The great Ingmar Bergman once observed: “No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls.” His words continue to resonate today, carried by the evocative waters of the Venetian Lagoon towards the island of San Servolo, where, from September 10 to 12, the ONA Short Film Festival will once again take shape. At its core lies a belief in cinema as the ideal medium through which to convey messages that originate in sporting culture before transcending sport itself and reaching towards something deeper. Something capable, indeed, of touching the conscience, stirring emotion and reaching those hidden chambers of the soul. Of teaching us to open our perspectives towards other corners of the world, other communities and other individuals.

As has now become a tradition, we accompany this meaningful gathering with a dedicated editorial series. The first protagonists of this year’s journey are Joaquín and Tomás Gomez, the two Argentine-born, Venetian-by-adoption brothers who created ONA and continue to shape its evolution over time. That progression has also been made possible through partners such as Diadora, which, for the Festival’s 2026 edition, has given the Gomez brothers the opportunity to express their cinematic vision through ‘Itatí’ and ‘Potreros:’ two films developed in collaboration with the brand and devoted to the sporting imaginary of northern Argentina.

Before entering the conversation, a reminder that registration for the ONA evenings is available at this link (onafilmfestival.com).

How has growing up in Argentina shaped the way you see the world, influenced your artistic journey, and ultimately the stories you choose to tell?

Tomás Gómez: “What I do today is deeply connected to the way I’ve learned to look at the world. I think that perspective comes from my childhood and everything my family taught me. We travelled constantly, spending time in nature, discovering new places and new cultures, always trying to step away from the typical tourist path. Rather than following the obvious route, my parents would take us to a tiny roadside food stand or a small local place where we could meet people and simply talk to them. That connection with local communities sparked something in me. It awakened a sense of curiosity, a desire to ask questions, and a fascination with discovering realities that felt incredibly distant from my own. I think that’s where my urge to see the world really began, along with the desire to come back home and tell my friends what I had experienced.

Today, filmmaking has become my way of doing exactly that. I carry a camera with me, searching for situations, meeting people, visiting places, always trying to look beyond the obvious and find what feels genuinely meaningful. Instead of telling those stories to a few friends, I now make documentaries, films, or visual pieces that allow others to experience what I lived and, above all, to see it through my own eyes. Looking back, that’s probably the clearest way to describe how I arrived here: finding a way to see the world as I’ve always wanted to see it, and sharing that perspective through film.”

Joaquín Gómez: “I’d like to begin with our grandfather, Gerry Gómez. We never had the chance to meet him, but he was a film director and part of the first generation of Argentine filmmakers in the 1950s. He devoted much of his work to sport. He directed ‘Su Última Pelea,’ a boxing film, along with ‘Sacachispas’ and ‘Pelota de Trapo,’ two football films centred on the story of a young boy who rises from nothing to become a champion, much like the myth that would later surround Maradona. Even though we never knew him personally, I think he represents the core of where everything began for our family. He travelled extensively, eventually settled in the United States, where he learned from people connected to Sergei Eisenstein and worked alongside the assistant of Frank Capra, another filmmaker of Italian heritage who became one of the great figures of American cinema. He later founded a film distribution company, buying and selling film rights, and through that world he also developed as a photographer. Eventually he became a war correspondent, documenting the Pacific theatre during the Second World War. Our father grew up in that environment. He also became a documentary filmmaker, although his work has always been more deeply connected to the cultural and mythological dimensions of Latin America. So I think that sensibility has always been part of who we are. 

Like Tommy said, we were both raised in Buenos Aires, but we spent much of our childhood travelling, especially throughout Argentina. After the economic crisis of 2001, most of our journeys happened within the country, which allowed us to discover Argentina and Chile in a very profound way. Those experiences became an essential part of our upbringing. I’ve also always loved the imagination of Jules Verne: the idea of travelling around the world, of discovering distant places through movement and curiosity. In many ways, that spirit still guides me today. Every film feels like a small journey across different corners of the world. As for art itself, what fascinates me most is its ability to create a space—whether real or imagined—that allows you to fly for a while, to step outside reality and experience something beyond it.”

Music has played a particularly important role in your creative evolution: especially for you, Joaquín. Could you tell us more about that relationship, and how it eventually found its way into your filmmaking?

Joaquín Gómez: “Music has always been a fundamental part of my life. I studied classical music at the conservatory, focusing on composition and conducting. My dream was always to become a film director, but I realised early on that my relationship with music was much more developed. I’d been playing the piano since I was a child, so I thought: why not begin with film scores and bring those two worlds together? That’s how it all started. I first worked in sound design, creating sound effects for animation and video games, then gradually moved into television and commercial work. Eventually I had the opportunity to compose the score for a documentary by Ben Sturgulewski, and that project became my first real encounter with the artistic side of documentary filmmaking.

From there, everything developed naturally. I later moved to Canada, where I worked in Banff, and continued growing within that world. Meanwhile, Thomas was following a different path. He studied communication and gradually picked up a camera. Since we’d already worked together as producers alongside Ben, we’d learned a great deal simply by observing how a film set functioned: how productions were built, how stories came together behind the scenes. At a certain point, we realised that combining our different backgrounds felt completely natural. That’s really where everything began for us: from a shared curiosity and the desire to tell stories together.”

What are the foundations of your creative vision? Which personal influences, cultural references, and individual sensibilities have shaped each of you—and how have those distinct perspectives come together to form a shared way of seeing and telling stories?

Tomás Gómez: “I think everything I mentioned before—the travelling, constantly being on the move—also meant that we spent an enormous amount of time together. We explored the world in very similar ways because we inherited that outlook from our parents and grandparents. That was simply the way we were taught to experience life. Since we’re relatively close in age, and much younger than our older sisters, we naturally became inseparable. We did everything together: playing, exploring, inventing stories. Looking back, I think that’s really where it all began. As children, we were constantly creating imaginary worlds together, and then those stories gradually expanded as we travelled more, first with our family and later on our own.

People often think that working with family must be difficult, or even something to avoid. But I actually believe it has a very positive side. We may approach things differently or have different opinions in the moment, but in the end we always share the same destination. Each of us brings a different perspective, yet those perspectives ultimately move in the same direction. What I find most fascinating is that, after growing up together, we can still recognise so many traces of our childhood in the way we work today.”

Joaquín Gómez: “I remember someone recently said something that has stayed with me: “You both think completely differently.” To me, that’s actually a compliment. I think it’s a strength because it brings variety, different points of view, and even different generational perspectives. I was born in 1989 and Thomas in 1995, and you can feel that difference. I think it’s something valuable. What I really appreciate is knowing that the person beside you knows you completely. We’ve shared our entire lives. We’ve grown up together and experienced so much side by side. That creates a very particular kind of trust.

Over time, we’ve also learned what each of us brings to the partnership: what our respective strengths and weaknesses are, and where each of us can contribute the most. We’re very critical of one another, but in the best possible sense. We’re demanding because we’re almost never fully satisfied. We’re always trying to push things a little further, always looking for the next step. I think that’s one of the qualities that defines the way we work together.”

What role has sport—both as a lived experience and as a cultural world—played in shaping your identities? And how does it continue to influence the way you see the world and tell stories today?

Tomás Gómez: “In our family, our parents always encouraged us to try everything. The idea wasn’t to become great at every sport, but simply to experience them all and then decide what truly resonated with us. So I tried golf, taekwondo, skiing, snowboarding, tennis, football, basketball, rugby… pretty much everything. The important thing was not only learning the sport itself, but discovering the community that formed around it. Looking back, I think that’s one of the greatest lessons sport gave us. You don’t just practise a discipline: you become part of a group, a circle of friends, a shared culture. Every sporting community has its own identity, its own way of seeing the world. Eventually you stay with the ones that feel most like home, but moving through all of them is almost like travelling across different countries. Each one introduces you to a completely new world. 

That mindset has stayed with us. Today we’re interested not only in sport as competition or entertainment, but in the communities that grow around it. Especially at the amateur level, where sport often becomes an excuse to spend time together: to play, then have a drink, share a meal, and continue the day together. In many ways, that’s also the spirit of Ona. Of course, we’re fascinated by the very best athletes in the world and by elite performance. But we’re equally drawn to everything that happens around it: to the neighbourhood, the local court, the moments before the game begins and after it’s over. That’s why we try to tell both sides of sport: the highest professional level and the most grassroots one. They’re different worlds, but they’re equally powerful and equally meaningful.

Joaquín Gómez: “When I was a child, my father always used to tell me that a healthy mind begins with a healthy body. That’s how we were raised. Like Tommy said, we tried every sport imaginable: skiing, football, rugby, taekwondo, martial arts, a little bit of everything. Socially, sport opened countless doors for me. It introduced me to friends, communities, and ways of connecting with people that have stayed with me ever since. At one point I became quite a good tennis player. I say that humbly, but I really loved it. I was playing four days a week, every week, until I was about seventeen. Then I gradually moved away from it. Later, discovering sports like surfing and climbing made me realise that every discipline carries an entire universe behind it: not only technically, but philosophically. Very often, it also becomes a reason to travel and meet people you would never have encountered otherwise.

For my personality, sport has always been a place of balance. It’s where I release everything, where I genuinely feel at peace. Whether I’m training, running, or simply skipping rope, I need that physical dimension. It gives me something I can’t find anywhere else. Then, when we realised there was a place where cinema and sport could come together, it felt like an entirely new world had opened up. It brought together two of my greatest passions, while also creating space to explore the cultural dimensions that sport can reveal. To me, sport is medicine for the soul. It strengthens your body, clears your mind, helps you build relationships, and allows you to feel better about yourself. It’s something deeply rooted in human history, and that’s why I believe it will always remain such an essential part of who we are.”

If you had to introduce the Ona Short Film Festival to someone discovering it for the very first time, how would you describe it? What is Ona, and what inspired you to bring it to life?

Joaquín Gómez: “If I had to explain Ona to someone who had never heard of it before, I’d say it was born the moment we discovered the incredible world of films dedicated to sport. Through our work, we met so many talented filmmakers who eventually became friends. We collaborated with them in different ways—sometimes through production, sometimes technical support, sometimes music—and gradually became part of that creative community. Around the same time, after spending time in Canada and experiencing that festival scene firsthand, the two of us began travelling across Europe, presenting our own projects at different film festivals. That’s when we first started talking about the idea of creating a festival of our own in Venice. At first it felt almost like a dream: something beautiful, but distant.

Then the pandemic arrived. I came to Venice for what was supposed to be a three-month artistic residency connected to an exhibition at the European Cultural Centre, and instead I ended up staying for nine months. Everything was closed. Life had slowed down completely. During that period, Tommy and I returned to the idea. Since we were already collaborating with the European Cultural Centre, we had access to a space. We thought, why not ask our filmmaker friends to send us their films and organise three evenings of screenings? That’s really how it all began. Step by step, what had started as a simple idea slowly began to take shape.”

Tomás Gómez: “We’re now preparing the seventh edition, and honestly, it still feels surreal to say that out loud. It all began as a very innocent conversation: Why don’t we try? Let’s see if we can make it happen. Joaquín was definitely the one who pushed the idea the hardest. Because we’d both spent so much time travelling to festivals, we were always discussing them afterwards. Not in a negative way, but we’d constantly say, “We would have done this differently…” or “This could be more interesting for a younger audience…” Those conversations slowly evolved into a shared vision. From the very beginning, we wanted to create a place where we ourselves would genuinely enjoy spending time. We believed that if it felt authentic to us, other people would feel the same. We wanted to build a new kind of community: one that was looking for something different. 

So seeing how much the festival has grown is honestly incredible. In the middle of a pandemic, when almost everyone was putting their plans on hold, we decided to start a film festival. Looking back, it’s still hard to believe that it has become something that returns every year, and I truly hope it continues to grow for many years to come. But I also think neither of us ever started this thinking, Let’s make money. That was never the point. We simply wanted to create something we could be proud of, to showcase the work of filmmakers we admired, and to give people a place where they could have a genuinely meaningful experience. In the end, that’s what stays with us. Whether the festival did well financially or not: that’s a conversation that lasts an afternoon. What we keep talking about throughout the rest of the year is whether people enjoyed themselves. Did they have a great weekend? Did the films move them? Did they leave feeling inspired? That’s what gives us the greatest satisfaction. Hearing someone say, That was incredible. I had such a great time. I’ll never forget this weekend. That’s the feeling we hope people continue to leave with for many years to come.”

Today, Ona has reached its seventh edition. How does it feel to look back at everything you’ve built and see how the festival has grown? What does it mean to witness an idea that once seemed so distant become such an established reality?

Tomás Gómez: “I think the festival has grown in the same way we have. Every edition has taught us something: not only through the process of organising it, but also through the filmmakers and guests we’ve had the privilege of welcoming. In many ways, the values that define Ona today have been shaped year after year through those encounters. From the very beginning, though, some principles have remained constant. We’ve always wanted to promote sport, encourage a healthy way of living, and foster a more responsible relationship with nature. But beyond simply celebrating the outdoors, we’ve always wanted to give people the tools to understand how we should relate to it. For us, the best way to achieve that is through knowledge. The more we understand nature, the more we listen to the people who have spent their lives immersed in it, the more conscious our relationship with it becomes. That’s why we always try to invite people with meaningful experiences and fresh perspectives, and why we’re so interested in cultures that existed long before us: cultures that, in many cases, have developed a far deeper relationship with nature than we have today. The festival has taught us a great deal in that respect. We certainly don’t claim to have all the answers. Instead, we try to create a platform for the people we believe have something genuinely valuable to share, so that others can learn from them as well. 

Everything always comes back to the same foundations: practising sport, living well, and building a relationship with nature that is respectful enough to preserve it for generations to come. Another principle that’s always mattered to us is the way we relate to people. We never wanted red carpets, VIP areas, or barriers between guests and audiences. Everyone shares the same space. You can stand next to us, next to a filmmaker, next to an athlete: there are no privileged areas or exclusive conversations. We want people to feel relaxed, to feel they can approach anyone, ask questions, start conversations. That openness has been part of Ona since the very first edition. We like to think of it as a festival without barriers: a deeply human festival. And then there’s Venice. We’ve been incredibly fortunate to build Ona here, in a place that welcomed us from the very beginning. Over the years we’ve learned not only to understand this city, but to truly live it. We’re deeply grateful to be able to host the festival on an island as extraordinary as San Servolo. Arriving here at sunset, surrounded by this almost dreamlike atmosphere, becomes part of the experience itself. It helps tell our story. In many ways, the place is what makes Ona… Ona.”

Joaquín Gómez: “What has always driven me most is cultural inclusion. I like to think of Ona as a platform where people can share perspectives that are different from our own. To me, that’s essential. If you only surround yourself with people who think exactly as you do, you inevitably limit your understanding of the world. I’ve always been curious to listen to people whose experiences and ways of thinking are very different from mine. That curiosity has guided much of our curatorial work. We’ve tried to give visibility to cultures that, from our perspective, often feel distant, and to embrace that diversity rather than simplify it. Over time I’ve realised that one of cinema’s greatest strengths is its ability to leave something lasting within you. Not every film does that, of course, but when a film truly succeeds, it can stay with you for the rest of your life. It communicates something that words alone often cannot, because you’ve lived that journey with your own senses: you’ve seen it, heard it, emotionally travelled through it. That’s why I believe cinema has a unique kind of magic.

Then you add Venice: San Servolo beneath the stars, people from different cultures gathering together for three days, all sharing the same experience. That’s something I love deeply about Ona. I’m also incredibly proud of the relationships we’ve built over the years. Our collaboration with Athleta Mag is one of them: we’ve genuinely grown together. The same is true of the people at San Servolo, who have welcomed us and supported the festival from the beginning. And, of course, our partners. Without them none of this would be possible. Diadora, in particular, has become much more than a sponsor. We’ve built a genuinely human relationship with them. That’s something we’re truly grateful for.”

This year’s edition also features two films created in collaboration with Diadora: a brand whose roots lie just a short distance from San Servolo. Could you tell us about this partnership, and how it has grown into a creative dialogue that extends well beyond a traditional sponsorship?

Joaquín Gómez: “What I’ve appreciated most is the sense of freedom that defines our relationship. You can genuinely feel it. They believe in what we’ve created: a project that feels rooted in its territory, fresh, and spontaneous. We’re a very small team. There aren’t many of us, and we’ve built this festival from absolutely nothing. So having the support of a brand like Diadora is extraordinary. Festivals like this are built year after year, stone by stone, and when you find a partner who believes in your vision, it gives you confidence that you’re moving in the right direction. It’s a powerful sign of trust.

That’s also why I keep coming back to the idea of freedom. From our very first conversations—whether about the festival itself or other productions—we immediately felt there was a genuine human connection. There’s a wonderful atmosphere around the people who work there. What I see in Diadora is a brand that feels open, innovative, and genuinely willing to grow. They’re interested in culture, in sport, in connecting with different countries and different communities. It all feels incredibly natural. It’s a privilege to work with a brand that already shares so many of the values we believe in.”

Tomás Gómez: “I completely agree. What stands out to me most is how authentic they are and how consistent they are with what they communicate. We’ve worked with many brands throughout our career, but with Diadora I immediately felt they were genuine. What they say is truly reflected in what they do. They think about their community. They think carefully about how they communicate, why they communicate in a certain way, and whether what they’re doing actually makes sense. Every conversation we have with them is incredibly enriching because they’re willing to pause the marketing side of things and ask more human questions. That’s surprisingly rare in the world of brands.

We’ve been genuinely impressed and grateful to work with a company that gives so much importance to those values while remaining committed to staying contemporary and authentic. That’s essential for us because we also see Ona as a modern festival. From our aesthetic sensibility to our values and the way we communicate, I think we’re very much aligned. And, of course, their support is fundamental. They’re a vital part of what allows Ona to continue existing and growing year after year.”

‘Itatí’ and ‘Potreros’ are two deeply different films, yet both are rooted in northern Argentina and its communities. Beginning with ‘Itatí,’ could you tell us about the vision behind these two documentaries, and what drew you to explore that particular region of the country through these stories?

Tomás Gómez: “For us, these two films belong together. Northern Argentina is a place that almost every Argentine knows. We’ve grown up connected to it, familiar with its landscapes and its culture, even though it’s a region that always reveals something new every time you return. Because of that, we felt a great responsibility in portraying such a unique and essential part of our country. With both films, what we wanted above all was to represent life in northern Argentina as truthfully as possible. What does it actually mean to grow up there? How do people live? What challenges shape their everyday lives? In many ways, we wanted to normalise a way of life that feels familiar to us as Argentines, but may seem completely different to audiences elsewhere in the world.

I see these two films almost as a single portrait told through two different stories: two chapters of the same biography of northern Argentine culture. When we met Itatí, we found an extraordinary young athlete, supported by an equally extraordinary family. Northern Argentina has always been an incredibly demanding environment for sport. The altitude, the temperatures, the heat… everything makes training more difficult. To find athletes competing at that level, especially at such a young age and often training above 2,500 metres, is truly remarkable. For us, the film became an opportunity to meet an exceptional person and to share a small glimpse of her life.”

Joaquín Gómez: “Northern Argentina has always been deeply connected to the broader Andean world: a vast cultural landscape made up of many different peoples and traditions. Long before the Incas, these lands were already inhabited. In provinces such as Catamarca, archaeological evidence points to human presence dating back nearly 37,000 years. Historically, though, the region has endured enormous hardship. Its people were invaded, marginalised, and often forgotten. Even within Argentina itself, the country’s attention has traditionally been centred on Buenos Aires, while the north has remained one of its poorest and most neglected regions. Life there is difficult. Yet it’s also home to extraordinarily hardworking, humble people, with values that feel deeply rooted. Like anywhere, there are challenges—including serious problems with alcoholism—but that’s also why sport can become so important. It gives young people another path.

That’s what struck us so deeply about Itatí. She has an incredibly pure spirit. Everything about her feels natural and instinctive. She didn’t start running because she dreamed of becoming an athlete. She started running simply to reach her grandparents’ house more quickly. When we entered that world, we did so with immense respect. You quickly realise that many families survive through subsistence farming and face real economic hardship. But you also discover communities with an extraordinary sense of resilience. These were warrior peoples long before modern Argentina existed. When the Spanish arrived, they were among those who resisted the longest. That strength is still there. Argentina itself is the result of many different cultures coming together: Indigenous peoples, Italians, Spaniards, Arabs, Lebanese communities, Jewish communities, Afro-descendant communities. It’s a country built through diversity. Entering northern Argentina means entering one of the deepest roots of that identity. What has always stayed with me is the image of people carrying enormous sacks of potatoes across the mountains with incredible naturalness. There’s a quiet strength in that everyday life that never leaves you.”

Tomás Gómez: “One of the things that fascinated us most about Itatí was how honest she was. In sport, we often hear people say that winning doesn’t matter, that competing is what’s important. But Itatí never said that. She genuinely hates losing. It wasn’t something she was trying to perform for the camera: that’s simply who she is. She wants to win, and she’ll do everything she can to win. We found that incredibly refreshing because it felt completely authentic. There was no cliché, no rehearsed answer. Her relationship with running is equally beautiful. She grew up in a place where everything is far apart. Her grandparents lived at a distance, so she was constantly walking—or more often, running—to visit them. That’s how running entered her life. Little by little she realised she had a gift for it, that she loved it, and that it gave her a space that belonged entirely to her.

The film also tells the story of her grandparents, who were the first to recognise that talent and encourage it. They became the first people to believe in her. As Joaquín said, in a place like northern Argentina, finding a sport that gives you purpose can genuinely change your life. Sometimes it literally saves lives, because the alternatives aren’t always positive. That’s why her story goes far beyond athletics. And we’re very happy that she’ll be able to keep running. We’ll do everything we can to help make sure she continues following that path.”

Joaquín Gómez: “In fact, we’ve decided to cover her future race entry fees. That became part of our relationship with her. Many times she told us she simply couldn’t compete because her family couldn’t afford the registration costs. It’s an incredibly poor community, and we saw how much she was sacrificing. So we made a commitment: we’ll help make sure she can keep racing. Another thing that moved us deeply was her twin sister. They’re complete opposites. While Itatí is always at the centre of the action, her sister is quietly beside her, supporting her in everything she does. She’s almost invisible, but she’s an essential part of Itatí’s journey. Watching that relationship unfold was incredibly beautiful.

Spending around ten days with the family allowed us to witness something very special. At first, it felt surreal for them that we had travelled all the way there to make a film about their lives. They kept asking themselves, Why us? But as we interviewed them and spent time together, something gradually began to open up within the family itself. There were moments of emotion, moments when they heard one another say things they’d never said before. It felt as though the filmmaking process created a space where they could see each other differently. For us, it was a privilege to step into such a beautiful world: one that was also undeniably hard. The difficult part is always leaving. During a shoot you build very intense relationships, and then suddenly you have to say goodbye. We always try to stay in touch afterwards because they’re extraordinary people, and they continue to mean a great deal to us.”

Then there’s Potreros: a film centred on the rural football fields that embody the very essence of Argentine football culture. In these places, what does football come to represent? What role does it play within these communities, beyond the game itself?

Tomás Gómez: “Argentina is an enormous country, with vast open landscapes and an incredible amount of natural space. Outside Buenos Aires, though, infrastructure is often very limited. Yet the desire to play football exists everywhere, regardless of those conditions. And that’s exactly where the potrero comes from. Originally, a potrero is simply a field where horses, cows, or sheep graze: an empty piece of land that can be used for almost anything. But when there are no animals, it becomes a football pitch. That’s what a potrero really is: a place where people gather to play, where the goals are marked by two stones or two sticks, and where so many football journeys begin. Maradona started on a potrero, just as countless other players who would eventually reach the highest level of the game. What began as a necessity has gradually become something with immense cultural value. 

During our time in northern Argentina, we only visited a handful of the potreros that exist in that region: a tiny fraction of the thousands scattered across the country. But what struck us was seeing how these places can become something much bigger than a football field. Around them, entire communities emerge. A small local club is born, sustained by people who dedicate their lives to it because it’s their place to gather and play. It was incredibly moving to hear older generations talk about the first players who came there—sometimes arriving on horseback, sometimes riding donkeys—simply because they wanted to play football. And that same spirit is still alive today. The young people we met would do anything for their teammates, for their friends, for that small patch of ground they call their pitch. It doesn’t matter whether they have an official kit or a fake one, brand-new boots or worn-out trainers. They’ll always find a reason to play. In the end, the potrero is about exactly that: the need to play football, wherever you are, regardless of the conditions. For a little while, it allows you to feel like a footballer.”

Joaquín Gómez: “I think the potrero also shapes the character of the people who grow up playing there. You can recognise a player who learned football on a potrero almost immediately. There’s a particular way of playing that’s born in those fields: physical, instinctive, resilient. You use your body constantly. You protect the ball, you fight for every challenge. There are very few whistles, very few fouls. You simply keep playing. More than anything, there’s a mentality of giving absolutely everything. Someone who grows up on a potrero leaves everything on the field. They throw themselves into every challenge. They put their body on the line. And that idea becomes almost a philosophy for life. I still remember one of the local teams we met before a match. As they gathered together, they kept shouting the same words: “Con todo, muchachos!” — “Give everything, boys!” Then they added: “Even against everything. Together. Together.” Every time I heard it, I got goosebumps. They were just kids, but the intensity with which they believed those words was extraordinary. For me, that’s where so much of Argentine football is born. The potrero is where ingenuity, dribbling, improvisation and picardía—that uniquely Argentine football intelligence—first emerge. It’s a football culture that’s very different from the more structured traditions inherited from England.

Some people even like to say that football, in spirit, belongs as much to the Guaraní peoples as it does to England: that before it became an organised sport, there was already another way of playing with the feet, another relationship with the game. Whether that’s historically true or not isn’t really the point. What matters is that, in Argentina, football has never been understood only through rules or etiquette. It has always been something more instinctive, more popular, more deeply rooted in everyday life. When we entered these potreros, we realised we were standing inside the very essence of Argentine football. At the same time, we also understood that many of these places are slowly disappearing. Land gets sold, buildings replace open fields, artificial pitches take over. Some of these historic potreros are fading away. But what moved us was discovering that many of them eventually became much more than football pitches. They grew into social clubs: places that offered children a sense of belonging, support, and community. In the end, that may be the greatest legacy of the potrero: not simply producing footballers, but building people.”

Through your own films, as well as the wider selection featured at this year’s festival, what do you hope audiences will experience? What do you hope they’ll carry with them once they leave Ona?

Tomás Gómez: “Personally, I hope that everyone who has already experienced Ona leaves feeling surprised once again, and that those attending for the first time discover an entirely new world. Every year we try to refine our selection a little more: to curate films that we’re increasingly proud of, and that reflect more closely what we want the festival to stand for. I hope people connect with those stories, but I also hope they simply enjoy being together. One of the things that makes us happiest is the community that gathers around the festival. If people leave having discovered great films and having shared meaningful moments with others, then I think we’ve achieved what we set out to do. 

I also hope people allow themselves to let go of their preconceptions. The best way to experience these films is to appreciate them for what they are: to remain curious, to be open to discovering cultures and worlds that may be completely unfamiliar. So my invitation is simple: leave your mental barriers outside the theatre, and let yourself be surprised. I also hope people allow themselves to let go of their preconceptions. The best way to experience these films is to appreciate them for what they are: to remain curious, to be open to discovering cultures and worlds that may be completely unfamiliar. So my invitation is simple: leave your mental barriers outside the theatre, and let yourself be surprised.”

Joaquín Gómez: “When I think about the world we’re living in today, I feel there’s so much noise, so much negativity surrounding us all the time. In that context, I believe Ona offers something different. It gives people the opportunity to step into other realities, to leave behind, even for a few hours, everything that constantly demands our attention. If a film can genuinely move you, if it can stay with you after the screening and leave you carrying a new thought or a new feeling, then that’s already a victory. That’s what I hope people take home with them.”