Gonzales Videla: Silence, the dignified senator Neruda has the floor.
Pablo Neruda: Thank you, Mr. President of this fucking Senate. First of all, I thank the Russian people for having defeated fascism and conquered world peace. Secondly, I thank my Communist Party for always defending the rights of the workers and the people. Rights that are threatened at the moment, because they are arresting trade union leaders and members of the Communist Party. This is being done by its president, the traitor Gonzales Videla, who sold himself to the Northern Empire.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Why do they do this? Well, the Communists hate to work. They prefer to set churches on fire. They say they feel more alive.
Gonzales Videla: How will you govern?
Pablo Neruda: With a Soviet democracy of soldiers, workers and peasants.
Gonzales Videla: God forbid! The palate will be stinking with peanuts and wine. And you're going to write laws with misspellings.
Pablo Neruda: Can be. But the cemeteries will not be filled with political prisoners.
Pablo Neruda: They always think that they will defeat communism by exiling us. Getting us in jail. I'll give you some advice. The solution is to kill us all. Kill us. So they solve the problem.
Delia del Carril: Do not repeat that. Some may try.
Pablo Neruda: "I can write the saddest lines tonight..."
Pablo Neruda: No one will get me, learn! All Chile is hunting me and no one is going to get me! Learn to behave like a man, little boy! Wear men's clothing! Grow a mustache, buy a gun, I do not know! Learn to respect me!
Silvia: Do you know what I want to know?.. When communism comes, everyone will be the same as him. Or will they be the same as me? Pablo Neruda: To me, I've been cleaning up the fucking bourgeois. Since I'm 11 years old.
... They will all be the same to me. Let's eat in bed and fornicate in the kitchen.
Silvia: For that we fight, comrade!
Pablo Neruda: To write well, you must know how to delete.
Delia del Carril: You do not understand it, do you? You do not understand anything.
Óscar Peluchonneau: What?
Delia del Carril: In this fiction, we all revolve around the protagonist.
Delia del Carril: He wrote that a long time ago... Have you ever seen a bored prisoner? In your head, you are writing a fascinating novel. He created you, the Trojan policeman. He created me, the absurd woman. He wrote to himself. The depraved fugitive.
Óscar Peluchonneau: What you're saying is modern nonsense, a golden lamb.
Delia del Carril: Do not you like the way he writes?
Óscar Peluchonneau: Like.
Delia del Carril: Do you think he only thinks of land and love? Do not. He thinks of naked women, of detectives pursuing him... He created you thinking of yourself. You, in your house, reading his poems. You, in front of the mirror. He created you watching our feast, immersed in our music. Closed in a car, with empty eyes. A dog at night, a bird during the day. It created you spying, waiting. He created you imprisoned, a furious spy. Listening to things you'll never understand. Depreciating ideas and words. One hundred meters from life. Powerless. Freile. He created you as the guardian of an imaginary frontier. He thinks of you thinking of himself. All the detectives are in love. In all the detective novels there are beds.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Right. He writes well.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Am I a fiction?
Delia del Carril: Yes.
Óscar Peluchonneau: And you, are you a fiction?
Delia del Carril: No. I am real. And I am eternal.
--
On the IMDb
+ Soundtracks
Pablo Neruda: Thank you, Mr. President of this fucking Senate. First of all, I thank the Russian people for having defeated fascism and conquered world peace. Secondly, I thank my Communist Party for always defending the rights of the workers and the people. Rights that are threatened at the moment, because they are arresting trade union leaders and members of the Communist Party. This is being done by its president, the traitor Gonzales Videla, who sold himself to the Northern Empire.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Why do they do this? Well, the Communists hate to work. They prefer to set churches on fire. They say they feel more alive.
Gonzales Videla: How will you govern?
Pablo Neruda: With a Soviet democracy of soldiers, workers and peasants.
Gonzales Videla: God forbid! The palate will be stinking with peanuts and wine. And you're going to write laws with misspellings.
Pablo Neruda: Can be. But the cemeteries will not be filled with political prisoners.
Pablo Neruda: They always think that they will defeat communism by exiling us. Getting us in jail. I'll give you some advice. The solution is to kill us all. Kill us. So they solve the problem.
Delia del Carril: Do not repeat that. Some may try.
Pablo Neruda: "I can write the saddest lines tonight..."
Pablo Neruda: No one will get me, learn! All Chile is hunting me and no one is going to get me! Learn to behave like a man, little boy! Wear men's clothing! Grow a mustache, buy a gun, I do not know! Learn to respect me!
Silvia: Do you know what I want to know?.. When communism comes, everyone will be the same as him. Or will they be the same as me? Pablo Neruda: To me, I've been cleaning up the fucking bourgeois. Since I'm 11 years old.
... They will all be the same to me. Let's eat in bed and fornicate in the kitchen.
Silvia: For that we fight, comrade!
Pablo Neruda: To write well, you must know how to delete.
Delia del Carril: You do not understand it, do you? You do not understand anything.
Óscar Peluchonneau: What?
Delia del Carril: In this fiction, we all revolve around the protagonist.
Delia del Carril: He wrote that a long time ago... Have you ever seen a bored prisoner? In your head, you are writing a fascinating novel. He created you, the Trojan policeman. He created me, the absurd woman. He wrote to himself. The depraved fugitive.
Óscar Peluchonneau: What you're saying is modern nonsense, a golden lamb.
Delia del Carril: Do not you like the way he writes?
Óscar Peluchonneau: Like.
Delia del Carril: Do you think he only thinks of land and love? Do not. He thinks of naked women, of detectives pursuing him... He created you thinking of yourself. You, in your house, reading his poems. You, in front of the mirror. He created you watching our feast, immersed in our music. Closed in a car, with empty eyes. A dog at night, a bird during the day. It created you spying, waiting. He created you imprisoned, a furious spy. Listening to things you'll never understand. Depreciating ideas and words. One hundred meters from life. Powerless. Freile. He created you as the guardian of an imaginary frontier. He thinks of you thinking of himself. All the detectives are in love. In all the detective novels there are beds.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Right. He writes well.
Óscar Peluchonneau: Am I a fiction?
Delia del Carril: Yes.
Óscar Peluchonneau: And you, are you a fiction?
Delia del Carril: No. I am real. And I am eternal.
--
On the IMDb
+ Soundtracks
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