I am meeting the Chilean filmmaker Diego „Mapache“ Fuentes in the lobby of the Hyatt hotel. Mapache, meaning raccoon in Spanish, is the nickname he got himself as a young punk in one of Chile’s most elite universities. He is welcoming and eager to talk about his graduation film, Matapanki, which brought him to this year’s Berlinale. Matapanki tells the story of a young punk that gets superpowers whenever he is drunk and starts to fight political injustice.
To fully appreciate Matapanki, it helps to understand the backdrop of Chile’s contemporary history. During the Cold War, the country was ruled by a brutal military dictatorship, which was followed by a gradual process of democratization beginning in 1989. For decades, Chilean society—and its cinema—have been shaped by the lingering scars and the “ghost of the dictatorship”.
Diego represents a new wave of Chilean filmmakers. He belongs to a generation that came of age in a democratic Chile yet remains deeply frustrated by the unkept promises of liberalization and a political system where “everything fails”. This tension culminated in the Estallido Social of 2019, when violent civil unrest erupted across the country—sparked by high school students in Santiago protesting rising subway fares and a wider crisis of affordability.
Generation Reports (FGR): Welcome to Berlin! Matapanki has been a joy to watch. I read that it started as a joke during the pandemic. When did you realize you were creating something bigger, something more serious?
Diego Fuentes: We were in the middle of the COVID pandemic, developing a university project. I was joking with my co-writer, Joaquín Fernández, after watching Electric Dragon 80.000 V. I said, “What if we make a movie about a punk with alcohol-fueled powers who fights politics?” To our surprise, the university let us do it. That was the moment we realized our humor was actually a way to frame serious political problems.
A new generation in Chile and across the globe is finding its political voice, but there’s a deep-seated fatigue because everything feels so surreal and, to be honest, fucked up. We didn’t want to make a boring political film; we wanted to make something young people could laugh at, while still seeing the issues that bother them.
FGR: You’ve mentioned a new generation engaging with politics. How did you experience the 2019 Estallido Social protests?
Diego Fuentes: In Chile, there is a lingering “ghost” of the dictatorship and a resulting fear of anything progressive, especially among the older generation. It’s hard to talk politics with them. But the beauty of 2019 was seeing a new generation get involved. We felt that everything in the world—from the U.S. to Venezuela—was failing, so we needed to handle those issues satirically.
FGR: In the film, the protagonist kills the President—a revolutionary dream of 2019 for some—but it leads to disaster. Is the film pessimistic about the efficacy of political violence?
Diego Fuentes: For me, it reflects the reality of the 2019 protests: nothing was really achieved. We had an opportunity to change Chile, but in the end, nothing happened. The film’s ending, where people just stare at the chaos, represents that apathy—as if the apocalypse could happen and no one would care. We have a fear of the far-right now, so my goal isn’t necessarily to call for a “Ricardo” (the violent hero with superpowers; ed. note), but to ensure the artistic community stays strong and defends what we’ve achieved. Matapanki is our way of doing that.
FGR: Does it feel weird or natural to present this film to a European youth that hasn’t had that experience?
Diego Fuentes: Our movie is very local with Chilean slang and set in my home in Quilicura, Santiago (one of the less wealthy, industrial neighborhoods; ed. note). When I received the news about the European premiere at the Berlinale, I was shocked. It’s a huge festival and Matapanki is a little movie with a very limited budget. It felt weird initially, but it’s really interesting that the film resonates with people all over the world.
Values like family, charity, and love—specifically the non-nuclear family in the movie (the grandma, Ricardo, his friends)—are universal. It was a nice surprise to realize it’s not just us in Chile feeling this fear and frustration; it’s happening in Europe and the US too. So it actually feels natural now that I am here.
People often stereotype punk or hardcore scenes as aggressive, chaotic, or just a space for drinking—I can’t deny that happens but my experience was different. For me, it was a community built on love and solidarity. Everyone looked out for each other, and it felt like a second family. That sense of belonging, support and your friends as chosen family is something I wanted to capture in the film.
FGR: You made this punk manifesto at Universidad del Desarrollo, one of Chile’s wealthiest private universities. How did you navigate that contradiction?
Diego Fuentes: (laughs) It was strange at first. The university is known for being private and conservative. Honestly, I only applied there because my sister told me, “Diego, if you want to make films in Chile, you need money, and that’s where the money is.” I was very punk at the time—mohawk and everything—so I resisted, but she was right. I’m grateful because my family worked really hard to support me and I got a student loan from the government of Chile.
Surprisingly, we didn’t have to fight for the film. We had amazing professors who supported the manifesto, so it became a beautiful anomaly within that environment.
FGR: The film has a very distinct gritty, black-and-white look. Was that an aesthetic choice or a political one?
Diego Fuentes: Both. If we were making a punk movie, it had to look punk. We referenced fanzines and the DIY movement. We couldn’t talk about punk and then shoot in pristine 4K; we knew we had to destroy the image and the sound.
FGR: You’ve spoken publicly about your Tourette’s and OCD and their influence on your art style. How do those experiences influence your films?
Diego Fuentes: Cinema can be very conservative with its rules. As a neurodivergent person, I feel a connection between the neurodivergent experience and the punk movement. It gave me the freedom to ignore those rules. When we made Matapanki, we had no pretensions about film festivals; we just wanted to shoot what we wanted to share. It was liberating.
FGR: Looking ahead, your next project Corazón de Polilla (Heart of the Moth) deals with gender identity. Are you moving from the hyper-masculine aggression of Matapanki to something more fluid?
Diego Fuentes: Absolutely. In Chile, there’s a strong crossover between the punk and LGBT communities. There were themes of gender fluidity I wanted to explore in Matapanki but couldn’t, so I’m excited to do that now.
I think the messed-up state of the world—things like Trump or the Epstein files—is deeply connected to issues of masculinity. I hope that one day Trump sees Corazón de Polilla and heals his inner masculinity issues!
FGR: That would be incredible. Thank you, Diego. Best of luck with the premiere!
