New Delhi, April 2: Mexican filmmaker Arturo Ripstein and his wife, scriptwriter Paz Alicia Garciadiego, bustle into the room. She’s smoking menthols, he’s pulling on a cigarello. It’s symbolic, somehow, their choice of cigarettes — Alicia is like a menthol herself, light and refreshing, often tossing anxious glances at her gruff spouse.

‘‘It’s very schizophrenic,’’ he says. ‘‘You have very bold girls dancing in very short skirts — sometimes you can almost see their underwear — and yet, they don’t touch each other.’’

Ripstein’s movies are about the poor in Mexico, a theme considered ‘‘elitist’’ there. Among his works is an adaption of Gabriel Garcia Marquez books. ‘‘People in Mexico mainly watch Hollywood movies,’’ he says. ‘‘My films are shown to specialised audiences. It used to make me sad. I wanted to make films that would be watched because, essentially, all films are useless.’’ Useless? ‘‘I don’t believe that films have a message,’’ says Ripstein, completing the stroke.

Ripstein and Alicia are in Delhi for the closing of the Mexican Film Festival which ended in the Capital last week. They were a day late, though, and missed the ceremony. The International Film Festival in Mumbai is next on the agenda and then it’s off to Kolkata for some film conferences.

But why does he focus on the poor in his films? ‘‘We are a country of survivors,’’ he says, ‘‘and cinematically, I find them a lot more interesting. I think people with ties are unattractive. The people I work with are more vital and whatever I’ve seen is absolutely fascinating.’’

Ripstein is a self-confessed pessimist, and his wife agrees. ‘‘I want my films to be understood, even by the limited audience. I can hope for a niche at a certain point in time. I’m not even looking at posterity.’’ Why is that? ‘‘Because works of this kind are forgotten. Even someone like Satyajit Ray would not be appreciated now. ’’

Ripstein has worked with author Gabriel Garcia Marquez as well, even turned his book No One Writes To The Colonel into a movie. ‘‘Marquez is like Gandhi,’’ says Ripstein, without a ripple of irony on his face. ‘‘He is like a statue of himself. When I first met him, I was 21 and he was 34. Nice fella, still trying to make it. Then I met him when he was famous and he had changed. It’s very hard to deal with great fame and money.’’

The cigarello smoked, Ripstein is leaning back, and he doesn’t seem to be such a pessimist after all. ‘‘Life is like that,’’ he says, ‘‘frightening and terrible. But it’s worth living. It’s fun. And pessimism keeps you striving.’’ Amen.