A Conversation with Pablo Tocino: Three Seasons of Desire, Friendship and Survival

For a series born out of friendship, stubbornness, and the conviction that stories can be told even when there is no money to tell them with, saying goodbye was never going to be easy.

Over the course of three seasons, Una Perra Andaluza has grown from an underground passion project into one of the most singular voices in contemporary Spanish independent television. What began as a chaotic, funny and painfully honest portrait of desire, loneliness and queer friendship gradually became something much bigger: a refuge for its audience and a testament to what can happen when creators refuse to wait for permission.

Before its final season premieres on Filmin on June 19, the first episodes were unveiled at Barcelona’s FIRE!! Mostra Internacional de Cinema Gai i Lesbià on June 6, offering an early glimpse of a farewell shaped by hope, heartbreak and everything in between. As the journey comes to an end, we sat down with creator Pablo Tocino to talk about the making of the series, the community it built, and what it means to let go of the characters who have accompanied him for so many years.

 

How would you explain Una Perra Andaluza to someone who hasn’t seen any episodes and doesn’t really know what the series is about?

I think many people reading this have probably thought at some point, “Someone could make a TV series about me and my friends.” That’s where Una Perra Andaluza began, along with the need to create something like “a dramedy about desire in three acts.” It follows very different characters who share a sense of loneliness despite living in constant stimulation, and confusion about sex despite the hypersexualization around them. Their stories gradually intertwine as they explore their desires and discover friendship and mutual support. In truth, they have always been closer to misfits and nerds than to the kind of popularity we are used to seeing in fiction.

Many fans agree that the series begins in chaos. At first they weren’t sure whether they liked it, but little by little they fell in love with the rhythm, the characters, the realism mixed with touches of surrealism, the way it can be brutal and tender at the same time. Some have even rewatched it because it feels like a comfort show. That is perhaps the greatest compliment we could receive, especially if they find refuge in the middle of the chaos—which is also the chaos of our own lives.

 

After spending so many years with these characters, how does it feel to reach the end of Una Perra Andaluza?

I still haven’t processed it. Between deadlines and stress, I suppose it will really hit me when the premiere arrives. Sometimes I feel joy and pride for everything we achieved and for the connection we made with audiences; sometimes relief, if I’m honest; and sometimes sadness. We have dedicated years of our lives to this project, so it is natural that its ending leaves a void.

 

You’ve said the third season revolves around hope. Why was that the right theme to close the series?

We took both the characters and the audience on a journey that began with a lot of laughter but later became quite difficult. I didn’t want an idealized or overly sentimental ending because the series is deeply rooted in everyday reality, but I did want to leave a light on. I think the characters deserve it, the viewers deserve it, and it is consistent with the spirit of the series. My favorite show is Six Feet Under, and Alan Ball is a genius. Despite the subjects it deals with, I would never call it pessimistic. It is life-affirming. In my own way, I tried to make Una Perra Andaluza life-affirming too.

 

Pablo Tocino, Director of Una Perra Andaluza

 

If the first season was about anger and the second about loneliness, what have you discovered about those ideas during the creative process?

Anger and chaos dominate the first season. I think they are closely related, and beneath them there is often profound loneliness and fear. Depression, especially in men, is frequently hidden behind those emotions. Talking about such issues through humor can be risky in terms of how people will receive it, but as a writer it feels very natural to me.

 

How has your perspective as a creator changed since you started writing the series?

I’ve learned an enormous amount. I loved cinema from childhood, but I never formally studied filmmaking. Working on this series has been like completing a degree and several master’s programs at once. I learned about cinematography, sound, color grading, production, and every role imaginable because we often had to do several jobs at once. I also learned how to work with actors, how to communicate ideas that seem obvious in your head but are difficult to express, how to guide and protect performers through emotionally or sexually demanding scenes, and how to be less stubborn while still defending the ideas that truly matter.

 

The series was born with almost no budget and eventually made it to Filmin. When did you first think, “This is really happening”?

There were many moments: the first casting sessions, the first shoot no matter how rough it was, our trip to Cádiz to shoot an absurd number of scenes in one day during the pandemic, our first festival screening, collaborations with people we admired, my first Zoom call with Jaume Ripoll, the moment Filmin confirmed the release date, the premiere of the first season, and seeing cast members who had been exhausted by the production become proud of the final result.

 

 

What was more difficult: getting the series made or saying goodbye to it?

Getting it made. Although finishing it has also been exhausting because of the accumulated effort over the years. Building it and keeping it alive was a true odyssey.

 

Is there any character who resembles the Pablo Tocino of a few years ago?

There is something of me in almost every character. I always try to give them some trait, taste, or detail that comes from me. Some are closer than others, and some are inspired by people I’ve known.

 

What did you want to say about queer friendship that you weren’t seeing in other series?

There are very few examples of authentic queer friendship on television. The few that exist often feel written from ideological discourse rather than from lived reality. For me, queer friendship often means a more honest kind of friendship. I find the debate about whether men and women can be friends incredibly tedious. Why should attraction automatically prevent friendship? I think there is something powerful about seeing someone as a person who may attract you while also being many other things beyond that attraction.

 

The series talks about desire in a very direct way. Do you think Spanish fiction is still too cautious about sexuality?

Absolutely. Queer sexuality is still represented far less openly than heterosexual sexuality, and the male body is shown far less frequently than the female body. More broadly, I think cinema is currently suffering from a kind of chemical castration regarding desire. Much of contemporary fiction has become sex-negative. There are exceptions, such as Gregg Araki’s work or films like Creatura by Elena Martín Gimeno, but in general there is a lot of hypocrisy and fear surrounding these issues.

 

 

Andalusia is central to the identity of the series. What does it mean to tell stories from there and with those accents?

Partly it’s practical because it’s where we live, but it is also a creative choice. We wanted to show places, people, jobs, personalities, and accents that rarely appear on screen. Our resources limited us mostly to Seville, but we wanted every Andalusian province to be represented in some way because Seville can sometimes occupy too much space within the regional imagination.

 

Is there a scene in the third season that especially captures the spirit of Una Perra Andaluza?

There are several, but I would rather leave that up to viewers when they see it. For me, the final season is the one that best defines the series as a whole.

 

What does it mean to premiere the first episodes at the FIRE!! Queer Film Festival?

It’s wonderful. The entire team has treated us incredibly well, and we can feel their affection for the series. Presenting the final season in Barcelona and seeing interest in the show here proves that although it is called Una Perra Andaluza, you do not have to be born or raised in Andalusia to be a “perra andaluza.”

 

When you look back, what would you say to the Pablo who left medical school to pursue cinema?

I would tell him he is making the right decision and should keep going. He is about to live through some of the hardest years of his life and suffer many disappointments, but it will all be worth it.

 

And after closing Una Perra Andaluza, what stories do you feel you need to tell now?

We joke a lot about a fourth season, but the story is complete. If someone offered us the chance to continue it under very different conditions—with actual funding—we might think about it. Personally, though, I’m excited to tell new stories. I already have several projects in development, including the comedy short Nueva Carne, another short called Male Fantasy, and even a book that could eventually become a thriller film adaptation. There are plenty of ideas. The challenge now is finding a way to bring them to life without sacrificing our health in the process.