Original subtitles

THE MAN IN THE TAVERN

It's crazy to love you well

I'm the sister of misfortune You were right mother

It's crazy to adore you

Give tenderness, without being able to kiss you

Cry, cry, Guitars of my land

His mourning ends With my bitter life

And if it's crazy to love you this way

Whether I want it or not, I can't love you in silence

I will always be yours

I will follow up and down the steps of your street

To love you, I must be crazy

But insanity is little, For all I've been through

Cry, cry, Guitars of my land

His mourning ends With my bitter life

And if it's crazy to love you this way

Whether I want it or not, I can't love you in silence.

Whether I want it or not, I can't love you in silence

Good afternoon, it is 13:00 in Madeira and half a day in the Azores.

Unprecedented sanction against Hungary.

Union finance ministers prepare to decide...

on a partial suspension of the cohesion of funds...

caused by having ignored the limits of the deficit.

This is the first sanction of this type...

in the margin of the new economic rules of the government.

TUESDAY CHEF'S SUGGESTIONS:

SEA BELLY ROLLED LAMB

COD WITH SALT, OCTOPUS WITH OLIVES

SOUP 1.80 € SARDINES IN OLIVE OIL 1.15 €

Fisherman's soup 2.50 €

I'LL BE RIGHT BACK

In the Church of San Esteban

Throughout the cemetery there were once guitars

In the Church of San Esteban

Throughout the cemetery there were once guitars

La Señora do Monte lived in the house on that corner

And Divine Providence Lives there, almost opposite

And Divine Providence Lives there, almost opposite

Why do good in disgrace? She gave him a disgrace too

That divine grace, the one Our Lady has

That divine grace, the one Our Lady has

IN THE YOUNG LIFE SWEET EXORCIST

Ventura, come back!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Water! Give me water!

Water! Give me water!

Water!

Mother!

Oh Mother!

Oh my god!

Sun...

Sun.

Sun.

Sun.

Sun.

- Sun! - There's no sun here, boy.

Put me in the shade!

- Put me in the shade! - You are in the shade!

- Take it easy! - Put me in the shade!

- Put me in the shade. - Take it easy. You are in the shade.

- Put me in the shade. - You are in the shade.

- The shadow. - You are in the shade.

Calm down, don't cry.

Don't cry, boy! Do not Cry!

Take it easy.

- Put me in the shade. - You are in the shade.

- Are you with us, Ventura? - Long live the Army of the Revolution!

- Are you with us, Ventura? - Long live the Army of the Revolution!

Are you with the people?

- The people united will never be defeated. - Are you with the people?

Are you with the people?

More than 30 years have passed since I saw you.

Thirty-seven, it seems to me.

I knew you were sick.

Now you are with better doctors.

- Best doctors? - Yes, better doctors.

The time has come.

An inept nurse bites me with a syringe every night...

My poop is black.

Do you remember the day you entered this infirmary?

"Good morning, Mr. Ventura. Good morning, Mr. Nurse."

- Who shaved you? Who bathed you? - You couldn't clean your own ass.

- He never thanked us! - It sucked!

And the screaming at night, in the hallways?

- Mom, the monsters! - Mom, the monsters!

- Mom, the monsters! - Mom, the monsters!

Let me be, leave me alone!

I don't know why I should greet you.

When I knew you were coming my stomach twisted.

You are now in good hands.

- The fight is just beginning. - I'm not healthy enough.

I can't carry more bags of cement.

What hurts you, Ventura?

Whole body.

In things of the body I cannot help.

Do you know how to pray, Ventura?

Sweet Lord of Nazareth! Try the Virgin's milk!

The Beast's weapon is not yours!

- Bankruptcy! Lucifer! - Are you a Satan worshiper, boy?

Saint Anthony, the warrior.

Holy sword of Abraham.

- Lucifer! - Satan!

This is not a joke, Ventura. This is a revolution!

Do you think I want to stay locked up with you for 38 years?

I would rather be harvesting grapes.

Help the priest with mass.

We were not made for this.

Do you remember, Ventura?

We leave the barracks at a snail's pace.

We leave the barracks empty.

We walked all night with our eyes closed.

When we opened them, there was nothing left to do.

Topple the regime.

Didn't you see people cheering on the streets?

I'm in jail?

Lisbon is fenced. Didn't you hear the news?

You're going to kill me?

Ventura, you have suffered thousands of deaths.

What is one more?

I built myself a good life...

a good family.

Do you call it a good life with that miserable pension?

I built buildings...

banks...

- schools... - What for?

You destroyed your body, you ruined your mind.

You don't know anything about my life!

Andrade Corvo street. The building of the telephone company.

Your boss stopped the work due to the coup, do you remember?

We turned against the fascists.

You were in construction, I was ambushed in the corner.

I was wearing my gray jacket and you were wearing your yellow helmet.

The weapons were pointed at the fascists scaring them terribly.

Suddenly a swallow passed and I looked up.

You were there singing a song.

He was not the only one who sang.

We were all singing. Bricklayers, builders, helpers.

It was not spring.

It was not a swallow.

He came to me one night.

A huge black bird...

flew over my hut...

on its large black wings...

Mom, the monsters! Mom, the monsters!

Mom, the monsters! Mom, the monsters!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

It was not spring. It was not a swallow.

You screamed, and you screamed and you screamed.

They were not the fascists. It was you, lost in those streets.

Open this door on behalf of General Spinola, the Cyclops.

He is ungrateful, Ventura!

Don't you remember they fought black against black with knives?

You danced in Parque Estrela.

Didn't you wipe the blood off my face?

Who picked you up when you were almost dead?

Didn't you hide the murder knife?

Who took you to the military hospital?

Was it you who stitched 93 stitches on my head?

Was it you, boy?

You are the son of the people.

Is it you, boy?

Did you shoot those fascist cops?

If you had killed a black you would already be a general.

Can you see them in the distance?

Hiding in those shacks...

Fontainhas, Damaia, "Black Cat"...

My children, my grandchildren...

my brothers.

Get up, Ventura. The battle is just beginning.

I'm dying!

Calm down, Ventura. I will never die.

I do not know.

You do not know?

But your night knows it.

And the tiles of your house.

And the steps that lead to your door.

- What are you afraid of, Ventura? - To lose my job.

You still have to build your house.

I can't work anymore.

I can't fight anymore.

You still have to bring Zulmira from Cape Verde.

She bought a wedding dress, the veil, and the shoes.

Do you know Zulmira?

He bought a wedding ring and a watch for seven grand.

- Seven big? - Yes.

I have had a hellish life, working hard and raising my children.

- Now, I'm retired. - Shut up, Ventura.

They are grown up, now they have to help their father.

- I'm retired. - Shut up!

None of your children has been born yet.

I retired.

Now I am retired.

Where are you now Ventura?

I sleep in the company barracks.

But where are you now?

At work, where the telephone company building is built.

The boss told us not to work today, that there was a revolution.

Where are you, Ventura?

I am scared.

In the Estrela Park.

I am with Toti, Lila, João, Nené and Zezé.

There are many Cape Verdeans and many whores.

Up on the hill there are no more berries

Its roots are dry and there is no water

The river runs deep And man cannot rest

The river runs deep And man cannot rest

The woman waits a week by the fire that lights her

Your children are on the road Only one works

Her husband left for Lisbon a long time ago

With a contract

The ticket to Lisbon cost him his land

Work in the rain, cold and wind

Up on the scaffold Down on the quarry

The pay is low AND the work is hard

A poorly paid job And a dark shack

Another day in the dark

My conscience and I

I worked all my life and there are no blackberries on the hill

Save me the song, that won't beat me.

Ventura...

Ventura.

Ventura!

- Zulmira. - Fight, Ventura. Stay with me.

- This soldier wants to kill us. - Fight.

Stay.

He stole our alliance.

He stole our life.

He says I'm not married to you.

He says we have no children.

- I won't live. - I hear you sing...

but I don't feel happy.

I hug you while you sleep, but I don't feel like you're at peace.

If you leave, what would become of me?

I feel your swollen belly, but I do not see you eat.

I don't like rice and I eat chicken once in a while.

You like pork chops so much.

I used to fry many in my cabin when I was alone.

Before Zulmira arrived from Cape Verde.

You like them, but if I don't have a job we couldn't pay the rent.

Victor has a family to support. He cannot help us.

Adelaide needs an expensive eye surgery.

This is the story of the young life...

of life that has not yet come and of all the things that will follow.

Stay close to me, time will fly...

The day will come when we will accept our sufferings.

There will no longer be fear or misery.

Ventura, you have no horizon or destiny.

You are nothing and you have nothing.

We will leave this world together and they will forget us.

They will forget our faces.

You won't sing anymore.

This story is not over yet, Ventura.

Our sufferings will be the joy of generations to come.

They will say nice things about us.

We will soon know why we live and why we suffer.

We will know everything.

Everything.

We will lie with death, locked in silence.

See how I tremble?

This is what I had to tell you, boy.

Stand firm, Ventura! Pay attention!

I'm paying attention, master.

Inside...

with a little fist...

soon...

another flower...

it will open.

Ventura, remember that you are also a soldier.

It got lost?

I am going to the doctor.

Are you going to the doctor, Ventura? - Yes.

Founded in 1845, the Vizela River Yarn and Fabric Factory...

became the second largest textile factory in Europe...

at the beginning of the 20th century.

It is located in Santo Tirso County, in the Valle del Ave Region.

In 1990, it faced a serious crisis that led to its closure in 2002.

Today it is known as "The Broken Glass Factory".

BROKEN GLASSES

BROKEN GLASSES Casting for a film in Portugal

THE OLD DINING ROOM OF THE FACTORY

MAY 7TH

MAY 7 CASTING FOR MEN AND WOMEN

My name is Amândio Martins.

I am 75 years old.

And I've been married 51 of them.

I have five children, seven grandchildren and a great-granddaughter.

I started sweeping the floors when I was 12 years old.

But I had to bring the broom from my house because the boss didn't give us one.

I really liked machines.

So I was always alert for an opportunity.

I learned that the owner was looking for an adjuster for the styling machine.

So I knocked on her door.

He was with his son.

The owner looked me up and down and asked, "What do you want?"

"I want to be a machine adjuster, sir."

"Your?"

"Yes, me."

"And you are capable?"

"Yes I am, sir."

He looked at his son and asked:

"What do you think of this?"

"I don't know. He seems smart, but I don't know if he's capable."

So the owner looked at me and said, "Are you capable?"

"Yes I am, sir."

"And do you have the tools to work?"

"I have them, yes sir."

"Where?"

"Here, sir."

"There?"

"Yes sir. I just need a good pair of hands to work with."

"There are good tools out there."

"So you only need good hands to operate the machines."

Regarding my work accidents...

the first was on the styling machine.

These two fingers were completely skinned.

The only thing I could see on both sides was the bone.

Fortunately, they healed well, although they were never the same.

The second accident was on a roller...

when a cylinder crushed this finger from top to bottom.

It also healed normally.

The third was again this finger and then this...

while adjusting one of the machines when a sheet cut it all the way down.

Those were the three most serious accidents I had...

throughout a 52-year career.

Always my hands, because it was what I worked with.

My name is María de Fátima.

I started working at twelve years old.

At home we were nine brothers.

I dropped out of school at ten.

I was in fourth grade.

My parents and grandparents worked here in Río Vizela.

My father brought home one of those tables...

that appear in the photograph.

I buy it.

It was the first dining table we had.

We had no table.

We were many.

And we all ate on the floor.

I came here every day. I was nine years old.

He came so that my mother could breastfeed another baby...

because she worked here.

It was what was done.

All the other young mothers who worked here...

nursed their children.

They left their workplaces, their machines...

and they all got together to breastfeed their babies, here in the dining room.

They had half an hour to do it.

And I had half an hour to play.

I was carrying my brother from Roriz, rain or shine.

The trip here was the worst, because the baby cried a lot.

I was hungry, the poor.

The return home was much better.

He was calmer, because he had already eaten.

And so it was day after day.

And see how things are.

Here I grew up, worked, became a woman...

I got married and had my children.

And when I gave birth to my youngest son...

my oldest daughter brought him here...

so I could breastfeed him.

It happened just like with my mother.

I used to come here with him...

to this very dining room.

But it was already more beautiful.

Because it was after the revolution.

But it was exactly the same life my mother had.

And so is life, a wheel. It is like a wheel.

As my grandmother said:

"As much as one wants, the wheel never spins as you want."

I just told you details of my story...

that I have kept in my memory.

My name is Rosa Gonçalves. I entered this factory thirty years ago.

My parents were farmers.

Coming from the field to the factory was a very difficult life change.

But I liked it. Because life in the country was very hard.

I got married at 25 years old. And I had two daughters.

When the oldest was born, she only had half an hour a day...

to breastfeed her. It was a short time.

I had to get a wet nurse near the factory...

to be able to breastfeed.

It took me ten minutes to get there, another ten to get back...

and ten to breastfeed.

It was a very difficult time.

In the factory, he first spun, then knitted.

After that I ended up in the warehouse, pushing a very large car.

It was also very hard work.

But I liked it.

Loading the thread from one machine to another...

kept me busy.

But I will take remorse to the grave.

He was smart and I really liked school.

But my parents did not allow me to study.

I was just thinking of being a desk or bank employee.

The teacher went to ask my mother to let me stay in school.

But she said, "Her school is in the field."

People in those times were like that.

I remember certain things in my life. Others do not.

Those close to the heart, I keep for myself.

I cannot speak of them here.

What's more, the bad things, it is better to forget them.

Now I understand that if they made me work very hard...

it was so as not to think about the bad things.

My name is Manuel Silva. I am 58 years old.

I am married, I have three children. And I have grandchildren, fortunately.

I worked on what I could.

Mainly in this factory. It was almost 30 years.

I have always been in good health.

And I think I have done what was expected of me.

I don't feel bitter, because life is what it is.

From young people they tie us to a job...

like horses to a chariot.

And all we do is pull and pull...

But it is so, always so, to the end.

Until we can no more.

I don't feel bitter. I have faith in god.

And I think God will one day compensate me when I die.

Because I trust God more than men.

My name is Maria Ana Coutinho Serrão and I am 58 years old.

I grew up in the field.

My parents worked the land. But at twelve I went to the factory.

I was here eleven years.

But something happened that changed my life.

I was going to get married, but I left the groom standing on the altar.

I did it because I found out that he had tricked me.

That he had this, that he had that and it turned out that he had nothing.

Nothing.

So I quit.

Him and the factory.

I went to France.

I started serving in the home of a very wealthy family...

who had many children.

I did not like the job, nor the city where I was, which was Paris.

So I went further north, to Normandy.

I got a job on a farm looking after animals.

Animals do not know days or times.

But we interact with them.

They look at us and they are alive.

And the machines don't.

I had a French boyfriend.

Truck driver. He was very nice.

But he just wanted me to wash and cook.

So one day I got fed up and threw the broom out the window.

So I came back here.

And I really enjoyed going back to work at the factory.

But it didn't last long. It was a pity that it closed.

My name is Judite Araújo. I started working at 14 years old.

I remember very well my first day of work...

because all of a sudden it started to rain heavily...

and I arrived at the factory all soaking wet.

When it closed, I got depressed.

I was here more than 20 years and did not expect it to close.

Factory work doesn't go well for women.

I often asked myself, "Why don't I have a better job?"

The noise of the machines hurt me a lot.

So I had a tympanic transplant.

We carried noise in our heads everywhere.

I felt bad.

But I had to hold on.

There was a time when we were forced to wear ear plugs.

But with the plugs we couldn't talk when we needed to.

We had to choose between noise and plugs.

But with the plugs we couldn't talk to each other.

It was so difficult.

And so we took them off.

I would like to go back to work.

I registered at the job center.

But they always look for younger people.

They told me it was old.

I'm 56 years old and it's all over for me.

My name is Miguel Viana da Silva.

I am married, I have a son and a grandson.

I started working in this factory at thirteen years old.

Then I joined the army in Espinho and went to war in Mozambique.

Between the years 1971 and 1973.

Here we produced a lot of yarn. Linen, cotton and polyester.

At first mechanically, later electronically.

A job that needed ten men...

with these new machines, it can be done with just one person.

There were many staff cuts, but it was not enough.

In the 1990s, in Indonesia and Cambodia...

textile workers earned a dollar a day.

Today they win two.

And twenty years have passed since then.

That is what these countries can offer: very cheap labor.

They work in those conditions because if they don't go hungry.

And seriously hungry.

The factory closed like so many others.

So generations of workers now feel lost.

What are they going to do? Where are you going?

Most do not know.

I am Antonio Monteiro Bastos.

I entered this factory at fourteen.

As my father did before me.

I was here for six years.

Then I joined the army.

When I left, I didn't want to go back to the factory.

I decided to go to France, in 1954.

It was hard.

I lived in a bunkhouse.

And I found it very difficult to speak French.

I almost left.

But I held on and little by little I was improving.

I really liked mechanics.

I worked in five workshops.

Until one day I got a steady job...

at the Renault factory in Billancourt.

I married a French woman. My children are all French.

Later my wife died and I decided to return.

I missed my land. It was in my blood.

But I don't regret leaving.

By emigrating you learn a lot. Especially to fight.

Because workers' rights are not easily given.

So it is and always was so.

They say that Europe is worn out, that capitalism is worn out.

I do not know.

I only know that Europe...

no longer creates wealth or jobs as it used to.

Big companies take their factories to Asia...

looking for workers who are treated as slaves.

We cannot compete with them. It is impossible.

I have lived a full life.

But I don't know what the future holds for my grandchildren.

I really do not know.

My name is Inês Ferreira Gomes.

It has been a long time since I worked in this factory.

I don't know if my memories are of interest.

I could say that at the factory...

I was almost like a machine.

Only I thought and the machines did not.

And when I operated the machines...

always thought...

what you would do if you had a different job...

or if I won the lottery.

Or on the trips he wanted to take.

That went round and round in my head.

I will soon be 77 years old.

And I still don't know what happiness is.

They talk so much about her on television.

But honestly, I don't know what it is.

I know what joy is. But not happiness.

When I was young I was very dreamy.

I would meet my cousin and we would make big plans.

Some materialized, others did not.

For example, she was able to continue studying.

And he really liked writing.

And he wrote so well.

"When we start a thing, we put all our passion into it."

Then come the bad times, the problems, the tasks.

But, from time to time, the tradeoffs come.

So when the end is near...

we all see each other in our work and we look forward to saying, 'I'm done.'

But when everything is finished, what do we feel?

Do we miss him

Do we want to go back to what has cost us so much work?

This collision of feelings.

This life we ​​live.

"This discontented joy."

My cousin was 18 years old when she wrote this.

Eighteen years!

MAY 8

MAY 8 PHOTOGRAPHY

In this photo there are many people...

who used to walk a lot to work here.

From Monday to Friday they stayed with friends or family.

That was his life.

They only came home on the weekends.

That was his life, more or less.

On the one hand...

I see sadness for the life so full of deficiencies that they led.

On the other hand...

I see a certain joy...

for having work for their survival.

I have a hard time seeing the people who are here.

They seem like very humble people, with their soup plates in front.

People who worked much more than us...

in exchange for a miserable salary.

I do not recognize anyone.

These people had a difficult time.

Those were other times, worse than now.

I was looking at the photo, but I don't recognize anyone.

For me, these types of workers no longer exist.

When this photo was taken, workers' lives were worse.

We had rights that they did not have.

They worked longer hours, everything was worse.

You can say they are about to go back to work.

I think that's why they look sad.

They are people from other times. No one should be alive anymore.

When I see this photo...

I think nothing is like that anymore.

They were poor, very poor.

But they had their ideals.

And also some hope for the future.

They wanted to improve their lives.

They were very austere people.

Able to live with next to nothing.

There is sadness in his eyes, yes.

But also dignity. A lot.

These people mystify me.

They look at us...

and it seems they want to say something.

But I'm not sure what it is.

I do not know.

I do not know.

MAY 9

MAY 9 CASTING OF VALDEMAR SANTOS

Memory? Do you want to know if I have memory?

Of course!

Thank God, it still doesn't fail me.

I have used it a lot, yes.

Because without memory an actor is nothing.

He is lost. Lost!

And I am an actor. A serious actor.

I certainly have a memory. What I don't have is work!

But it is possible for me to remember all the papers I have had.

Everybody! From first to last.

I was Carlos Marx in "El Capital", by the great Ernesto da Silva.

I can see they don't know what I'm talking about.

It is you who have no memory!

They don't even remember Carlos Marx.

The son of a factory owner.

His father ran him out of the house.

All for wanting to be a man.

A man like these who are here.

That was his sin.

Carlos Marx.

My first role.

I still have it here. Here!

"I will descend into the arena..."

to fight for my life...

and fight against the instability of employees.

I will reinvigorate their souls with a heartbreaking social poem...

in which there are elect and reprobate. The reprobates are the workers...

and the chosen ones are parasites.

I will inhabit the city!

Through the windows I will contemplate...

the dining rooms full of customers in luxury hotels...

and rooms adorned with expensive furniture.

I will listen in the courtyard...

the voluptuous caresses of the orchestra...

that soothe exhausted spirits with waves of vaporous fantasies.

At the gate...

taking cover from the freezing rain...

small and impertinent...

I will see the forgotten little creature...

of loose hair in the cold wind...

the face covered in tears asking for an adventure...

and hoping that some passerby wants to buy...

an innocence that flourished prostituted.

Withered flowers caught in the vice that devours the soul.

I will see women auctioning off their bodies.

Condemned to eternal suffering, because one day they had no bread!

The laughter of the living room, the moans and groans of the garrets...

gleaming glasses and rotting mattresses...

silks that murmur, worn rags that rip themselves.

I will be with you soon!

The artisans disappear.

The workers go extinct.

Farmers have become bureaucrats.

The work is virtual.

Companies are virtual. The markets are virtual.

Products are virtual. Payments are virtual.

Money is virtual.

Is the network.

The network that captures us all.

To all.

To each other.

MAY 10 CASTING FOR THE ACCORDIONIST.

My name is Arménio dos Santos Cruz.

I never worked in this factory.

But my parents and grandparents worked here for many years.

I was the first of my family who had the opportunity to study.

Of obtaining higher education. I'm a musician.

Since I was a child I like music...

because my father played the accordion.

He was part of the music band here, from Río Vizela.

He always said: "The accordion is my consolation."

When I'm sad, I take it and touch...

"until the sadness disappears."

For men and women who over time...

they worked in the Yarn and Fabric Factory of the Vizela River (1845 - 2002).

Don Afonso Henriques was the son of Count Enrique de Borgoña and Doña Teresa...

who was the daughter of Emperor Alfonso VI...

king of León, Castilla and Galicia.

Dona Teresa's father, the emperor...

presented Doña Teresa in the county of Portugal as a dowry...

whose capital was the ancient city of Guimarães.

It is believed to have been founded by a gentleman named Vimara Peres.

Don Afonso Henriques was born here...

and his father died when he was 2 years old.

Her mother remarried to a Galician nobleman...

called Fernão Pérez de Trava...

to whom the county of Portugal also handed over.

The Portuguese barons joined forces with Don Afonso Henriques...

to fight against the Galicians, and to win the battle of São Mamede.

Don Afonso Henriques is said to...

accompanied his mother and imprisoned her in Lanhoso Castle.

In this way, the nation of Portugal began its path towards political independence.

The battle of June 24, 1128...

summer solstice day...

and the celebration of the birth of Saint John the Baptist...

was taken as the harbinger of the most important victory...

of Don Afonso Henriques who came to fight and win the battle...

against the Moors at Ourique in 1139...

and then he was proclaimed king of Portugal in 1140.

THE CONQUERED CONQUEROR

Follow me please.

This is one of the squares in Guimarães.

The city where Don Afonso Henriques, the first king of Portugal, was born.

Now if you follow me please...

I will show you the oldest square in the city.

It is also the most traditional.

Look at the statue, please.

Follow me please.

Your attention please.

These are the oldest corners of this beautiful city.

And these are the oldest houses in the city.

And now we will see the statue erected to the conqueror of Portugal...

Don Afonso Henriques.

The work of a great Portuguese sculptor, Soares dos Reis.

Here is the Conqueror of Portugal...

who began his reign here, in the Guimarães castle.

This was the first step towards their conquest.

Here is the Conqueror of Portugal, as you see it.

The troops acknowledge that they do not want to tear down the statue...

they just want to take pictures...

so they quietly retreat.

Here is the Conqueror.

Conquered by tourists...

that they don't let you photograph it.