Raquel Cepeda’s features include “Bling: A Planet Rock,” about American hip-hop’s obsession with blinging and how that intersected itself into the decade-long blood diamond-fueled conflict in Sierra Leone, and “Some Girls,” following a group of Latina teens from the South Bronx who suffer from depression and suicidal ideation and are transformed by a journey of self-discovery. Cepeda is also the author of “Bird of Paradise: How I Became Latina,” published by Atria/Simon & Schuster.

“La Madrina: The Savage Life of Lorine Padilla” is screening at the 2020 DOC NYC film festival, which is taking place online from November 11-19.

W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.

RC: “La Madrina” is a feature length documentary about a beloved South Bronx matriarch and former “First Lady” of the Savage Skulls gang struggling to remain visible in a rapidly gentrifying community she helped rebuild in the 1980s. Lorine has one foot firmly grounded in the outlaw life and the other as an activist and spiritual advisor, and because of this, she finds herself straddling the complexities of multiple worlds.

During an obsessive two-year-long search, I came upon rich never-before-seen archives of the borough that gifted the world both salsa and hip-hop culture. And through it all, the audience becomes engrossed in Lorine’s complicated and, at times, surreal journey through five decades of Bronx history.

W&H: What drew you to this story?

RC: Padilla isn’t only a masterful storyteller, she’s an archetype of the women that have raised me and provided me with safe spaces long before that idea was a thing. I’m informed by my lived experiences and, as a community, our shared experiences.

I knew about Lorine before I met her because she was featured in “Flyin’ Cut Sleeves,” our executive producer Henry Chalfant’s classic New York City documentary. In fact, we used some never-before-seen outtakes from that film in “La Madrina.” 

Henry had suggested we meet over the years and, when the stars aligned and we finally did, I immediately knew that I had to tell #HerStory. She reminded me of the strong and fallible women in my community, those I’ve rarely seen onscreen, that took me in and raised me throughout a tumultuous and violent childhood and adolescence in New York City. Like Lorine, these women didn’t let their gender, ethnic, and socioeconomic status stop them from becoming engaged, healthy contributors in their communities. 

W&H: What do you want people to think about after they watch the film?

RC: I’d like people to be inspired by Lorine as much as I am, to activate and stay engaged in their communities. Lorine shows us that regardless of where you land on the socioeconomic spectrum, you can activate and make healthy contributions to society.

W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?

RC: Money is always a challenge and competing for a small number of grants, especially in these last four years, has been especially difficult. 

W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.

RC: The film was funded with small grants, private donations, and sheer will to make it happen. 

W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?

RC: My love of storytelling, ever since I was a little girl, was the driving force. My grandmother in Santo Domingo likes to remind me about how I would swear that I was going to write about my family when I grew up to “set the record straight.”

Whether it be through journalism and magazine editing lifetimes ago, books — I wrote a rather dark and, at times, funny, memoir about coming of age during the 1980s and ’90s in New York City called “Bird of Paradise” — and ultimately, as a filmmaker, I’m driven by documenting the lives of people that are still fighting for a seat at the table. To this day, I rarely see films and read books centered around authentic Latinx characters’ lives and experiences.

W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?

RC: One of best pieces of advice came via a surreal lunch I had with Brian Grazer when I was still working in the magazine space, circa 2004. He said, in a nutshell, that I should consider transitioning to film sooner rather than later, and imparted a few jewels that I still keep close to my chest. While we eventually fell out of touch, unfortunately, Grazer gave me the courage to leave my post as editor-in-chief of the glossy to freelance and dive headlong into film. 

I’ve received a lot of bad advice over the years: it’s hard to choose one. Once, after I had completed my first film in 2007, I went to an industry breakfast and met a documentary titan after she gave a talk. I attempted to hand her a DVD copy of my film, produced in part by the UNDP [United Nations Development Programme]. She looked at the cover, scanned me up and down with disdain, and motioned for me to give it to someone, anyone, at her table. When I asked her if I could meet with her at some point, she responded by saying she liked keeping company with women that “looked like me.” I looked over at her table and got what she meant immediately, and I understood that I didn’t fit her script.

In that indelible moment and others since, I realized that this industry, though it often rocks a veneer of social justice, upholds the pillars of white supremacy just like any other corporation in America. 

W&H: What advice do you have for other female directors?

RC: Never negotiate your ethics.

W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.

RC: My favorite woman-directed film is currently Lulu Wang’s “The Farewell.” I went to Santo Domingo for a day to attend a friend’s premiere earlier this year, and to see my beloved 90-plus-year-old maternal grandmother. On the plane back I had put on “The Farewell,” and almost immediately, I was hooked.

As an immigrant-American, I identified with many of the storylines explored in the film and its dry humor. I’m not usually a crier but watching Billi and Nai Nai onscreen reminded me a lot of my own interactions with my abuela. I couldn’t help but weep for most of the film. 

W&H: How are you adjusting to life during the COVID-19 pandemic? Are you keeping creative, and if so, how? 

RC: There was no choice but to adjust to a life ruled by ‘rona, so I adjusted. In between keeping up with my son’s school schedule and my family life, I wrote several drafts of a script, an adaption of the first part of my book, “Bird of Paradise.” I wrote it mostly in the bathroom — a room of my own!

I also started developing another passion project, a documentary which in essence is about identity and the crisis of belonging through one man’s search for meaning. I’ve been thinking about the subject since 2003, when I was still a magazine editor.

W&H: Recent protests in the U.S. and abroad have highlighted racism and anti-Black police brutality. The film industry has a long history of underrepresenting people of color onscreen and behind the scenes and reinforcing — and creating — negative stereotypes. What actions do you think need to be taken to make Hollywood and/or the doc world more inclusive?

RC: I think that the best way to move beyond performative allyship in and out of the industry is to invest in projects and stories that center their narratives around communities of color, and are made by Black and Brown filmmakers. More importantly, filmmakers must have agency in the actual telling of their stories even if they don’t fit white people’s ideals of what Black and Brown life is.

Normalizing inclusivity is also super-important to take away the stigma that comes with being the only magical Black and/or Brown person at the proverbial table.