Javier Celay

BRB: To start, could you introduce yourself to our readers and share a bit about your journey into filmmaking?

I’m Javier Celay, born in Pamplona in 1985, and I studied Audiovisual Communication in Valladolid. From early on, I’ve been connected to audiovisual work, as well as visual arts and music. For me, cinema became the meeting point of all those disciplines: visual storytelling, sound, rhythm, the ability to create atmospheres. I started with small documentaries and experimental shorts, and little by little I found my voice in fiction.

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BRB: Your film Tito was a finalist for Best Horror Short Film. How does it feel to have your work recognized in this category?

It’s an immense joy. Horror isn’t always a genre that gets recognition in more general festivals, so being in that category means the film managed to convey its atmosphere and tension. For me, it’s validation that you can address profound, human issues through horror.

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BRB: Tito deals with mental health, isolation, and tension in a small town setting. What inspired you to explore these themes in a horror context?

I come from a place where small towns and community life strongly shape personal dynamics. Isolation within a space that is supposed to be close-knit struck me as very powerful. I wanted to talk about those inner tensions and mental fragility, and the horror genre gave me the tools to turn that into something visceral, something the audience could feel on their skin.

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BRB: You have a diverse background in cinema, television, visual arts, and music. How do these different disciplines influence your filmmaking style?

A lot. Music has given me a sense of rhythm that I apply to editing. Visual arts help me think about composition and symbols within the frame. Television gave me craftsmanship—the ability to solve things quickly. All of that converges in how I tell stories: I want every shot to have visual and sonic weight, with nothing placed by chance.

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BRB: Filo and Tito’s conflict drives the story. How did you approach creating suspense and fear while keeping the characters emotionally grounded?

For me, fear works when you care about who is experiencing it. With Filo and Tito, I tried to build recognizable characters, with intimate fears and contradictions. Once you have that, suspense builds itself, because the audience empathizes with them. I’m not interested in cheap scares, but in fear that lingers because it connects to something deeply human.

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BRB: This is not your first film, but each of your works seems to explore very different territories. How do you choose the stories you want to tell?

I don’t follow a formula. Each project is born from a personal need: an obsession, an unanswered question, a memory. Sometimes it comes from a social issue, other times from something more intimate or poetic. What I do try is to make sure every story challenges me, forces me to explore a new language.

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BRB: The setting of a small town plays a critical role in Tito. How did you use location and atmosphere to enhance the horror and tension?

We shot in Leoz, Navarra, a place with a very particular silence. I wanted that environment to almost become another character, where the sense of solitude and oppression was always present. We worked a lot with natural light, with long takes that let silence breathe, and with a mix of the everyday and the uncanny.

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BRB: In horror, the psychological state of characters is often as frightening as external threats. How do you direct actors to convey these inner fears convincingly?

I work a lot during rehearsals, not so much on “how to be scared,” but on deep motivations. I talk with them about what the characters carry inside, about their inner world. If the actor connects with that background, the fear emerges organically, without needing to force it.

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BRB: Looking at your previous films like Agustín, Fucsia, and Txori Maitea, what recurring motifs or ideas can viewers find in your work?

I think there’s always an interest in characters in conflict with their surroundings, in the tension between the intimate and the collective. There’s also a recurring search for identity, for belonging. And, in some way, a constant attempt to turn the everyday into something poetic or unsettling.

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BRB: Which filmmakers, films, or artistic influences have most shaped your vision, particularly in the horror genre?

Directors like Carlos Vermut, Yorgos Lanthimos, or Robert Eggers have influenced me a lot, especially in how they work the unsettling through psychology and atmosphere. Also Víctor Erice’s cinema, for his ability to suggest more than he shows. And in terms of visual arts, I’ve always been inspired by expressionist painting and experimental music.

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BRB: How do you balance visual style, sound, and narrative pacing to maintain tension and immersion in your horror stories?

Sound is perhaps the most powerful tool in horror, even more than the image. In Tito, we played with silences and minimal noises that create discomfort. The visual style is always thought of in relation to the characters: if they’re trapped, the camera is trapped too. And I fine-tune the pacing so that the audience has no escape, forcing them to inhabit that tension.

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BRB: What kinds of projects or themes are you most excited to explore next, and do you see yourself continuing in short films or expanding into features?

Right now I’m developing ideas that could turn into a feature film, though I don’t want to abandon short films because they give me freedom to experiment. I’m interested in continuing to explore the tension between the real and the fantastic, always from a perspective that speaks to the human experience.