There’s a moment, usually at dusk, when the barandilla—the ornate white railing that trims La Concha Bay—glows against the Atlantic. Point a camera there and San Sebastián (Donostia in Basque) instantly turns into cinema: elegant yet salt‑stained, Belle‑Époque yet modern, postcard‑pretty yet capable of playing rough when the story demands it. Over (almost) a century, the city has been a glamorous backdrop, a nimble stand‑in, a social realist stage, a technical hub, and even a co‑star—culminating in Woody Allen’s unabashed love letter, Rifkin’s Festival. What follows is a condensed, literary tour—roughly half the length of the original Spanish piece—through the films and series that have made Donostia their own.
Prologue: why cameras keep returning to La Concha
San Sebastián has three magnetic forces for filmmakers:
- Its look — the curve of La Concha, the Belle‑Époque façades, the Victorian theatres, and the rugged greens of nearby mountains.
- Its festival — the San Sebastián International Film Festival (Zinemaldia), which not only screens films but attracts new ones to be shot right there, often inside its own venues.
- Its versatility — the city can pass for Acapulco, London in wartime, or simply be itself: a living, breathing Atlantic capital with pintxos bars, rain‑polished streets, and history never far from the surface.
Golden beginnings: Hollywood glamour and Franco‑Spanish crossovers
The affair starts early. In 1936, Hollywood drops by: Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper stroll along La Concha in Desire, where the grand Hotel Londres is rebranded “Continental Palace.” The appearance is brief, but the message sticks—San Sebastián can do elegant cameo.
By 1956, it’s singing in two languages. The Franco‑Spanish musical Le Chanteur de Mexico / El cantor de México, starring Basque tenor Luis Mariano, transforms local landmarks—the terrace of the Hotel Londres, the Paseo de La Concha, even Ondarreta Beach masquerading as Acapulco—into a Technicolor playground. Donostia proves it can dress up without losing its charm.
The 1960s and 70s broaden the range. Battle of Britain (1969) turns the Avenida de la Libertad into Blitz‑era London. The cheeky musical Pierna creciente, falda menguante (1970) plants an earworm—“La mar está fresquibiris”—on the Igeldo viewpoint. And Papillon (1973), with Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman, taps nearby Hondarribia for its tropical prison saga, showing how Gipuzkoa beyond the city could double for… almost anywhere.
Then there’s Díselo con flores (1974), by French director Pierre Grimblat, which filmed in the now‑vanished Villa Miraconcha—cinema as time capsule, saving what the city has since lost.
From postcards to characters: the 80s–90s turn
With Spain’s transition to democracy, the camera turns inward. San Sebastián starts appearing less as a postcard and more as itself—imperfect, complex, modern.
In La fuga de Segovia (1981), Imanol Uribe recreates a historic prison break, using the Artikutza forest (a lush reserve owned by the city) to play another landscape. Donostia is on screen by stealth: present through its terrain, if not as itself.
Then, Montxo Armendáriz’s 27 horas (1986)—with Antonio Banderas and Maribel Verdú—walks the damp streets of 1980s Donostia to tell a raw story of youth, addiction and drift. The city wins a Silver Shell at its own festival—not for how it looks, but for how honestly it can be filmed.
The Basque language takes the mic in Ander eta Yul (1989), a road movie that earned Ana Díez the Goya for Best New Director. Here, San Sebastián is a stop, a mood, a fragment of lived Basque reality.
And in 1993, Julio Medem’s The Red Squirrel (La ardilla roja) uses the city almost entirely—beach, bay, Mount Igeldo—as psychological topography. The film wins in Cannes; Donostia gains a further aura: it can be metaphor.
Meanwhile, Daniel Calparsoro’s late‑90s thrillers (Pasajes, A ciegas) find a different Donostia—industrial docks, the María Cristina bridge, the harsher edges of the port of Pasaia. The city can do dark, too. And by the end of the decade, Sí, quiero… (1999) proves you can set an entire local comedy within the city limits, no disguise needed.
New millennium, new voices: the Basque new wave & Woody Allen’s valentine
The 2000s bring a Basque new wave that alternates between stark realism and quiet poetry. Pablo Malo’s Frío sol de invierno (2004) earns him a Goya; the streets feel immediate, unstyled. Jon Garaño and José Mari Goenaga’s 80 egunean (2010) and Loreak (2014) (the first Basque‑language film ever nominated for the Goya for Best Film) give Donostia a soft, everyday melancholy: offices, junctions, apartments, cafés—the city as familiar rhythm.
Fernando Franco’s La herida (2013), shot entirely in San Sebastián, follows Marian Álvarez through a raw urban landscape; she wins the Silver Shell and two Goyas. On the flip side, Spain’s biggest popular hit, Ocho apellidos vascos (2014), winks at the region—sometimes shooting in Gipuzkoa while pretending to be elsewhere—reminding locals that cinema always cheats, even when it’s next door.
The decade continues: Borja Cobeaga’s Negociador (2014) uses the Hotel Villa Soro for a politically charged comedy; Juana Macías’s Embarazados (2016) is almost entirely Donostiarra; Asier Altuna’s Amama (2015) counterposes Artikutza’s forests and the city’s modern pull. Kids’ adventures Zipi y Zape (2013, 2016) turn Artikutza, Mount Ulia, the Ametzagaina fort and the La Plata lighthouse into fantasy lairs. And Kalebegiak (2016) offers twelve shorts, twelve directors, one city—a mosaic of Donostia seen from the inside.
Operación Concha (2017) goes meta, shooting during the festival to spoof it from within. Handia (2017)—ten Goyas—may be set largely outside the city, but its technical backbone is San Sebastián’s (effects, crews, post‑production), with even a scene inside Miramar Palace: proof the city isn’t just a face—it’s a film factory.
Then comes Woody Allen’s Rifkin’s Festival (2020), the most open love letter Donostia has ever received on film. Over 45 days, Allen shoots practically every emblematic spot: the La Concha railing, the Peine del Viento, the Victoria Eugenia Theatre, the San Telmo Museum, Miramar Palace, the Aquarium, the María Cristina Hotel, the Kursaal… San Sebastián isn’t a mask or an idea; it’s San Sebastián. The film opens the 2020 festival, and the loop feels closed: the city that hosts cinema is now tenderly hosted by it.
Small screen, big impact: streaming brings Donostia home
Television and platforms ensure San Sebastián reaches living rooms worldwide. Patria (HBO, 2020), from Fernando Aramburu’s novel, names and shows the city—Avenida de la Zurriola, the Boulevard, the Old Town (31 de Agosto Street, Plaza de la Constitución), the Polloe cemetery—and is screened in full at the festival. La línea invisible (Movistar+, 2020) meticulously recreates 1968 San Sebastián, when ETA’s first killing shook the city.
Meanwhile, comedy megahit Allí abajo (Antena 3, 2015–2019) leans into the postcard: the Aquarium, Miramar Palace (as a fictional clinic), Mount Igeldo, the Basque coast—millions of Spaniards learned to see Donostia as a bright, breezy foil to the south. Bienvenidos a Edén (Netflix, 2022) and El internado: Las Cumbres (Prime Video, 2022) slide in with the bus station, the Old Town, Miramar, the old Ulia water reservoir, the Lagun bookshop—thrillers that borrow the city’s elegance for their mysteries. Balenciaga (Disney+, 2023) resurrects the Belle Époque in Donostia’s streets. And though Game of Thrones never shot inside the city, nearby Gaztelugatxe, Zumaia and Barrika—all an easy base from San Sebastián—became Dragonstone and beyond, sending hordes of fans to explore the Basque coast with Donostia as their hub.
Walk the shots: a cinephile’s itinerary
San Sebastián rewards the viewer‑turned‑walker.
Follow Woody Allen’s footsteps from the María Cristina to the Paseo Nuevo, tracing Rifkin’s Festival scene by scene. Climb Mount Igeldo and hum “La mar está fresquibiris,” just because. Take shelter under the barandilla and imagine Dietrich and Cooper gliding past. Wander through Gros with 27 horas in mind. Step into Artikutza’s forest knowing it has doubled for political dramas and eerie fables. Remember that cinema here isn’t just what you see—it’s also what was made behind the scenes: the awards collected, the careers launched, the crews trained.
Curtain call
San Sebastián has mastered the trick of being many things at once: a decorative façade, a socially honest backdrop, a technical powerhouse, and a character with inner life. It has happily been a trompe‑l’œil when needed, a document when memory demanded it, and a postcard when the story asked to seduce. Which is why, standing by the La Concha railing with the wind bringing the distant echo of a clapperboard, you can almost hear it: “Roll camera… Action!” The city is ready for its next close‑up—and for you to walk it, shot by shot.
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