Pop-Culturalist.com

Few filmmakers capture the raw, unfiltered essence of a place quite like José María Cabral. A trailblazing director and screenwriter from the Dominican Republic, Cabral has built a career on telling bold, socially charged stories that challenge perceptions and ignite conversation. From his breakout Sundance hit Carpinteros to the gripping Perejil, he has established himself as a visionary force in Dominican cinema. Now, with his latest documentary, 42nd Street, premiering at SXSW 2025, he turns his lens toward the electrifying, chaotic, and deeply human world of La 42—a 600-meter stretch in the Dominican urban landscape where art, defiance, and survival collide.

A visceral, immersive journey into the lives of dancers, artists, and dreamers drawn to its pulse, 42nd Street doesn’t just document a neighborhood—it invites audiences to feel its energy, its beauty, and its struggles. With police crackdowns intensifying and figures like Demetal, Natasha, and Maco at the heart of its cultural rebellion, the film captures a community fighting for expression on its own terms. In this conversation, Cabral reflects on his filmmaking process, the importance of trust in documentary storytelling, and why 42nd Street is a story that needed to be told.

PC: One of the most powerful aspects of cinema and filmmaking is its ability to offer audiences a perspective they might not typically encounter, and that has always been a core part of your storytelling DNA. How did this neighborhood inspire you? When did you realize you wanted it to be the focus of your next film?
José: When I make a film about a place as distinctive and full of life as this, it’s all about taking the necessary time to immerse myself in the community. My process always begins with research, but beyond that, I need to experience it firsthand. With Carpinteros, I spent months visiting the prison every day. For this project, after a few months of research, I packed my bags because I wanted to be there, living in the day-to-day. I stayed at Demetal’s place—that’s when I truly started to understand what it meant to wake up there, to see the sunrise, to experience both the mundane and the intense aspects of the community. There were moments when we had to hide from the police, when we had to run because of gunfights, but there were also moments of pure creativity—people making music, coming together, and channeling their passion into art.

That’s when things began to unfold before my eyes, and I knew there was something special about this place. If you’re from the Dominican Republic or the Caribbean, you’ve probably heard about 42nd Street, but the narrative is often centered on violence and parties. Once you really dig in, though, you see the people—the anonymous artists—using art as a form of resilience in a hostile environment. They fight every day, whether against police brutality or a system that refuses to acknowledge their voices, but they fight through community and art. That was incredibly inspiring to witness as a filmmaker, and it motivated me to tell their story. I knew I wanted to make a documentary because I wanted audiences to feel the authenticity—the raw, unfiltered reality of the people themselves. There was never a script. It was just them, living their lives, and I followed them for months. That’s how 42nd Street came to be.

PC: That’s one of your strengths as a filmmaker. You do all the research in advance, but you remain open to discoveries as you film. Early on, there’s a moment where you explore the unpredictability of this neighborhood, which mirrors the nature of documentary filmmaking itself. Were there any surprises or pivotal moments during the filmmaking process that ended up shaping the overall narrative?
José: It was during the first month of my research process that I recorded a documentary—not the one you see in this film. It was just me and my camera, capturing sound directly from the device, which was ultimately a waste because recording clean audio in such a loud environment was impossible. But I did it intentionally. I wanted to get a sense of what I was going to shoot once I started working with the crew. It was almost like storyboarding—I could use it as a visual reference when collaborating with the team and discovering what the message or scene needed to be. A few of those shots actually made it into the final documentary.

For me, it wasn’t just about discovering things in the moment, but about the entire process. People always talk about the violence, but like anywhere in the world, there’s another side. I kept asking myself—why isn’t anyone talking about this part? That was the idea behind the documentary, and hopefully, through this project, people will now understand what 42nd Street truly is. In the Caribbean and the Dominican Republic, opinions are divided because many don’t actually know the people who live there every day. That’s what I wanted to capture—following those who were born there, those who live there, and even those who create there. Because as they say,”You don’t have to be born on 42nd Street to be part of the 42nd Movement.” You just have to create. To understand the rules of the game, you have to be there, be part of the community, and respect its essence. That’s how you become part of the movement.

PC: That was also such a brilliant decision—to focus on lesser-known figures in this community—because, as you said, it brings authenticity and a real sense of groundedness. How did you go about finding and connecting with everyone?
José: There have been great artists who have come through 42nd Street, like Bad Bunny and Akon, and of course, I would have loved to feature them in the documentary—but that would have been difficult. More importantly, that may not have been the documentary I wanted to make. We mention them because their presence matters—it’s important for big artists to support 42nd Street—but my focus was on highlighting the anonymous people who are there every day.

How did I find them? By spending months there. Anyone who visits 42nd Street for the first time hears about Demetal—he’s the boss, the one who keeps everything moving. But once you start saying you’re making a movie, things get complicated because suddenly, everyone wants to be in it. Of course, I wanted to feature as many people as possible, but I also had to consider balance. There are well-known figures in the area, but I wanted to find those who embodied both talent and struggle—people like Natasha [Dancer]. When you meet someone like Natasha, you just know. She’s incredibly talented, but beyond that, her dedication and daily battles as an artist, and as a woman in 42nd Street—despite it being an open and creative space—made her story one I had to tell.

Then there’s Maco [Boba]. He was with me all the time, and the last thing he expected was to be in a movie because in 42nd Street, he often goes unnoticed. But when I saw his kindness, the way he moved when he danced, I thought, “He’s inspiring. Maybe he’ll inspire the next generation.”

It was all about intuition, observation, and taking my time. That’s a great question because I hadn’t really thought about it in this way before—I just followed my instincts. But now that I reflect on it, we live in a time where everyone wants quick answers, wants to immediately label people as the good guy or the bad guy. But sometimes, you just have to let a place speak to you. The characters will reveal themselves. It was a combination of intuition and research. A thousand filmmakers could make a documentary about 42nd Street, and each one would be different. This is the story I saw, the one I envisioned. It was a collaboration—between the crew and the community—because the story of 42nd Street belongs to them.

PC: You also have to be flexible and open to receiving that story. There’s such an honesty that you brought to this project and how you portrayed both the adversity but also the resilience. I imagine that requires a lot of trust with those featured in the documentary. How did you go about building that?
José: Trust is everything in documentaries, especially when you’re telling the stories of a place you’re not from. And I don’t just mean geographically—I’ve made films about historical events, and in those cases, you have to sit down with the people who lived through those moments. They need to trust you with their stories, their truths.

For me, it’s always about making sure people understand that I’m the medium, not the message. My role isn’t to impose my perspective—it’s to amplify theirs. They’re not just giving me information for me to reshape however I want. From the very beginning, whether it was this film or even the mini documentary I mentioned earlier, I made it a point to sit down with everyone and explain the entire project. It wasn’t a monologue—it was a conversation. I wanted them to feel included, to add their own thoughts and perspectives. Sure, I had done my research and spent time there, but there were moments when someone like Demetal would say, “What do you think about this?” That’s the essence of true collaboration—ensuring their voices are imprinted in the film.

We also had open discussions about showing the darker side of 42nd Street. There were no secrets. That transparency builds trust. It made people realize, “This guy is being honest. He’s here. He’s experiencing this. He’s not just dropping in for two hours, grabbing footage, and leaving.” That’s how you begin to understand the truth of a place—not by observing from a distance, but by being present, by living it.

It’s a lot of hard work, but it pays off because, in the end, the hope is that the audience resonates with it. More than anything, I want to bring this film back to 42nd Street and screen it right there, in the community. We approached this project with deep respect for everyone involved, including the police—even though they are criticized in the film, they still deserve a voice and a space to respond. It’s about balance.

Make sure to follow José on X and Instagram.

42nd Street Screening Times at SXSW:

• Violet Crown Cinema 1 – Mar 7, 2025 (9:30pm — 11:01pm)
• Violet Crown Cinema 3 – Mar 7, 2025 (9:30pm — 11:01pm)
• Alamo Lamar 1 – Mar 9, 2025 (2:00pm — 3:31pm)
• Alamo Lamar 8 – Mar 9, 2025 (2:00pm — 3:31pm)
• Violet Crown Cinema 1 – Mar 13, 2025 (9:15pm — 10:46pm)
• Violet Crown Cinema 3 – Mar 13, 2025 (9:15pm — 10:46pm)