period costumes and an infinite number of
details which make the viewer believe in what his is seeing. Another limitation the film
director faces is the problem of cinematographic adaptation. Often easily forgotten is the
fact that two completely different modes of expression (film and literature) are being worked
with, because of which, finding a balance between the two at times becomes excessively
difficult. As with any other art, there are no established and fixed steps to follow, only the
cineaste’s (re)creation based on the literary work.

LITERATURE AND FILM IN SPAIN IN THE 1940S

By the 1940s film had already shown is mass appeal as an instructional or educative
instrument, as an escape mechanism, or even as a cathartic medium to help deal with the
traumas of the past.
The case of film is Spain was no exception, and we should not forget that the 1940s
were especially harsh given the recent end to the fratricidal conflict which was the Civil War.
The victorious side with Franco as its leader sought to rebuild a country and reestablish a new
state, and to do it they based themselves on the destruction of the previous regime and
eschewing any sense of provisionality and falling into the autocracy which would rule Spain
from 1939 to 1951.
From the very beginnings of it, there was a clear consciousness of the importance of
film; used in “the right way,” appetizingly portrayed deeds from a glorious historical past
could be used to legitimize the present. On the other hand, those deeds and events which
did not favor the nationalist ideals of the moment or which placed the new regime’s
continuation in jeopardy would be hidden. The power which was exercised over the people
through films was a key point in the Francoist machinery, one which it tried to use to the
fullest extent. The responsibility for transmission of their ideological principles would fall to
different media, among which film, radio, and the written press (including comics) would be
counted on; and the same is true for other types of spectacle like bullfighting and sports. 2
In these postwar years the use of cinema as an escapist formula to avoid looking at
the wrenching social reality of the times would be fundamental, and literature is a perfect
source to bring it about. Literary texts offered additional advantages to cineastes since they
confer on film the mark of quality it needs, and, at the same time, it could turn out to be a

1
This classification comes from Luis Quesada’s La novela española y el cine (11).
2
For more information one can go to the chapter by José Enrique Monterde in the book by AA.VV. Historia del
cine español (Cátedra, Signo e Imagen, Madrid, 2004).
52

decisive factor when deciding the film’s classification, 3 among the categories which
determined the granting of subventions; additionally, they provided them with ideas and
storylines to supplement the lack of original projects. Equally, the works that were selected to
be adapted, having previously passed through the censorial apparatus (censorship of books
or theater), offered the guarantee of the projects’ viability. 4
Another highly sought out thematics from these years was the “period (historical)
film,” which took off strongly in the 1940s, 5 as a view to the past to legitimize the present, at
the same time as it carries us away to another more fruitful, less problematical time than that
of the 1940s.
Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía (1947) 6 brings together two thematics: the literary
since it is the cinematographic adaptation –by Madrid’s director Ruiz-Castillo- of Pío Baroja’s
novel by the same name from 1911, and the historical since the events which are told occur
at a time when sailors are real adventurers and, often, mythical heroes who elevate the
Spanish race. On the other hand, the film uses yet another traditional dramatic resource: the
confusion of identities between Juan de Aguirre and Tristán de Ulloa, Shanti’s unknown uncle
who appears in numerous films about this period from Goyescas (1942) by Perojo, through
Eloísa está debajo de un almendro (1943) by Gil and Cristina Guzmán (1943) by Delgrás, to
Vajda’s Tres espejos (1947).

3
For example, Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía earned the classification of first category, Premio de Interés
Nacional (of national interest), and everything that went with it. Also, it was awarded a prize for best photography
to Berenguer, best film music to maestro Jesús Lehoz, and the Gimeno prize for best new director to Ruiz-Castillo
by the Círculo de Escritores Cinematográficos; allowing access to 300.000 pesetas of union credit.
4
For that reason, it is not shocking to point out that, with the Civil War only recently ended, the highest
percentages of literary adaptations were produced in the uncertain years of 1939 and 1940, when those
percentages reached fifty percent of movies based on literary texts. For more information see Román Gubern’s
chapter, published in the book edited by Carlos Fernández Heredero, La imprenta dinámica. Literatura española
en el cine español (Academia de las Artes y las Ciencias Cinematográficas de España, Madrid, 2002.)
5
To this sizeable group of films belong, among others: El escándalo (1943) by Sáenz de Heredia, the first of the
cycle; El clavo (1944) by Rafael Gil; La torre de los siete jorobados (1944) by Edgar Neville; Un drama nuevo
(1946) by Orduña; La pródiga (1946) by Gil; La dama del armiño (1947) by Eusebio Fernández Ardavín; La
princesa de los Ursinos (1947) by Lucia; Mariona Rebull (1947) also by Sáenz de Heredia; Locura de amor
(1948) again by Orduña ; Don Juan de Serrallonga (1948) by Ricardo Gascón; and La Duquesa de Benamejí
(1949) by Lucia.
6
As we have seen, Pío Baroja was not a man of the sea, but he understood perfectly its life, the life of sailors as
well as that of arrantzales. He wrote a tetralogy titled El mar. To it belongs Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía,
published in 1911, El laberinto de las sirenas, in 1923, Los pilotos de altura, in 1929, and La estrella del capitán
Chimista, in 1930. The four novels are adventure stories which have the sea as their basic narrative space,
evoking it as nostalgia for the “sea of old,” whose symbol is navigation under sail.
 53

FILM AND THE GENERATION OF ’98: A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO THE GENERATION OF

‘98 IN SPAIN 7

Picture 1: Ruiz-Castillo, Baroja and A. Cienfuegos filming on the shores of the Cantabrian Sea

The arrival of a new century was marked by a long-standing political and social crisis
that would end with the colonial disaster in the Americas –the independence of Cuba and the
loss of the Philippines, Puerto Rico and Guam-, a series of events that would spell the total
disintegration of the national Empire, inherited from the golden times of Felipe II.
In these same years, Regenerationism would have a great influence in cultural circles,
along with the philosophical theories of Fiedrich Krause, which in their Spanish version
proposed abandoning the political, social and economic structure imposed by the oligarchy
and its allies in the upper middle class, and clamored for a spiritual renewal and a new
humanism. 8
The literary mix would be determined by Modernism and the Generation of 98. In
general terms, one can say that the former was most concerned with aesthetic practice and a
search for art as an extreme absolute, in order to achieve beauty as its maximum ideal, while
the latter was dedicated to Spain’s national problems, rooted in its history, as it was

7
The most famous of the Generation’s members are: Azorín, the Machado brothers, the Baroja brothers, Ramón
María del Valle-Inclán, Gustavo de Maeztu and Miguel de Unamuno.
8
The two great voices of Spanish Regenerationism were Joaquín Costa and Ángel Ganivet. A deep concern with
what was wrong with Spain lead these two figures of 19th century intellectuality to raise their critical commentaries
against the successive governments of the Restoration, searching in the psychology of the Spanish people to detect
the problems that plagued 19th century society and opting for a tie with Europe so as not miss the train of
modernity.
54

committed to social, political and cultural renewal. At the level of literature, Modernism was
based on rhetoric, and on the musical enrichment of language; however, the Generation of
98 was anti-rhetorical and concerned itself with a language tied to Spanish reality, seeking
those national essences rooted the people and portraying the history of the country’s men,
thus it sets aside the musicality and sensuality of language in order to reflect in it its writers’
attitudes on life. Their narrative was characterized by thematic innovation, complex
characters, and a psychological view which foregrounded the existential anguish of each
author. 9

THE GENERATION OF ‘98 BROUGHT TO FILM

If we do an accounting of the films which have as their narrative center a work by the
writers of the Generation of 98, quickly we will see that they are not as many as a priori we
might think, and if we concentrate on the decade of the forties, the number is even smaller.
We can speculate as to the reasons for this: perhaps the economic import needed to
bring about projects of this nature; or the proliferation of first-person narratives, hard to
translate to the film screen, that abound in these works; or perhaps it is due to the more or
less minority appeal of the novels of this generation, judged perhaps by film producers as
having scant possibilities for success with a public interested primarily in popular stories and
not in books of intellectual depth. 10 Specifically, in the forties, the authorities in charge did
not view particularly well for mass cinematographic consumption certain thorny themes
treated with the impudence, the skepticism, and the peculiar combative spirit of the masters
of this generation. 11
The Generation of 98 was not a frequent source for directors in the forties; however,
it must be pointed out that in 1947, three works of writers from that generation were brought
to the big screen. Ruiz-Castillo, a member of the Generation of 27, elected Pío Baroja for
his debut into the world of feature films with Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía; Florián Rey
chose the novel La nao capitana, by 1935’s Cervantes Prize, Ricardo Baroja, 12 brother of Pío;
9
To better understand the specificities and the terminology Modernism, Generation of 98 or Regenerationism in
literature, we recommend works such as: Rafael Utrera, Modernismos y 98 frente a Cinematógrafo (Universidad
de Sevilla-Colección de bolsillo, Sevilla, 1981); Gonzalo Muinelo’s chapter in AA. VV. Los escritores del 98 y el
cine (Fancy Ediciones, Valladolid, 1999); or Rafael Utrera Macías’ essay, published in the book edited by Carlos
Fernández Heredero, La imprenta dinámica. Literatura española en el cine español, op. cit.
10
Film’s first steps were accompanied by adaptations of theatrical works, zarzuelas or novels, as quickly industrial
exigencies leaned towards easy adaptation, and film promoters turned towards, not the great authors, but rather
popular novelists read by the middle class, and even the lower and working classes, since those were the ones
who, a priori, were the public filling the theaters.
11
In fact, Miguel Picazo debuted in 1964 his version of Unamuno’s La tía Tula de Unamuno, as a benchmark for
the generation of New Spanish Film, innovative in its content as well as contrary to the conventions of the time,
marking a dramatic break with Spanish film up until that time. With La Busca based on Baroja, directed by
Angelino Fons in 1967, parallels or approximations were established with another film fundamental to New
Spanish Film, Carlos Saura’s La caza from 1966, for which Angelino Fons was the scriptwriter.
12
The second son of the Baroja Nessi family, a man of extraordinary creativity, he left at the end of his life an
extensive and vaired legacy in his paintings, etchings and writings, having previously had experiences as an
inventor, sailor, illustrator of novels, revolutionary, movie actor in films such as Zalacaín, el aventurero (1930) by
Francisco Camacho or El sexto sentido (1929) by Nemesio Sobrevila and in the Paramount studios, in Joinville
 55

and Carlos Serrano de Osma chose the work Abel Sánchez by Unamuno to bring to the film
screen. It is precisely on the basis of these examples that we can study the digression which
was occurring in the cinematographic world. Florián Rey represents a generation which is
exhausted, canonical, and somewhat of a caricature of great historical deeds –the
symptomatic result of basing so much on novels of 17th century sea adventures where not
even one scene takes place there- with a noticeable ideological bent defined by the Franco
regime. Opposite the ideas of Ruiz-Castillo and Carlos Serrano de Osma, two of the
clearest referents of what we have called the “generación de los renovadores”, 13 even
dealing with the same theme in the case of Ruiz-Castillo with his maritime film, he opts for the
realism of the sea and the action, although still obvious is the attachment to grand traditional
sets.
The press from the same period picked up on this phenomenon. For example, in Cámara
there is a cinematographic accounting for the year 1947 which concludes:

This new generation of directors promises to give national cinema something

unknown until now: a concrete personality; this is, at least, what can be gleaned
from the first works of Antonio del Amo, Arturo Ruiz-Castillo , José Antonio Nieves
Conde and Carlos Serrano de Osma. 14

RUIZ-CASTILLO AND THE GENERATION OF ‘98

Along side the project for his first feature film, Ruiz-Castillo will have many ideas in
mind which he will attempt to develop throughout his life. Specifically, in his extended
professional career, on four occasions at least, he will approach works of writers who
belonged to the Generation of 98.
His first approach to the Generation of ‘98 would be in 1947 with Pío Baroja and his
work Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía, which should be no surprise since, as Julio Caro
Baroja states in his book Los Baroja, 15 the relationship between the Ruiz-Castillo family and
the Baroja family was a longstanding one. Specifically, in the midst of the civil war, Arturo’s
father, José Ruiz-Castillo, the editor of Biblioteca Nueva, decided to publish a book of texts

near París. For more information, see: Ricardo Baroja, Gente del 98. Arte, cine y ametralladora (Edición de Pío
Caro Baroja, Cátedra, Letras Hispanas, Madrid, 1989).

13
The term is taken from José Luis Castro de Paz, Un cinema herido. Los turbios años cuarenta en el cine español
(1939-1950), (Ediciones Paidós Ibérica, S. A., Barcelona, 2002), 181. It refers to the generation contemporary to
la de Sáenz de Heredia, Antonio Román or Rafael Gil, but with the none-too-fortuitious circumstance that its
members began their careers as directors after the Second World War. Castro de Paz uses the term coined by
some perceptive critics of the time and calls its «la de los renovadores», made up of cineastes like Manuel Mur
Oti, Antonio del Amo, José Antonio Nieves Conde, and Arturo Ruiz-Castillo. Creators all with a turbulent past in
the eyes of the Franco regime, but who acclimated themselves to the circumstances of post-Civil War Spain.
14
“Esta nueva generación de directores promete dar al cine nacional algo que hasta ahora era desconocido:
una personalidad concreta; esto, por lo menos, es lo que se desprende de las primeras realizaciones de Antonio
del Amo, Arturo Ruiz-Castillo, José Antonio Nieves Conde y Carlos Serrano de Osma.” Cámara, 1 Jan 1948:
120.
15
Julio Caro Baroja, Los Baroja (Memorias familiares), (Editorial Caro Raggio, Madrid, 1997).
56

taken from the works of Pío Baroja, and from that moment on the relationship between the
families went well; it would be that same editorial house which would publish Baroja’s
complete works in those same years. In fact, Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía would be re-
edited in 1946 by Biblioteca Nueva including illustrations by Ruiz-Castillo himself.
When, midway through the decade of the 1940s, the director from Madrid was
making the film in question and was asked about other possible projects, he refered to, for
example, what would be a filed future attempt to film Zalacaín, el aventurero with Baroja
himself; it seems to have quickly turned into an intellectual dream. 16 The work of Valle-Inclán
would always be bouncing around in the director’s thoughts; from very early on he showed
an interest in a future attempt at making Romance de lobos, a project which would reinterpret
Comedias bárbaras. As far as is known, thanks to a personal letter dated October 25, 1946
and addressed to José Ángel Ezcurra (and deposited in the Filmoteca Nacional), Romance de
lobos was really a proposal which involved three Comedias bárbaras by Ramón María del
Valle-Inclán: Águila de blasón (1907), Romance de lobos (1908) and Cara de plata (1923).
Ruiz-Castillo always faced several fronts which impeded the realization of the film; on
the one hand, there were problems related to the rights of Valle-Inclán’s family and the high
financial cost due to the enormous number of scenes and meaningful characters which
populate the works; on the other hand, though it may seem paradoxical, it is a master work
of Spanish theater, full of cinematographic qualities, which has not generated a filmography
commensurate with the author’s plans. The chronological delay of adaptations as relates to
the publication of the works, along with the arguable results achieved on screen in the
majority of the cases, are evidence of the adaptability of the genius of Valle-Inclán. In spite
of everything, decades later, Ruiz-Castillo would return to this project for TVE, under the title
of Romance de lobos in 1965.
In 1952 he would make his eighth feature film, La laguna negra, based on a story
about the tragedy of Alvar González, which Antonio Machado made into the poem La tierra
de Alvargonzález, contained in his book Campos de Castilla (1907-1917). Ruiz-Castillo,
along with Torreblanca, Jordán and Coello, created the script adapting Machado’s text with
a prose that magnified it, and for which he had problems with the censorship of the time
since the Sevillian writer was still proscribed by the regime of those years.

16
In Triunfo, 18 of January 1947, nº 51, we read: “Pio Baroja is still and endless source of ideas for Arturo Ruiz-
Castillo, Pio´s “discoverer”. It is the second screen adaptation of Zalacain the Adventurer, with dialogs written by
Mr Pío [Tercera noticia. Pío Baroja sigue siendo cantera inagotable para Arturo Ruiz-Castillo , su “descubridor”
cinematográfico. Se trata de llevar por segunda vez al lienzo Zalacaín, el aventurero, en una nueva adaptación
sonora, con diálogos de don Pío.].”. Yet, it would not be until 1955 when Zalación would be adapted to screen
again by Juan de Orduña.
 57

Picture 2. Illustrations of Juan de Aguirre and Patricio Allen done by Ruiz-Castillo

for the re-edition of Pío Baroja’s novel in 1946 and re-used for his film

RUIZ-CASTILLO AND THE BAROJAS

Throughout his career, Arturo Ruiz-Castillo would be characterized by touching on

themes which were uncomfortable for the regime (from an ideological point of view) and
complex for the technical-cinematographic apparatus they required.
In choosing Pío Baroja for his first feature film he is initially taking on an added
difficulty, since the Basque novelist’s figure is very difficult to define or fit into one band or the
other following the civil war, because of which Ruiz-Castillo himself might feel identified as
Republican before the war and as a National after it. The problem lies in when one is
venerated in the eyes of the public, a fact to which close attention was paid in the post war
years. In 1957 A. S. Aguado in his article Baroja, un cine por hacer, gives some very
eloquent points on this topic:

Baraja has always been been excluded […] Here he has not been loved much […]
The reason was, and is, that “the free and pure man, who was never willing to serve
anybody, nor asking anything from anybody either.” Here in Spain, where we have
made sure that every matter had its pros and cons, […] and to place each individual
on one side depending on their political affiliation. Well, we have come across
somebody who was took no sides […] Thus, Baroja was being alone. His Memoirs
meant a coup de grace to him […] That perverse and obstinate person happened
not take anything back, nor apologize for anything. 17

17
Original text in Spanish: “Baroja, en España, ha estado siempre arrinconado. […] A Baroja se le ha querido
aquí muy poco. […] La razón era, y es “el hombre libre y puro, que no quería servir a nadie, ni pedir a nadie
nada.” Aquí, en España, donde siempre se ha procurado que todas las cuestiones tuvieran su pro y su contra,
[…] para hacer posible el situar a cada individuo en uno u otro bando con filiación neta, y claro, nos hemos
58

If we draw in broad strokes the complex psychology of Baroja, we can find that being
liberal is contrary to universal suffrage, democracy and the parliamentary system. In spite of
being recognized as the father of fascism, he considers himself anticlerical, anti-Carlist
(paradoxical even to placing himself before the cinematographic medium 18), Germanophile,
and anti-Semitic following the Second World War. This is evidence that vindication of Baroja
in the 1940s did not seem to be the most appropriate thing to do.
What we constantly observe in the work of Ruiz-Castillo is that very special touch that
is there in all of his filmography, characterized by trying to create “brechas temáticas
novedosas en la Historia del Cine Español,” that is to day, treating themes which had never
been treated by anyone because they were too textually or ideologically difficult. We quote
from an interview collected in an unpublished personal file in the Filmoteca Nacional:

-In the majority of your filmic work you have outlined important themes that perhaps
you have not been able to develop as you might have intended
-All of my films have a liberal political backdrop. Even in many of the documentaries
which I have made for Spanish television I have tried to highlight the values of many
people which were prohibited by censorship. 19

A quick review of Ruiz-Castillo’s filmography shows several examples of this. His first
feature film, Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía, has the 19th century romantic sea as its
backdrop, and it is inspired at the same time by a creator of the ignominy, in that period, the
Generation of 98. Specifically, it is inspired by Pío Baroja, an unclassifiable character from
whom Ruiz-Castillo borrows in order to, characteristically for films of the 1940s, revisit the

topado con quien no se situaba. […] Baroja, así, se fue quedando solo. Sus Memorias fueron el golpe de gracia.
[…] Resultó que aquel hombre perverso y obcecado no se desdecía ni disculpaba de nada.” A. S. Aguado,
Baroja, un cine por hacer (Cinema Universitario, 1957, no. 4).
18
Pío Baroja, in a talk given prior to the showing of his Zalacaín, el aventurero, brought to the big screen by
Francisco Camacho in 1930, explains: «El mundo literario y artístico se puede dividir, según algunos, en dos
grupos, amigos del cine y enemigos del cine: cinematófilos, a un lado; cinematófobos, al otro. Los cinematófilos
esperan del cine algo como el Santo Advenimiento; los cinematófobos auguran que, a fuerza de películas,
iremos al caos, al abismo, a la obscuridad de la noche cineriana. Yo, la verdad, no soy de los cinematófilos
incondicionales; quizá no he cogido el amor a la pantalla a tiempo y me ha pasado con el cine como con la
bicicleta y con el fútbol. Tampoco soy un cinematófobo. En esto, como en muchas cosas, me siento un poco
murciélago, a veces pájaro, a veces ratón». Extracted from Jesús Cueto-Vallejo in AA. VV., Los escritores del 98 y
el cine, op.cit. 152, quoting the original speech collected in: Pío Baroja, “En torno a Zalacaín, el aventurero”. La
Gaceta Literaria (nº 53, Madrid, 1 March 1929), 1 and 4.
19
Original text in Spanish from an unpublished personal file from the Filmoteca Nacional: “En gran parte de tu
obra cinematográfica has abordado temas importantes que acaso no has podido desarrollar conforme a tus
intenciones”.
-Todas mis películas tienen un fondo político liberal, incluso en muchos de los documentales que he
hecho para televisión española he procurado resaltar los valores de muchas gentes que estaban
vetadas por la censurar
 59

concept of hero and antihero. Later, in 1952, he would make Laguna negra, based on the
Alvargonzález poem by Antonio Machado, 20 from the same generation as Baroja.
He comes to deal with characters who are not exactly compatible with the Francoist
regime, like Antonio Machado, Pío Baroja or the figure of Goya. The last of these was
ahead of his time, a supposed lover of the duchess, and a Frechified liberal, who attributed
all power to the people, all of which made a project which Ruiz-Castillo aspired to do his
entire life like La Duquesa Cayetana y Goya turn into María Antonia, la Caramba (1950),
where the figure of Goya remains in the background. In El Santuario no se rinde, we have a
movie in which for the first time there are no good guys and bad guys, because the
circumstances of all are analyzed “objectively.” Catalina de Inglaterra is a film that is
completely removed from tradition, in an attempt to avoid the statism and theatricality
characteristic of the genre and to impose a neorealist aesthetic on the 16th century. Ruiz-
Castillo will even treat the western genre, Spanish style, El secreto del Capitán O’ Hara, or
other touchy topics like in Dos caminos (1954), which deals with the flight of the Republican
army, concentration camps, the life of émigrés under German occupation, and the life of the
guerrillas, because of which he had problems with censorship, although they authorized
certain concessions to him.

LAS INQUIETUDES DE SHANTI ANDÍA: THE PERSONAL PROJECT OF A UNIQUE DIRECTOR

Leaving aside the ideological questions which the figure of Pío Baroja might suggest,
about his work there has always been the thought of how easily transferable it is to the
cinematographic medium because of its style, since this style sees life in terms of images like
film does, and his texts are full of action, and that is exactly what film is. Specifically Las
inquietudes de Shanti Andía, according to the testimony of Pío Baroja himself, was proposed
for cinematic adaptation on three occasions, with Ruiz-Castillo’s being the definitive attempt.
Pío comments that once the work was requested of him by a Jew who had an editorial house
in Paris and who was assisted by a Pole, a Russian, and a Yugoslav. But, until Ruiz-Castillo’s
proposal reached him, Pío Baroja did not cede the rights to the work. 21

20
In this regard, Ruiz-Castillo comments: “La laguna negra era la primera película de Antonio Machado cuando
todavía no se podía hablar de él. Tuve, desde luego, problemas, pasó creo que por distracción y hasta me
dieron un premio porque al terminarla ya se había iniciado una reacción a favor de los escritores”. [La laguna
negra was the first film from Antonio Machado when it was still not possible to talk about him. For that reason, I
had problems; it made it through by luck, I think, and they even gave me a prize because by the time it was
finished, there was a favorable reaction to these writers].
21
Information retrieved from the article by Luis Gómez Mesa, Azorín y Baroja frente al cine (Mundo Hispánico,
Madrid, 1973). In fact, in newspaper Pueblo, 8 December 1947:11, Baroja himself comments that in Paris he
had made from his Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía and La dama Utube, film scripts, but that the Second World
War broke out and the films were not made. Las inquietudes came to be titled Los escapados del dragón.
60

Picture 3. Story-board made by Ruiz-Castillo reusing the illustrations from the re-edition
in 1946 of Baroja’s novel

Ruiz-Castillo himself, in an interview for El cine español según sus directores by

Antonio Gregori, explains why it was decided to make a feature-length film; supported by a
career as a short film maker, he just wanted to make a feature film. He began by writing
adaptations of famous works, among them one by Lope de Vega, another by Valle-Inclán,
and he decided to adapt Pío Baroja’s novel because of the censorship problems he
 61

encounter with Valle-Inclán’s work; for him the most cinematographic novel was Baroja’s,
since he was also interested in its inherent difficulty and assuming the risks of his first feature
film.

Picture 4. Ruiz-Castillo preparing the shooting of the sequence at the Cadiz tavern

We must keep in mind that Baroja was a friend of the family, and because of that
Ruiz-Castillo had relatively easy access to the writer. Taking on a Baroja text, with all that it
implies: numerous characters, situations, environments and places; besides having to solve
the various tasks, from production to being set and costume designer, and including being
director and producer of the film; all of this served as inducement for the Madrilenian creator
to develop his dear project.
This project of the Madrilenian creator stimulated the cinematographic creativity of
Baroja himself, who even collaborated by creating dialogs for the work. The multifaceted
Ruiz-Castillo filmed a small movie with colored photos of some scenes in the fashion of a
very primitive story-board. Problems arose from the beginning of the project; the production
company from which all rights to the works of Baroja had been acquired, Ariadna Films,
already had a previously developed work plan from López Rubio, as published in Cámara in
February of 1943, which reports that López Rubio had already done an adaptation. 22 Though
a first attempt was frustrated, in 1944, Ruiz-Castillo signs a contract with Ariadna Films 23 to
direct the film, based on his own adaptation and with dialogs and consultation with the
writer. In spite of having, apparently from the beginning, a production company which would

22
Cámara, February 1943, no. 18.
23
Information taken from the censorship file of Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía: Folder 121_004; 36/04683, file
53-46 y box 121_002; 36/03273, file 6687. Archivo General de la Administración.
62

underwrite his work, actually getting the project going was an arduous task, which became
an almost personal obsession for the Madrilenian director.
Reviewing its censorship file, we find that the making of the film was delayed for
several reasons. On March 1, 1946, permission to film was granted to the new production
company which had taken charge of the project, Nueva Films. However, on June 12, 1946,
faced with a request from the Dirección General de Cinematografía y Teatro that filled out
the artistic and technical staff in order to proceed with documentation, Nueva Films
announces that is has given up production of the film, ceding its rights to the new production
company -of Alberto Álvarez de Cienfuegos and Arturo Ruiz-Castillo- Horizonte Films. 24 This
company had been founded in April of the same year, after the systematic rejection by as
many a six famous production companies, according to comments by the author himself in
Radiocinema in January of 1947.
Thus, in June of 1946 filming would begin, finishing in December of the same year.
The film was filmed in settings personally selected by Pío Baroja, going to different sites in the
Basque country: Ondárroa, Lequeitio, Elanchove, and Montrico, with the main base in Deva;
filming also was done in Valencia and Barcelona for the exteriors and in the studios of C. E.
A. for the interiors.

Picture 5. Film poster published on Primer Plano on february 12, 1947.

24
Such is the force of the argument Ruiz-Castillo offers to explain the motivation that lead to the creation of their
own production company: “A parte de Cienfuegos, nadie creía en mí como director, […] para ver si convencía a
alguien que se conmoviera y se jugara los dineros en nuestra película. Pero no fue así. Y entonces nació
Horizonte Films”. We cite his statement from Primer Plano, 19 January 1947, 327.
 63

Pictures 6, 7, and 8. Visual similarities amont the town of Lázaro

in Ruiz-Castillo’s film, Ricardo Baroja’s painting, and sketches from the film.

Collaborating as a technical team, from this point on, will be the same for
subsequent feature films: Sara Ontañón will do the montage, Francisco Canet will build the
sets and decors, Ruiz-Castillo will do sketch and costume design, Pura Ucelay will take care
of general setting, music will be the charge of Jesús Lehoz, photography will be done by
Manuel Berenguer –though in the beginning it was Cecilio Paniagua- who simultaneously
was making La nao capitana. A system of reflectors was used to adjust natural light to the
needs of the camera, heightening or reducing it as needed, a la Hollywood, and included
was the technical fad of the time, ceilings, which brought with them an additional complexity,
because, as Berenguer states, with them that:
“[…] The scene takes on a plasticity which, with the “collaboration” of the lighting,
produces surprising effects. […] In my films that I am talking about […] the ceiling was fixed,
64

since there was also the custom of using sets with mobile ceilings, and once the main shots
are done, it is taken down, allowing for zenith lighting.” 25
The photography by Berenguer in Ruiz-Castillo’s work will be classified as “Baroja-
like photography” in specialized magazines like Primer Plano. 26 Among the artistic staff we
find the great personalities from the Spanish film world, like the lead male role played Jorge
Mistral, along with José María Rodero, Carlos Agosti, Manuel Luna as Juan de Aguirre,
Manuel Requena, José María Lado, among others. On the female side we find Josita
Hernán, Milagros Leal, Irene Caba Alba, Mary Paz Molinero, along with a still unknown Nati
Mistral (this being her first film), and María Teresa Campos in her first important film role.
The film’s showing would be authorized for January 1947, having been declared “de
Interés Nacional” 27 for its technical and artistic achievement, and for its dramatic strength and
seafaring exaltation. 28 With these grants the film becomes an example for the rest of Spanish
film production and at the same time a stimulus for creating a true national production,
giving prestige at home and abroad to Spanish cinematography
Premiering at the Callao theatre in Madrid on February 3, 1947, the extraordinary
show became a homage to the storyteller, Pío Baroja. Its first showing, according to the
press of the time, was enthusiastic: “The film, to whose premiere last night came that public
one expects for great film events, was liked and well applauded.” 29
In the local press the film was described with the highest of praise. For example, we
cite the commentary from ABC:

This is a film of great transcendence for Spanish ‘cinema,” received with true joy by
all Spaniards. For different motives, all of them important. In the first place, it is
another step, and this time a decisive one toward the integral ‘Spanishization’ of our
‘cinema.’ a unique path so that it may become universal, which is as much to say
that it exists; and in the second place, because of what it represents for Spanish
‘cinema’ to bring to the screen master works of our literature. Premiered at the
Callao Theater last Monday, it has received from critics and the public a rather

25
[…] La escena adquiere una plasticidad que, con la ‘colaboración’ de las luces, produce efectos
sorprendentes. […] En las películas mías de que le hablo […], el techo era fijo, ya que también se suele usar el
decorado con techo movible, y una vez tirados los planos generales se desmonta, pudiendo entonces dar una
iluminación cenital. Cámara, 15 March 1947, nº 101.
26
Primer Plano, 9 February 1947.
27
An adventure story of the sea, dealing romantically with the theme and remembering times when the history of
Spain was tied to the history of the sea and conquest, could not escape the attention of censorship eyes, although
a more detailed analysis might suspect that in it not all the official canons of the dictatorship of those times were
applied.
28
With all that this brings with it, in this case five dubbing permits were granted La Sra. Parkington (Tay Garnett,
1944), El extraño caso del Doctor Jekhyll y Mister Hyde (Victor Fleming, 1941), Un hombre fenómeno (The
wonderman, 1945, H. Bruce Humberstone), La casa de los Courtneys, Betsabé (Leónide Moguy, 1947).
29
ABC, 4 February 1947:43. “La película, a cuya primera proyección se congregó anoche ese público de los
grandes acontecimientos cinematográficos, gustó mucho y fue muy aplaudida.”
 65

praiseworthy success for the artistry of this national big budget production, moved by
the greatest and noblest aspirations. 30

However, the official reports affirm the opposite, from what the previous review
shows; as evidence we have the inspection report of the Secretaría de Educación Popular in
Seville from August 1948:

“The film in question did not cause great acceptance among Seville’s public, since it
may not have memorable qualities, be they technical or narrative which might come
to create spectator admiration, only a few times somewhat sentimental were some
scenes of said production, where there is humanity and caring among beings” The
acting of Josita Hernán, Manuel Luna and Jorge Mistral was not lucid as they have
been on other occasions; they seemed only to go through the motions. Of the sound
and the photography we cannot say much good; in summary, the film is not one of
the best brought to celluloid.” 31
One of the most widespread criticism was to point out the problem the adaptation
has from the novel, a problem exacerbated when it is a Pío Baroja novel, complex in events,
time, and characters; Ruiz-Castillo had to constantly use diegetic and extradiegetic dialogues
in order to orient the viewer in the face of “tangled mess of data” which the work offered.
That is to say, there was a rather clear reproach of the use of dialogue as a narrative element
of events, hoping not to lose the viewer. Thus, the Provincial Delegate from Castellón de la
Plana, on August 3, 1948, also comments similarly: “[…] The excessive fidelity of the script
and some too literary dialogues gives it a morose quality that harms the agility of its
development and at times seems to break the unity of the storyline.” 32

30
ABC, 6 February 1947: 11. “He aquí una película de gran trascendencia para el “cine” español, recibida con
verdadero júbilo por todos los españoles. Por diferentes motivos, todos ellos muy importantes. En primer lugar,
porque es un paso más, y esta vez decisivo hacia la “españolización” integral de nuestro “cine”, único camino
para que llegue a ser universal, que es tanto como decir para que exista, y en segundo lugar por lo que
representa para el “cine” español llevar a la pantalla las obras maestras de nuestra literatura. Estrenada en el
“cine” Callao el pasado lunes, ha obtenido por parte de crítica y público un éxito bastante halagüeño para los
artífices de esta neta superproducción nacional, movida por grandes y nobles aspiraciones.”
31
Censorship file AGA 121_004; 36/04683:
“La película en cuestión no causó gran aceptación en el público sevillano, ya que no tiene grandes méritos que
se puedan recordar, pues ni por razones de tipo técnico ni argumentales, pudieran llegar a la admiración del
espectador, tan solo en varios momentos fueron un poco sentimentales algunas escenas de dicha producción ya
que hay humanidad y cariño de seres a seres.La interpretación de Josita Hernán, Manuel Luna y Jorge Mistral no
fue lucida como en otras ocasiones, pues solo cumplieron con sus papeles. De sonido y fotografía tampoco
podemos decir que se encuentre muy bien, en resumen, la cinta no es una de las mejores obras llevadas al
celuloide.”
32
S. I. P. E.: February 1947 Unpublished personal file at Filmoteca Nacional:
“El tono de relato, muy empleado, e intercalado en la acción actual, desvía la atención del espectador y hace a
veces perder la ilación del asunto.”32 And in S. I. P. E.: “[…] La excesiva fidelidad del guión y unos diálogos
demasiado literarios le dan cierta morosidad que perjudica la agilidad de su desarrollo y a veces parece romper
la unidad de la trama.”
66

On the other hand, the setting of the film was positively viewed, as the camera
creates that harsh, bitter and personal tone of the great Spanish novelist. 33 Newspaper
Arriba pointed it out: “El aguafuerte barojiano –aguafuerte de luces, tipos y reacciones
sentimentales- ha sido expresado con exactitud y dureza.” 34 Precisely Goya in his time and
Ricardo in his, have remained in the history of art as the best etchers of all time, artists on
whom Ruiz-Castillo must have had his eyes when he was imagining the film. The pictorial
sense of the framing is evidence of his rand artistic ambition.
The concept of the sea and its romantic sailors which we see in the film comes from a
rather evident similarity evident in the graphic work of Ricardo Baroja. In the same way as
Florián Rey was inspried for his film by the illustrated edition of La nao capitana by Ricardo
Baroja, National Prize for Literature in, illustrated by the author himself with portraits of some
of the characters drawn in which paint on black cardboard with a very fine brush, Ruiz-
Castillo used at least three illustrated versions of Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía: the 1920
edition edited by Rafael Caro Raggio, with drawings by Ricardo Baroja and Ramón
Zubiaurre; the manuscript with the original drawings by Pío Baroja which has the characters
as he imagined them; and the 1946 version published by Biblioteca Nueva with Ruiz-
Castillo’s drawings.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY AS A GAME OF MIRRORS

An addition to the complex, yet very interesting storyline of the film, is the attempt to
narratively maintain a parallelism between it and the book. 35
Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía (the book), is an autobiography about the
protagonist’s past written in the present. The form of an autobiography imposes a doubling
of the “author” in the present and the “actor” IN the past. There is, for that reason, a dual
temporal perspective, that of yesterday which is narrated, and that of today in which it is
written.
But Shanti Andía does not exist; he becomes rather the alter ego of Pío Baroja, who is
thus structuring a fictitious autobiography; although we should not forget the origins of the
writer, which will be filtered into this work. For example, undoubtedly influencing was his
maritime spirit, the fact that his family from his mother’s side was from a seafaring profession,
or at the more tangible level of the family home in Itzea, according to the words of his cousin
Julio Caro Baroja, in his book Los Baroja which was the faithful referent for the construction
of the Shanti house in Lúzaro; reality and fiction are mixed to re-create a more believable
atmosphere. 36 But the unreal character of the person who narrates is not the only
modification which Pío Baroja has introduced to such a neat form as is autobiography.

33
We should not forget the painter side of the Madrilène director, always worried about the artistic part of his
cinematographic works, and that even with Horizonte Films his job was that artistic direction.
35
Arriba, 4 February 1947. “The Baroja-like etching –an etching of lights, characters and sentimental reactions-
has been expressed with exactitude and harshness.”
35
Ruiz-Castillo stays away from imitating the rigid editorial design, which includes, after a brief epilogue, seven
large units or book, spread out unevenly in chapters which total fifty-six.
36
Despite being a fake autobiography, we are faced with a work with autobiographical references that have been
 67

In the film, the same schema is followed as was established by the Basque author; it
is an autobiography, that is to say, Shanti Andía (Jorge Mistral) begins the filmic story
introducing himself as a character and author of the oral history which he is about to tell -
Ruiz-Castillo turns it into images-, determining at the same time a present time. In this
prologue is condensed barely a minute of the First Book: Childhood, Shanti apologizes, we
are presented with the protagonist who tells us he is about to write his life story, his
autobiography to be precise.
Both works begin with the same words; and the novel as well as the film what follows
is the “old sea” [a subtitle given by Pío Baroja to this section], but here comes the mastery of
Ruiz-Castillo, who, faced with the written description of the Basque author, introduces images
of the sea which clearly represent the idea of Sea which Pío Baroja posits in that subchapter
and in all his work: a force of nature which sublimely produces emotion, since it draws us to
it but at the same time makes us suffer because we are incapable of controlling it, very much
in line with romantic painting (the very painting of Ricardo Baroja) or 19th century romantic
literature of which Pío Baroja is heir.
Baroja does not tell us about an industrialized Sea, with steam vessels right and left;
quite the opposite, he shows us a Sea like the one spoken of by Shanti in introduction –which
Ruiz-Castillo re-traces on the film screen-:

“I will never forget the first time I crossed the ocean. Boats still ruled the world. ¡What
a time that was! I don’t say the sea then was better, no; but it was more poetic, more
mysterious, more unknown.” 37

Picture 9. Representation of a typical romantic sailing vessel which Pío Baroja

describes in his book and Ruiz-Castillo translates to his film.

acknowledged by Pío Baroja himself: “Hay en Las inquietudes notas autobiográficas y recuerdos de San Sebastián
de cuando yo era chico [Today in the The Restlessness of Shanti Andía are autobiographical notes and
reminescenses from my childhood].” Found in Darío Villanueva´s introduction in Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía
de Pío Baroja:13, quoted in Pío Baroja Páginas escogidas (Editorial Calleja, Madrid, 1918).
37
Pío Baroja, Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía, íbid. 46. “Yo no olvidaré nunca la primera vez que atravesé el
océano. Todavía el barco de vela dominaba el mundo. ¡Qué época aquella! Yo no digo que el mar entonces
fuera mejor, no; pero sí más poético, más misterioso, más desconocido."
68

That is why Shanti Andía and his deuteragonist Juan de Aguirre are “romantic
heroes” who, unlike common character, live at times to tell the marvelous things that happen
to them.
From this point, a long flash-back (which is about to take almost all of the rest of the
film) presents the past adventures of his life and of his uncle Juan de Aguirre, ending with a
return to present time. As can be observed, a fundamental element of the film language as is
the flash-back perfectly accommodates the original plan of Pío Baroja’s novel, where, after
presenting Shanti, we travel directly to his childhood as in the film in order to later live the
period of his maturity along with the protagonist. This brings with it the consequent doubling
of “author” in the present and “actor” in the past, achieving the dual temporal perspective in
the novel, on the one hand the yesterday we see through flash-back and the today where the
story to which the initial flash-back returns is being told, that is, to the supposed real time.
The adventure film which Ruiz-Castillo (re)creates is fixed on, as is evident, the very
concrete adventures from the work of Pío Baroja so that it can be understood on the film
screen. This is very interesting when it comes time to analyze an adaptation like the one Ruiz-
Castillo is making. There are to interrelated stories in Pío Baroja’s work which stand out
because of their qualitative and quantitative importance above the others, and which come to
be equated with the primary story that is Shanti’s autobiography. We will be told the story of
Juan de Aguirre. We is dealt with, besides, are two narrations which are superimposed, since
they refer fundamentally to some same events and characters, if from different yet
complementary perspectives.
Almost the whole fourth book, throughout its some sixty pages, contains “Itchaso’s
Narration,” a Basque-French sailor who becomes an honored seller of tools and gear in
Bordeaux after a tormented youth as a crewman on a slave ship, the Dutch storeship, el
Dragón, where he coincided with Juan de Aguirre, Shanti’s uncle.
In Baroja’s text the points of this encounter that remain unsolved are complemented
with “Juan de Aquirre’s Manuscript,” another autobiography within that of Captain Andía, the
autobiography of his uncle through said manuscript.
Intuitively Ruiz-Castillo tries to be as pragmatic as possible, and, facing the
complication of the literary structure of the Basque author, he chooses to bring to the screen
only “Itchaso’s Narration,” mixing it with some of the “Manuscript.” All of it told by the
Basque-French sailor in his tool and gear shop, creating flash-back -within the first one- to
take us back to the seafaring youth on el Dragón along side Juan de Aguirre.
We should never lose sight of the fact that we are dealing with a film and that Ruiz-
Castillo has very clear ideas about his approach to his first feature film, having learned very
well the lessons of his time as a short film maker, that films are images and one needs to
narrate acts that can be visual as well as narrative, always remembering that he chose Pío
Baroja’s work for the supposed ease of adapting it to filmic language.
All of that motivated one of the most important sequences of the film, for which Ruiz-
Castillo decides to explain to us the figure of Juan Aguirre through “Itchaso’s Narration,”
which explains to Shanti, and in this case to the viewer also, how he met Juan de Aguirre,
whom he knew as Tristán de Ugarte. In an apparently facile way we understand what is
being told to us through this second flash-back since the Basque-French businessman
 69

narrates it to us; however, through the images narrated to us is that past life of Juan de
Aguirre. When he brings it to the screen, Ruiz-Castillo will reveal to us, through the mutiny
on el Dragón, the stature and one of the most memorable deed of Shanti’s uncle. In this
way, the Madrilenian director frees himself from “Juan de Aguirre’s Manuscript,” difficult to
justify and much more complicated for adaptation to the film screen.
It is one of the most relevant sequences of the film, a clear example of the conceptual
synthesis on Ruiz-Castillo’s part, where characters will be scarcely described; however,
through their action we capture the true essence of their personality, with descriptive, yet
expressive, close-ups of their faces. Caught up in the rebellion on the ship, they remind us of
other famous rebellions like the one onboard the Battleship Potemkim, where like on el
Dragón, the doctor and the captain are the first to be killed at the hands of the mutineers. All
of this seems to be balanced by the dominance of Itchaso’s locution over the viewer’s vision.
This is a criticism which can be extended to the whole film as to its narrative balance;
that is, many times in these example, the spoken words dominate over the image, leaving the
viewer somewhat lost. Where this is most clearly noticed is in the end of the film, where, in
spite of placing parts of “Juan de Aguirre’s Manuscript” in Shanti Andía’s mouth, the image is
eclipsed by the word. Several suggested themes are picked up again as the film ties up, but,
reaching the end of the film, they have to be explained verbally rather than visually so that the
length of the film did not surpass the standard 90 minutes. Although these criticisms apply, it
is very interesting to analyze how Ruiz-Castillo manages to conclude his work.
We must go back to the beginning of the film. Ruiz-Castillo introduces a prologue as
an opening to the work as motive and origin of the long flash-back which we are about to be
shown. He endows his film with this prologue, not part of Pío Baroja’s work, but very wisely
Ruiz-Castillo takes practically the two subchapters of the First Book and turns them into the
beginning of the film. However, for the end Ruiz-Castillo tries again to wed his film to the
book, and he chooses the final epilogue which Pío Baroja creates to clarify all of the cloudy
points, which might remain in the reader-viewer by now. Following this long initial flash-
back, we return to the present, a very revealing present. Two characters appear whom we
quickly recognize; although older, they are Shanti and Mary, following the coupling elements
proper to the work, and a third (unidentified) character who is Pío Baroja himself. The latter
listens and patiently questions Shanti and Mary about things like the deathly name off Tristán
Ulloa and his relationship with Juan de Aguirre; all told orally; also summarized is the story of
the ill-omened life of Shanti’s uncle, Machín and Mary’s relationship, their end, etc. Finally,
there is a nod to the viewer when Baroja is introduced in person, taking note of the life and
deeds of the Andía-Aguirre family, which as Shanti tells him: “If some day you write my story,
I would like to read it, Mr. Baroja [Si algún día escribe usted mi historia me gustaría leerla
señor Baroja].” The work ends as it began, quoting Pío Baroja verbatim: “ Yes, I am happy
my sons do not want to be sailors… and, yet… [Sí, yo me alegro de que mis hijos no quieran
ser marinos… y, sin embargo…].”
Ruiz-Castillo establishes in this ending a very interesting game of personalities, which
soon we will unravel. Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía is a supposed autobiography of Baroja
(man of letters), but if we read the book, we see that the protagonist of the work is Shanti
Andía, a character invented by Pío Baroja, an alter ego used to tell his own story (although at
70

no time in the work are we told this). But, Ruiz-Castillo goes further and what he does is
separate and place face to face alter ego with his creator, that is, confront Pío Baroja with his
character Shanti Andía like a game of mirrors.
In turn, he gives a wink to the viewer –who may have read the book- making clear
that Shanti really exists and whose story Baroja takes in order to write his novel; that is, we
come to understand that following this meeting, Baroja writes his work in reality adding to it
autobiographical elements.

From the ceiling hung an ivory and ebony frigate with all its masts and sails […].
What most stood out and amazed me in all the room was a pair of little China men.
[…] They had very expressive faces of porcelain, and they were very elegant and
well-dressed 38.

Picture 10. Julio Caro Baroja in the green room at the house in “Itzea»”.

Within the game of mirrors pointed out here, we have one more piece of evidence of
the doubling of personalities; there exist clear concomitances between the cited text, Ruiz-
Castillo’s film and the very green room in the Barojas’ Vera “Itzea” house.
Apparently, if this film ending were shown, it would be easier to understand the
authorial problematics involved with this book from a Generation of 98 writer. 39 Because of

38
Del techo de aquella sala colgaba una fragata de marfil y de ébano con todos sus palos sus velas […]. Lo
que más me chocaba y admiraba en toda la sala era una pareja de chinitos. […] Tenían caras de porcelana
muy expresivas y estaban muy elegantes y peripuestos.
39
Ruiz-Castillo himself comments in the pages of Triunfo: The writer Baroja acts as the 74-year-old don Pio
Baroja himself. It is probably the first time an author plays his own part in film. Shani Andía tells his life so that we,
and you seated in theater seats, have the fortune or misfortune of being present to it. [Escritor Baroja que lo
interpreta el propio don Pío Baroja con sus 74 años. Será la primera vez que un autor interprete en cine su
 71

it, there is generated in us as viewer, and even readers, a reasonable doubt about what has
gone before: what was narrated by Ruiz-Castillo in the film or what was told by Pío Baroja in
his book?; that is, did Shanti Andía really exist?
Taking this analysis as a reference, we may draw a study from an ideological
perspective. For instance, in the presence of two protagonists, Shanti Andía and Juan de
Aguirre, the supposed hero of the maritime adventure film would be Shanti, but in spite of
that, the treatment of him is somewhat peculiar. Always protected by a character older than
he, his grandmother, don Ciriaco, his mother, or even his uncle, he seems to not make
decisions as a hero of this type would. Shanti Andía’s childhood takes place like that of any
mythical hero, among the living and dead and those who go to sea, growing up without any
masculine influence. But, as Pablo J. Beltrán de Heredia expounds, in his introduction to Jon
Juaristi’s essay: “Es un héroe burgués que se mete en aventuras, pero que no le gustan y
trata de salir de ellas lo antes posible; su primer duelo y las nefastas consecuencias que tuvo
para él le introducen en la sensatez.” 40

Picture 11. Photo from the film showing the house of Shanti Andía’s grandmother.

Shanti’s existence has been somewhat adventurous: he has had challenges in love in
his youth, and they have even wanted to kill him. But, in spite of all, his life became
somewhat insignificant at the moment when it is compared with that of his uncle Juan de
Aguirre, a true adventure hero.

propio papel. Shanti Andía le cuenta su vida para que nosotros, y ustedes sentados en su butaca, tengan la
fortuna o la desgracia de presenciarla.]” Triunfo, 18 May 1946, no 16.
40
Information taken from the introduction of a book put together by Pablo J. Beltrán de Heredia, Pío Baroja.
Cincuenta años después (Biblioteca Nueva, S. L., Madrid, 2007), 15. (“He is a bourgeoise hero who gets
involved in adventures, but he does not like them and he tries to get out of them as quickly as possible; his first
challenge and its terrible consequences introduce him to good sense.”)
72

The absence of his uncle tied to the paternal orphanhood which Shanti suffers, and
being raised by his mother, his grandmother, and his aunt, combine to form the personality
of a conformist and obedient boy, who will carry on family tradition almost as something
unavoidable whose travails will come as if imposed from the outside, as unforeseen
interruptions of an order with which he identifies and which he will always seek (successfully)
to restore.
Shanti is soft, laconic, and good; he is a scrupulous, polite mercantile sailor; on the
contrary, his uncle is harshness, tension; he is a miserable man above all, but he carries
within the Aguirres’ violence from some kind of hereditary law of family fate. The first is the
kind of hero with which the viewer ought to identify, however, the life of his uncle seems much
more interesting, the true antihero of the story, marked by destiny’s fatalism. The uncle has
been the great adventurer of the family: he has fought with mutineers, he has been a prisoner
in English brigs, he has lived on a slave ship, and he has even guarded a treasure in a corner
of the African coasts, not to mention, he has been repudiated by his own family with no
recognition of his merits as the great sailor he was. Really, he is the antihero, but at the
same time subliminally he is the protagonist, or better yet, the driving force of the story, who,
on the other hand, is the faithful reflection of those characters which are so characteristic in
the work of Baroja, where pessimism is an atmosphere that contaminates every action as
portrayed by Ruiz-Castillo in his film.
As we see, the traditional roles are altered; in the face of an apparently inoffensive
work some more cryptic concepts are held on to. Really, we ought to think about what the
regime would have thought if it had realized that pattern of behavior. This is an adventure
film, but, as in all of Ruiz-Castillo’s works, we must go a little further and think about the
implications which the protagonist place before us with their stories.
The two of them need two catharses to find their true destinies, the mutiny on el
Dragón for Juan de Aguirre and the final galern for Shanti 41. But not even in the climactic
moment of the action will Shanti show his worth to his town as the maritime hero he
supposedly is. He will not be the true protagonist, savior of the sailors in the midst of the
storm, but rather it will be Machín (a paradox of destinies, the son of his uncle Juan), the one
who will save him from certain death in view of the whole town of Lúzaro. There is no
reliance on classical formulas, but rather on those jokes that from time to time destiny has for
us.
And the novel concentrates on a vision of the sea, a conciliatory sea, a tempestuous
sea, a cathartic sea, a rebellious sea. Beyond this fact we find a element of more personal
and individualistic choice on the part of the director of the film, since, different from Pío
Baroja, Ruiz-Castillo tries to give unity to the whole work, making Juan Aguirre’s life a part,
of course, but in a more equitable way and making clear that the protagonist of the story and
the anxieties (“las inquietudes”) that predominate are Shanti Andía’s.
However, the film’s creator subtlely shows us en the treatment of the characters that,
although Shanti may be protagonist, it does not mean that he is also the hero of the story. If

41 Galerna is a word in Peninsular Spanish used to refer to a violent north-west wind that blows on
the North coast of Spain (Editor’s note).
 73

we analyze this question, we find small details which describe for us a Shanti perhaps almost
too molded to the life he must lead, without any emotional background: he is a sailor
because that is his family heritage, he falls in love with Mary but he needs his mother’s
approval to be with her, he does not even know how to gracefully leave a street fight –which
he does not understand though that seems unbelievable-, he needs him friend Recalde to
encourage him from a distance and to intervene with the bad guys. And, even at the end of
the film, when it seems Shanti is going to be the hero we have been expecting during the
whole film, Machín shows up and rests the protagonism from him. However, Juan de Aguirre
is represented in way that, although a priori he may seem to be a antihero above all
because the end it is his fate to live, in truth, he is the character who attracts us throughout
the whole story; he is the mysterious figure who seems to be dead but we know from the
beginning is not; at the same time, he is a father figure, who has Shanti close, he is the older
protective brother, the one who makes a happy life possible, since, thanks to him, Machín
gives up Mary because he learns that they are brothers from the words written on his father
Juan de Aguirre’s death bed. If we want, we can even go further and find in Machín more
qualities of a hero than in his cousin, since he will save all at the last moment during the
storm at sea.

WHY IS THERE NO TRADITION OF MARITIME ADVENTURE FILMS IN SPAIN?

Urbanism and the bad mood of men who have made our planet unlivable […] Since
no desert island nor treasures remain to be discovered. The romanticism of
adventure has been suffocated with the modern primer of rationalism, the motto of
change, the lies of advertising, radio and television. 42

Thus, in the film magazine Triunfo, did Ruiz-Castillo sum up the situation which Spain
was living during the decade of the 1940s and its repercussions for film.
But, in order to understand why adventure films in Spain have not caught on in the
history of Spanish film, save a few honorable exceptions, we must begin with the fact that in
Spain there is no literary tradition of the adventure genre. The closes thing to a Spanish
adventure genre which had any relevance in those years was a brigandage/robber
pseudogenre that fed from History and adventures, perhaps the only adventure films of any
note at a cinematographic level. 43
If we concentrate just on maritime adventure in film, there is a very scarce
representation, though that seems somewhat of a paradox given that the Iberian Peninsula is

42
El urbanismo mundial y el mal humor de los hombres han hecho impracticable nuestro planeta […]. Ya no
quedan islas desiertas que descubrir, ni tesoros que buscar. El romanticismo de la aventura ha sido ahogado con
la moderna cartilla de racionamiento, la letra de cambio, las mentiras publicitarias, la radio y la televisión.
43
Don Juan de Serrallonga (1948) by Gascón is a good example of this tradition. The majority of the films begin
with the War for Independence and go on through the 19th century: Luis Candelas o el ladrón de Madrid (1946),
Aventuras de don Juan de Mairena (1947) by Buchs, Aventuras de Juan Lucas (1949) by Gil, La duquesa de
Benamejí (1949) by Lucia, and José María el Tempranillo (1949) by Aznar. Extending into the next decade, we
can see it as a point of departure for a genre capable of “Spanishizing” the western.
74

surrounded by the sea on almost all sides. Literature with maritime themes, abundant in
Spanish letters from the Lower Middle Ages and the Golden Age, had become by the 18th
century a marginal phenomenon, limited to stories about travelers and sailors written without
much literary purpose. The contemporary Spanish novel was born with its back to the sea,
perhaps having lost control of the medium –the Invincible Armada and the disaster in Cuba-
spelled an end completely to ideals Spaniards had used for years, leaving a literary
panorama hostile or at least indifferent to the topic. La canción del pirata by Espronceda,
Trafalgar by Pérez Galdós, and Sotileza by José María Pereda, constitute a really scant
canonical repertoire if it is compared, not necessarily with the very rich English language
literature on the sea, but even with France or Italy, where authors like Jules Verne or Emilio
Salgari have enjoyed the favor of an ample public. 44 To find example it is necessary to go
abroad. That is why the Baroja family is a landmark in this area, Pío as well as his brother
Ricardo in literature and in painting and understanding the sea as well.
Making history at an international level, adventure became defined in literary classic
from the 18th and 19th centuries, as well as the beginning of the 20th century, from chivalrous
legends interpreted by Walter Scott, 45 to the imaginative worlds of Jules Verne, through the
pamphletesque stories by Alexandre Dumas, the colonial experience of Rudyard Kipling to the
deep analysis of human nature in Joseph Conrad or Herman Melville.
Film, with all its expressive devices, from its beginnings took on adventure stories,
because they were the most apt for showing the viewer the novelty of the medium.
In the matter of adventures, fiilmmakers saw the raw material to spice up a film;
necessary attributes for moving away from a stationary camera classical to primitive
filmmaking times: mobility, interest, and dynamism. The great master of this George Méliès,
who brought everything to a medium as it was being born as experiment and spectacle, as
we have analyzed in the first epigraph. That step had been taken. With him, it had been
shown that within the new spectacle fit all manner of experiments and essays, no matter how
absurd or ambitious, and, what was more important, different themes could and should be
explored as compared to what had be done in print. From the point, a tradition of adventure
film begins, which appears and disappears in the history of national cinema as well as on an
international level.
The generic model which Ruiz-Castillo’s work uses as a point of departure was,
obviously, the pirate and maritime adventure, with rigorously established codes and deep
roots in Hollywood production for more than a decade. We should remember inaugural
titles like the famous work of Robert L. Stevenson, Treasure Island, which later Victor Fleming
would bring to the film screen in 1934 or El capitán Blood (Michael Curtiz, 1935), originator
of a long list of films like Reap the Wind (Cecil B. DeMille, 1942) or Frenchman’s Creek
(Michell Leisen, 1944).
In the case of Spain, there are few antecedents to the work of the Baroja brothers,
and, as a consequence, few antecedents to the films analyzed. Perhaps the clearest referents

44
Conclusions taken from a lecture by Jon Juaristi on El mar antiguo, found in Pablo J. Beltrán de Heredia, Pío
Baroja. Cincuenta años después: 23.
45
Baroja and Ruiz-Castillo themselves briefly review Walter Scott´s work, which is read by Shanti Andía´s mother.
 75

would be Correo de Indias (1942) by Edgar Neville and Arribada forzosa (1943) by Carlos
Arévalo. There was not a tradition of maritime adventure books in Spanish national
literature; it is more characteristic of English literature. In Spain, though, themes like the
conquest of America, 46 chivalrous ballads in relationship to the sea have not been widely
cultivated, in spite of having deep cultural roots. We might suspect that Baroja uses such
characters, in whom he infuses historical and legendary reality of that ilk –Domingo de
Aguirre, called “el Vascongado,” who fought with Jiménez de Quesada, and the very famous
Lope de Aguirre the Traitor- to whom Shanti seems to compare.
Even the press of the time launches complaints about this void:

The truth is that it is hard to understand that our film lives so richly with its back
turned to that other view which is the sea. When all is said and done, Spain has two
stupendous scenarios to explore: the countryside and the sea. What is curious is that
the only one that exists is that desire to make more or less historical, more or less
urban films directed toward within. 47

Returning to the previous comparison between Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía by

Ruiz-Castillo as an example of the thematics of the «generación de los renovadores» and La
nao capitana by Florián Rey, belonging to a fossilized tradition of representing Spanish
history, it is useful to show how, in the first film we see a jump away from the national, with
an eye to traditional English adventure literature; 48 while the second film presents Spanish
history, transforming one of the few novels of intrigue and adventure written in Spain by
Ricardo Baroja, which takes place on a ship crossing the Atlantic in the 17th century, in
accordance with the rhetorical and grandiloquent Spanish feelings and thought of the
Francoist regime, becoming one more example of that nostalgic dreaming about a past full
of imperial achievements.
These changes occur not only at the thematic level; they also exist at the technical
level. In La nao capitana all the action takes place on board a ship in the middle of the
ocean, yet there is not shot where the sea appears. On the contrary, in Las inquietudes de
Shanti Andía historicist tradition is fed by romantic 19th century painting and capturing the
immediacy of the maritime by taking the camera away from fixed sets. Some sets did exist,
though, like the very town of Lúzaro, re-creations of many towns, as Ruiz-Castillo
commented, because it seems that not completely satisfied Pío Baroja. For this, the director

46
A topic that fascinated Ruiz-Castillo all his life and was even behind the project was to bring “adventures” of
Magellan and Elcano to film, though he died with doing it.
47
Triunfo, 14 February 1948, nº 107. “La verdad es que resulta bastante incomprensible que nuestro cine viva
tan ricamente de espaldas a ese otro gran paisaje que es el mar. En fin de cuentas, España tiene dos estupendos
escenarios a explotar: el campo y el mar. Y lo curioso es que precisamente exista ese enconado afán en hacer
películas de tierra adentro, más o menos históricas, más o menos urbanas.”
48
Ruiz-Castillo allows himself to detail the sea. The maritime atmosphere of Cádiz is not the same, spiced up with
the typical Andalusian dance folklore, Spanish guitar, prostitutes, and wine taking advantage of the foreign sailor,
as the refined maritime atmosphere of the north with meetings among the sailor, the doctor, the pharmacist, and
the town watchmaker to play cards.
76

himself was the designer of the town’s street, intuiting certain influences from Ricardo Baroja
in his maritime towns or from Basque painters of the time. For the sea scenes, there is a
mixture documentary footage, and even worked in are shots taken from Flaherty’s
documentary Nanuk of the North (1922), 49 with other real shots of the sea and some from
the studio.
When it came time to film, there were multiple problems with to the film screen the
sea in its romantic side, but with the greatest realism possible. Ruiz-Castillo comments in the
pages of Radiocinema, how in spite of recording the storm scene at Lequeitio, he also had to
film in studio, with this turning out better and being included in the final cut:

[…] It was shot in Lequeitio and in studio, as backup, using the ‘lie’ because it came
out better. Following the negatives. Don’t think it was easy to film backdrops of the
sea at storm, artificial waves, to create a current around the ship, throwing tons of
water down a six-meter-high ramp, all necessary to synchronize the movement of the
sea with that of the ship and characters.” 50

In this regard, Ruiz-Castillo clearly synthesizes the idea of the film:

The sea is that liquid thing that surrounds our Peninsula. On the sea float the ships;
on the ships are the sailors; in the sailors are feelings, passions, and romanticism.
Beyond them and the ships, there is an unlimited horizon of adventures, life, and
action: this is the theme of my film. In Shanti Andía the atmosphere is maritime and
Basque. The period of the 19th century spells the end for the sailing ship and slave
ships, and the beginning for the steam ship and the train. 51

49
For more information on this topic, see the article by José Antonio Pérez Bowie. “La novela de Pío Baroja en el
cine” Ínsula: revista de letras y ciencias humanas 719 (November 2006): 33-36.
50
Radiocinema, 1 November 1946, nº 129. (“[…] Fue rodada en Lequeitio y en el estudio, por duplicado,
hemos aprovechado la de “mentira” porque salió mejor. Luego, las transparencias. No crea que ha sido sencillo
el rodar sobre fondos del mar en galerna, olas artificiales, viento, crear una corriente en torno a la barca,
lanzando toneladas de agua desde una rampa de seis metros de altura, todo lo necesario, en fin, para
sincronizar el movimiento del mar proyectado con el de la barca y personajes.” A fact which, according to A. S.
Aguado in, Baroja, un cine por hacer, op. cit. Pío Baroja did not like: “¡Cambiarme el Cantábrico por una balsa!
Yo hubiera pasado un año entero allá, tomando todo el mar que pudiera.” (“Switch the Cantabrian for a pool! I
would have spent an entire year there, filming all sea I could.”)
51
Triunfo, 18 May 1946: “El mar es esa cosa líquida que rodea nuestra Península. En el mar flotan los barcos;
en los barcos hay marineros; en los marineros sentimientos, pasiones y romanticismo. Más allá de ellos y de los
barcos hay un horizonte ilimitado de aventuras, vida y acción: esto es el tema de mi película. En Shanti Andía el
ambiente es marinero y vasco. La época el siglo XIX y la crisis romántica, la señala el fin del barco de vela y los
negreros, y el principio del barco de vapor y el tren.”
 77

Pictures 12 and 13. From these two stills from the film we can appreciate clearly how
Ruiz-Castillo always walked the line between tradition and spur-of-the-moment innovation.
78

Picture 14. Ruiz-Castillo’s plan for filming the storm sequence.

CONCLUSIONS

After reviewing the relationship between national cinema and the Generation of ’98
throughout the history of Spanish film, we can appreciate that there exists an abundant
cinematographic production in this respect. The numbers are reduced, if we concentrate on
the years of the forties. We have tried to analyze the causes for this apparent “malaise” in
the film world: economic, ideological, and even technical issues, which can clarify the
situation in a general sense, if we d keep in mind that the Generation of 98 is one of the
most brilliant moments in Spanish literature.
On the other hand, examining the work of Pío Baroja and Ruiz-Castillo’s film in a
more detailed way, we find points of difference and points in common, for example, the end
of the film, a barely touched aspect in the narrative analysis of this film. Really, we see a
game of mirrors, which the Madrilenian director places before the viewer of the time, giving
him a wink with the introduction of Pío Baroja himself as an actor, doubling him in his own
autobiography. Possibly, this final twist escapes the viewer of the time, since this work of Pío
Baroja is not one of the writer’s most read works.
The concomitance which exists among Ruiz-Castillo’s work, Pío Baroja, and his
brother Ricardo is quite suggestive, since in the work of Pío and Ricardo, they evidently find
inspiration between them, and in turn Ruiz-Castillo looks for in both the ideal atmosphere for
his filmic creation. This choice is not random, but rather intentional, opening “a thematic
breach” with all that the adaptation of Baroja’s book implies.
Finally, we have tried to show that, through example, the maritime adventure genre
has never managed to become a part of Spanish cultural tradition, as counterintuitive as that
might seem. In addition, the figure of Ruiz-Castillo and his creative work are excellent
 79

examples of what has come to be called the “generación de los renovadores.” One of his
interesting contributions is his personal view of the hero and antihero, very different from the
on imposed by the Francoist regime; he introduces also an unusual realism for this time,
representing maritime reality in situ.

Translated by Richard K. Curry and Miguel A. Zárate

80

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