Original subtitles

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In my little heimat,

one can sense similar feelings to being on an island,

safety, a sense of security, real or fictional,

and of remoteness.

And the conviction, so pleasing,

that the people who are not lucky enough to live there

are indeed totally unfortunate.

In my little

the days of Tramuntana have a magical glare,

the wind swirls possessed out of the earth

and takes the sea away.

The gusts of wind roll violently against the horizon.

It is a shiny jewel of chaos.

When it comes from the south,

the air becomes extremely humid.

While the wind turns the leaves of the olive trees

to cover the mountains in a silver glaze,

the clouds appear misty gray.

The sky seems to be smelling the wet land,

the sea turns dark, and the thunder howls,

the falling rain announces abundance, a greenery on earth.

The wind of imagination swells the sails of thought

and cuts through the water like the bow of a ship,

as if the present penetrated the future,

leaving behind a trace of anxiety.

What happened to our lives?

None of us had the slightest premonition of our tragedy.

It was there all the time and we were unable to see it

while life was so joyfully beautiful.

And now, there is nothing else to tell.

We are very upset.

Mr. Dalí never loved anyone.

Please accept our condolences.

Miss, she is here!

- Ah, hola. - Hello, Miss Maggie.

Good morning, Arturo.

Anna Maria.

Anna Maria!

I just saw Caminada and his wife.

Arturo is very upset.

The notary just showed them the will.

40 years of faithful service, he isn't even named.

How are you feeling?

Oh, the leg is better.

But I don't get out of this chair.

Anna Maria.

I never go out.

But it's not good not to go outside.

Where is Josefina?

In bed with fever in Barcelona.

She phones every day.

Well, give her my love.

She's a great woman.

I hope she comes back soon.

Cadaqués is like a drug.

Once you get used to it,

it is impossible to stay away for too long.

It is a magnetic force that attracts everyone.

How bizarre.

I came to say how very sorry I am about Salvador.

Thanks.

You didn't need to come all this way.

John wanted to come, but he caught a cold.

He's in a hotel in Barcelona.

I rented a car.

Intrepid as ever.

We have lunch here.

Unless I can make you go out.

Emilia's bought the fish.

I wanted to see you

to talk and laugh like the old days.

Cambridge.

My brother has been buried under the dome of his own museum.

His last great masterpiece.

Well, they said he spent his last years

preparing his immortality.

Oh, what a man.

Well, it's all over now.

When I think, half our lives not talking to each other.

Anna Maria.

You have John.

Me...

You have Emilia, and all her family.

And you've had a very full life,

and written some wonderful books.

There was a very high price to pay.

We were all at fault.

Well, perhaps if you had been a little more flexible.

I don't disagree with you.

We Dalis have stubborn personalities, the women too.

Like the strong wind.

You're all affected by the Tramuntana.

Franco helped Salvador

to convert the theater of our childhood

into a mecca of contemporary art.

When it opened,

people saw that a lot of his art was missing.

His last genius invention was overrated.

But it has ended up being a gold mine.

The Marquess of Dali and Pubol

finally decided to be buried there.

Even though Salvador was so ill,

he wanted to be a spectator at his own end.

He said "When I die, I will be totally cured."

Things are never what they seem

but rather the total opposite.

Emília, the diary.

I described everything I saw and heard.

Like in your books.

I've kept them all, though.

Aw.

I wrote about my family, about people I met,

conversations and anecdotes that I found amusing.

I never kept it hidden,

and sometimes my brother wrote in it.

But that was long time ago, before we even met.

Oh yes.

When he was little, Salvador was such a charming boy.

spoiled but innocent, full of life.

With those piercing eyes and that old man's smile.

This helps me remember.

May I offer you a drink?

- Emilia... - No, no, no, gracias.

Figueres was a bright, extrovert town.

Cultured, great intellectual curiosity,

not provincial in the slightest.

Watch how the dancers

count and divide the Sardana steps.

These are republicans.

The author never ceased joking about the Borbouns.

Great!

In Figueres we have always the best.

Isn't it, Mr. Dalí?

Of course, Mr. Mayor!

You have to learn how to outline

the geometry of music.

Thanks to the Catalan goverment,

all villages have police,

schools, libraries, telephone...

And the road to Cadaqués!

Sure.

And the harbours and technological

teachings for the industry.

Cadaqués was paradise for us during the summer holidays.

We spent all winter longing for this light,

these rocks, this sea.

A paradise that's always been with you.

I haven't left it in 50 years.

We settled here for the whole summer, after the solstice.

When the sea was calm, we could see our reflections

crystal clear in the water.

Take a good look at the stars.

Do you see the Great Bear?

And the Great Plough?

Look in the middle,

that's the Little Dipper.

Ursa Minor.

Hey...

Always look at the sky.

You will know where you are.

Which ones are from Figueres?

Didn't you leave those so beautiful?

Salvador was my idol.

I was an only child, but I understand.

He was crazy for cinema when he was little.

All his whole life.

We all were then.

So many projects, so few panned out.

Even though he was so determined, stubborn as a mule.

He was non-stop, always drawing.

He never missed a day of school.

He had an innate gift for painting.

Good day, Mr. Dalí!

Just working, Mr. Mayor!

One of them is a fake.

This one.

Well done, son!

It is very difficult to spot it at once.

The boy has a big future!

At 17, Salvador was already a star in Figueres.

Father gave him everything.

Salvador always wanted the best paint,

the best canvas, sable brushes.

He was very spoiled.

Protected.

We recognized his talent very early on.

Father helped him to exhibit, the press was very generous.

The Town Hall commissioned him to make a float

for the Three Kings parade.

His mind was very active.

And so full of joy, oh.

Do you want something, Miss?

No, thanks.

Oh Maggie.

Such times, Maggie.

Salvador so generous, loved by everyone.

And not the slightest notion of the value of money.

It's hard to believe that, isn't it?

Gala and all those vultures around him

took care of the dollars.

None of us had any idea of the drama

that was welling up in our family.

You didn't know or you didn't want to know.

Sometimes it's difficult.

Our mother.

The boy has made a great float

for the cavalcade.

At home, he was always the boy.

Everybody is totally amazed.

In 1921, tragedy embraced us.

When he finished high school, Father decided

Salvador would study at San Fernando Academy in Madrid.

If you want to be a painter

there's no need to dress up like that.

He is an artist, father!

In July, neither woman nor snail.

In August, neither woman nor wine.

That was where one qualified to be a drawing teacher,

a way of being able to earn a living.

And so, the three of us, Father, Salvador, and myself

set off for Madrid.

Look, all of us in black.

Salvador so dressed up.

What style.

He couldn't, even if he'd wanted to, go unnoticed.

A genius, egocentric, but I admired him so much.

What sideburns.

Looks like something out the '60s.

Now, don't stop talking.

I like to take photos.

Everyone laughed at us.

You have no idea how embarrassed I was.

Madrid, just such small provincial mentality.

And when we arrived, we looked as though

we had walked out of an American gangster movie.

I was afraid people were going to throw rocks at us.

That's an exaggeration.

No, it's true.

Father always said you couldn't go anywhere with Salvador.

He passed the exam into the Academy,

and he went to live in the Student Residency.

The much acclaimed Madrid Residency.

He became a star immediately.

Are you sure I can't get you something to drink?

I feel very lonely but my drawings

are very well received.

Pepin Bello showed them

to our companions at the Residency.

I wouldn't have even dared

to take them out of my room.

I have set myself a goal,

I have a very clear idea.

My aesthetic ideal.

is to make a painting composed

of both ancient and modern,

merging the art of masters

of Impressionism

and keep the drawing and security

of the ancients,

taking from the moderns

colour and light.

The structure of Cézanne

and Michelangelo.

At 'The Poplar Hill',

as this place is known,

there is an amazing atmosphere,

people from all over Spain.

The majority are liberal,

progressive and anti-monarchy.

That pleases me greatly."

But what about the Federalists?

Does he talk about Federalism?

I don't see it.

Or Catalanism?

That neither.

Madrid, Madrid.

Very progressive but...

There's an Andalucian organizing

tremendous poetic competitions,

who also recites, sings

and plays the guitar and piano.

His name is Federico García Lorca

and he is very talented.

There are also some

studying science...

It's like Oxford or Cambridge

but in Madrid!

What a boy...

Look what he says, grandmother!

Sideburns is dead!

He has changed a lot.

Stopping making a fool of himself.

That's an improvement!

And soon there were two beloved ones missing from our home.

It was not long, and it was my mother's wish,

before my father married Aunt Catalina, her sister,

our second dear mother forever.

Luckily, Salvador came home early that summer.

He was a comfort to me.

Believe me!

The residency...

There is no need

for so much affectation.

We notaries are serious people.

All right, so the residency...

is a totally separate world,

a window to universal culture.

There are magnificent people.

You were very lucky to get in.

Falla, Valle Inclán, Ortega y Gasset,

Ors all come there often...

What about San Fernando?

And Unamuno or Machado.

And foreigners.

I've even met Madame Curie.

And San Fernando?

San Fernando is a refuge

of conservatives.

They understand nothing

about modern art.

A bunch of putrefying fuddy-duddies.

Fuck, don't say it again!

With Federico we laugh a lot

together...

Why don't you invite him?

He'd like Cadaqués.

That is for sure. And Buñuel too.

The one with bad temper?

He studies entomology

and is a great athlete.

He spends all day in the gymnasium.

Or practising the high jump...

Pole vaulting!

He wants to make films?

Yes but he also likes having fun.

A lot.

And surprising people,

and hypnotising.

Sometimes he dresses up

as a beggar...

Come on!

He often goes out

pretending to be poor.

A country town man

certainly with lots of money.

I get on much better with Lorca.

He's more genuine.

Bring him here.

He is always writing.

Poetry, and above all theatre.

He is in Granada with his family.

I am the man-of-the-rocks!

Just here, looking at the brightness of our sea.

I spent countless hours without moving,

in the pose he'd asked me to take,

gazing into the middle distance.

Oh, my dear, you were the model for his greatest work.

Who else can possibly say that?

Nature in its purest state!

Long live Cadaqués!

Long live Cap de Creus!

Long live Freedom!

Long live the artists' full air!

When are you leaving?

Summer will soon be over.

I was in his world.

I felt I shared his experience.

That's what you told me in Cambridge.

And 1923, the winter of the great upset.

Oh God, when he was expelled from the Academy.

Precisely.

Oh, such a scandal.

Salvador had become very popular in artistic circles

in Madrid, his work was magnificent, and very appreciated.

At home, we couldn't understand what had happened.

Hmm.

Outraged by the results of the exams,

some of us left the hall

before the President finished

his ridiculous speech.

The spark that set off the uproar

amongst a group of students in the street.

We stopped the trams.

The police came to break us up.

All the students took part

in the uprising.

They falsely accused me

of being the instigator.

I denied, they wanted me to betray

my companions

but this I would never do so!

We were expelled from the academy

just for expressing an opinion!

Is that so important?

Let them wait,

this has just begun.

We protested in front of the Ministry.

That bunch of old farts

at San Fernando are terrified.

They will get a right inspection

and we'll see who wins.

This son of mine is nuts!

I've signed up at the Free Academy.

I will paint nudes and whatever I want.

I have done some amazing portraits,

the first ones are of Lorca and Buñuel.

I am getting a lot of requests...

I can't leave the notary

with such work.

Someone has to go to Madrid

to put an end to this nonsense.

If you want and if it is necessary.

You may start packing.

I will call whoever to know

whom you have to speak to.

He doesn't realise that he's doing.

He is threatening his future.

Thank you, Emilia.

I'll send them all from London.

Aunt Catalina went straight to Madrid,

and soon she was able to reassure us.

She wrote that Salvador's work was highly valued

by people of sound judgment

and that they understood his actions.

Oh.

Would you like to have a rest?

No, no.

No, I swallowed something.

It went down the wrong way.

No, I'm fine.

Catalina cheered us up

when she said that Salvador had become famous

for standing up to the ultra-conservatives of San Fernando.

We went on a trip to Toledo.

You should have seen him prostrate

in front of one of Greco's paintings.

He just doesn't stop doing

his own thing!

Father!

Bad things, out of the womb!

Piss clear, shit strong

and do not fear death.

They came back to Cadaques together.

He was always shut away, painting.

He painted without stopping, endlessly.

He didn't even come out to eat?

We didn't dare disturb him.

Are you hungry?

It's early, we're in Catalonia.

Fish only takes a moment to cook.

That winter, he was reinstated in San Fernando.

I was happy.

He had to repeat the year, not so bad.

Well, at least that saved the situation.

- And then in '25? - '25 was a wonderful year.

The year you met Federico.

The great Lorca.

Oh.

What a fish.

My family are waiting for us

in the village.

They have gone to open up the house.

It's been shut up all winter.

Is it further?

Half an hour.

The road is new.

What?

The road is new.

Until recently you came by trap.

Or on a mule.

Six hours if a bandit didn't attack you.

Many people from Cadaqués

traded with Italy,

Havana or Boston,

and never set foot in Figueres.

Sailing by sea was much easier.

It seems like a folk tale.

The phylloxera ruined everything.

Phylloxera?

A plague arrived from France.

It destroyed all the vinyards.

That was all farmland.

The phylloxera brought ruin.

Half the village emigrated.

Where?

To Cuba or where they could.

In Cadaqués life is very hard.

There is nothing there.

For me it is a paradise.

Even Leonardo couldn't have drawn better.

My friend Federico. I told you about him.

He is very republican.

The famous Federico!

It is about time we met you.

Welcome!

A great pleasure, Mr. Dalí.

I hope the weather will be good.

The tramuntana might start blowing.

Not too much, a little.

It's the wind from the North.

Don't bother him, auntie.

Don't worry about your luggage,

the servant will take it to your room.

I hope you've got a good appetite.

I shall never forget that day.

We laughed so much during the meal

that by the pudding, we were old friends,

as if we had always known each other all our lives.

As we were arriving I don't know...

the Empordà fascinated me,

it is so beautiful...

It reminds me the fields in my Granada.

I knew you would like it,

but you haven't seen anything yet.

You're missing Empuries,

the Greek colony and Girona.

The trembling plain

under a delirium of blue mist.

And your curls

like the Archangel Gabriel.

Now you are going to meet

some real angels.

A sacred public secret.

What?

Surprise.

Cover your eyes with your hands.

That is an order.

Let me take you there,

that way you can't cheat.

So?

What do you think?

Beautiful.

Isn't it?

A relic.

Outstanding, but a relic.

Like most ancient art,

four holier-than-thous....

It's fascinating, Salvador.

The Easter Mass must be amazing.

I didn't bring you to waste your time.

You don't know how magical

Catholic rites are.

I am only interested

in the mystical part of the sacrifice.

Very well, Salvador.

My friend, you are a Christian storm

in need of my paganism.

Hmm.

He painted endless portraits of me at that time.

Studies of my hair falling over my bare shoulders.

He painted patiently, tirelessly.

I never got bored with being still, silent.

It is like a landscape

from the Holy Land.

Eternal and current, almost perfect.

These olive trees

give me a sense of well-being.

They are a return to nature,

construction and the architecture

of the landscape.

Cézanne's great ambition.

I don't want anything else.

Olive trees of Cadaqués.

How marvellous!

Baroque body and grey soul.

The lizard is crying.

The she-lizard is crying.

The lizard and the she-lizard

with little white aprons.

They have lost by accident

their wedding ring.

Oh, their little ring of lead!

Oh, their little leaded ring!

A big sky without people

rides the birds in its globe.

Ole, Federiquito, ole.

I close my eyes and I can see him in the olive grove.

You were...

I was happy.

Why don't we go for a stroll?

I don't want to see people.

Anna Maria, just to stretch your legs.

You have a car.

I go through life either in first class or third,

but never in second.

They look nice here.

- You don't mind, do you? - Oh Anna Maria.

See you soon, father!

Stop it, Maggie.

John is going to love these.

I'll send copies to Josefina as well.

Salvador painted this, over and over again.

My brother was a born painter,

just as Lorca was a born poet.

It was their destiny.

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ going to the field, ♪

♪ going to the field, ♪

♪ The one of the mule thorn, ♪

♪ The one of the mule thorn, ♪

♪ The one of the mule thorn, ♪

♪ brown and tall. ♪

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ Of the four muleteers, ♪

♪ going to the river, ♪

♪ The one of the mule thorn, ♪

♪ The one of the mule thorn ♪

♪ steals my heart. ♪

Bravo.

- Bravo. - Bravo.

Bravo.

In the music of dawn

my burdened heart

aches from its loves

and dreams of distances.

Dawn's light brings

seedbeds of longings

and the eyeless sadness

of the core of my soul...

What would I do in these fields

collecting nests and twigs,

surrounded by the aurore

and the soul filled by night!

What would I do if I had your eyes

dead to the clear light

and if my flesh did not have to feel

the heat of your gaze!

His poems are unforgettable.

He was a mischievous, helpless, and fragile creature.

Anna Maria.

Isn't Tudela where the Club Med is?

Yes, an desecration.

What a disaster.

It must have been so beautiful.

You know, I have no idea what they talked about together

all the time.

I don't even know if Salvador had the faintest idea

that these ancient rocks

would continue to inhabit his paintings,

even his most innovative work.

Well, perhaps they spoke of other things.

Federico was elegance personified, such eyes, voice.

- He obviously captivated you. - All of us.

Salvador and Federico, so different, but getting on so well.

They were more than friends, they were like brothers.

They loved each other so much.

Perhaps one more than the other.

Well, in a few years,

it became apparent that the love was a mirage.

I have the keys to this house.

Let's go in, wait till you see the terrace.

What does that mean?

Um, enough, I have enough.

That's a double meaning.

Look what became of the shack.

The house of the eggs.

Ever since he went to Pubol,

God knows what's left inside.

What do you mean?

A certain someone

took absolutely everything he wanted to Paris.

But wasn't anybody to control this?

It was a way to swell the coffers of the black market.

Cadaques lives up to its reputation for smuggling

and double dealing.

One day flocks of people will be coming here in coaches.

When Salvador heard of Lorca's murder,

do you know what he did?

He shouted, "Ole."

- Oh good lord. - It was disgusting.

And then he tried to justify himself

saying that it was a typical Spanish term

that people used to scream at bullfighters

after a brilliant pass.

In other words, Lorca, with his obsession with death,

had fulfilled his destiny.

Oh, my lord, what a dreadful thing.

Sardines.

Oh lord, why was he so cruel?

I'm sorry to say so,

but certain things even a genius can't be forgiven.

Well, he was who he was.

He even revealed that it was public knowledge

that Federico was in love with him.

He did?

Oh, my lord.

He said Federico had even tried

to have relations with him, but because he wasn't queer,

it hurt too much and they didn't continue.

It didn't work, technically.

Well, he could say some very harsh things.

His megalomania always urged on, of course, by Gala,

who took pleasure in complicating everything.

She was unbearable.

Well, if I were in a charitable mood, which I never am,

I would say she was a monster.

She told Pitxot it was because of me

they threw stones at her in the street.

How could she say that?

Did they really?

Well, some stones may occasionally have been thrown.

Small town gossip.

Your brother could be very amusing.

Oh, I don't deny that, extremely amusing, ha.

Ooh, it's getting cold, let's go home.

Good bye, house of delirium.

Bravo, bravo, bravo, Federiquito.

And that evening, the first reading of Mariana Pineda

took place in our house

Oh!

Oh!

Oh.

Were you really in love with Federico?

Well, perhaps I was.

I was very young.

Was it possible for anyone

to be indifferent to Federico's charm?

My father gathered some friends together in Figueres

for a second reading of Mariana Pineda.

On the eve of his departure, we gave a banquet for him,

and my father paid for the sardana dancing.

Sardanas?

Oh, how lovely of him.

Our Andalusian friend sealed his friendship

with the Catalans, a deep relationship

with the best of our intelligentsia.

Father was delighted to collect all the articles

about my brother, but he was concerned.

He knew that Salvador was skipping classes at San Fernando.

Well, he'd written about it in his book.

It was very amusing.

Salvador made a very Trojan horse entry

into the art world.

He was planting the seeds for his legend.

He was very cunning.

As cunning as could be.

Hmm.

Salvador had Barcelona at his feet,

but he could think of nothing but Paris.

He really wanted to see the Louvre.

It's the mecca for young painters.

So father paid for the trip, a short, four or five days,

on condition that Catalina and I went with him.

Bunuel met us at the Gare d'Austerlitz.

So that was where you met him?

Bunuel took us to the cafes in Montmartre,

Le Dome, Le Select, La Rotonde.

Amazing, overflowing with interesting people.

Paris, City of Light.

Bunuel took Salvador to meet Picasso,

who hardly paid him any attention at all.

And he was very sorry to miss Miro, who was away.

- Bad luck. - Oh, more than that.

Miro was the only one

who was already in the Surrealist group.

And that was what Salvador talked about most with Bunuel.

And then, we made a quick trip to Brussels and Bruges.

He really wanted to see the Vermeer,

the greatest painter who ever lived.

Ooh, it was an exhausting trip.

That was some four days.

Lorca and I wrote to each other endlessly, lovely things.

He even dedicated a song to me.

All he could think about was shutting himself away to paint

here in Cadaques.

I, the girl at the window, had become...

An emerging Empordian Venus.

Federico stayed in Granada that summer.

He wrote to us both.

He dreamt of joining us.

He sent the Ode to my brother.

There was an explosion of life inside him

that never ceased to amaze me.

He was never satisfied, convinced that his sense of beauty

was much greater than his ability to project it.

Margarita Xirgu, great lady, had very good instincts.

But her production was not completely understood.

It didn't quite capture the spirit of the play.

You don't have to remind me.

I have a memory like an elephant.

In fact, elephants often consult me.

Some people were extremely enthusiastic, not many.

Theater is very difficult.

You have to be patient.

Federico had established himself with the Catalans.

But only as a poet and a playwright.

I mean, his drawings were magnificent.

In this country you can be one thing and that's it.

Salvador's paintings at this time

were the reflection of a healthy soul.

They were bright, classical, before he was tainted

with the breath of doctrinal surrealism.

Overseas dealers started to arrive,

and Bread Basket was acquired by the museum in Pittsburgh.

Now it's taps.

Taps?

Oh, how delicious.

But, I'm sorry, I'm on a diet.

Oh, but we bought them especially for you.

Take them for John.

John will be delighted.

I'm only sorry I didn't bring anything for Josefina.

Don't worry, she'll understand.

I'm glad she is such a good companion,

and such a clever woman.

And you have John.

Different lives.

Yes, yes, I have John.

Our lives have taken us on different paths.

The summer of '27 was the happiest time of my life.

Federico!

Merci, Emilia.

Poor Federico, so taken with Salvador.

I should have foreseen what happened.

I just didn't understand how it was with them.

But that was quite normal.

You were too young, too innocent.

And women look at things from a different perspective.

That's true, my dear.

Well, whether that was nonsense or not,

he certainly cultivated the legend.

King of marketing himself,

of knowing how to control things.

And Gala controlling everything, such a cold woman.

Do you know, Salvador even put it about

that my father was responsible for his impotence.

How could that be?

He accused him of having allowed him

to read a book about venereal disease when he was a child,

and this had left him with a lifelong hatred

of female genitalia.

That's impossible to believe.

Regino, Federico, my brother.

Ole!

Salvador had a gift for seduction.

But the truth is

he was concerned only with his work, his career.

- He wanted to go far. - And by God he certainly did.

None of us could had the slightest notion

that Federico would never set foot in our house again.

He became more and more famous.

Yerma, Dona Rosita, Blood Wedding,

The House of Bernarda Alba, always Margarita Xirgu.

It was a meteoric career.

Perhaps it was his stardom

that distanced him from your brother.

Salvador always went his own way.

And now in his mind, he had already created another world,

the world of surrealism.

It took him to the zenith of his profession.

And led him to break with all of us who loved him.

Do you mind if I have a cigarette?

Oh, Maggie, Maggie.

- Just one. - Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.

Federico did not deserve that.

I don't know why Salvador went so far.

'Cause I'm afraid there was rivalry between them.

At his next exhibition,

people were scandalized by two of Salvador's paintings.

The aggressively phallic finger

and the hand of The Great Masturbator were unacceptable.

That would have shocked

the conservative hypocritical minds in London as well.

He took any opportunity to promote himself.

But he was making great advances as an artist.

Leaps and bounds.

Bunuel came from Paris in January.

He came to finish a film script with my brother.

Two extraordinary men, crazy about the cinema.

What a couple.

But in Paris, behind his back,

Bunuel was criticizing Salvador.

That's because he believed

your brother was a greater genius and that bothered him.

Hold still, don't move.

Oh, that was perfect.

That's perfect.

And also, he couldn't bear

that Salvador was so close to Federico.

But he needed my brother's talent.

They wanted to conquer the world,

and with a short that lasted under 20 minutes,

they managed it.

They knew exactly what they were going to do.

Yes, and Bunuel was very clever.

He promoted it very well and the creme de la creme in Paris

made it into a myth, the masterpiece of surrealism.

17 minutes.

That was their genius, Anna Maria.

The film shoot was due to start in April,

and Salvador was already in Paris

absolutely determined to be in the film.

That admirable quality for never missing a trick.

Joan Miro opened the doors for him

into the most refined society.

He told him to buy a tuxedo

because in Paris it is important to dress smartly.

Was between the world wars.

Miro was such a nice man.

Your brother never wrote a nice word about Miro.

Salvador liked to make people think

that when he was a child, he would hide his private parts

between his thighs so as to look like a girl.

That was in his book.

Cadaques didn't offer any luxuries.

It wouldn't be what it is today

without Salvador's magical ability

to attract the glitterati from all over the world.

He was a magnet.

Salvador met Gala out there on this beach.

That is what he said.

Very theatrical, hard to believe,

like a second-rate Greek tragedy.

Gala abducted him.

Our world slowly collapsed.

While theirs rose up.

Well, they went to Paris.

Gala sent Eluard and Cecile to hell.

Gala and my brother were inseparable for nearly 40 years.

Yet in the end, she went crazy with her lovers,

and used Pubol for her dalliances.

The exhibition at Goemans' gallery in '29 was very good.

Breton approved the paintings,

but the critics did not receive them

as well as they had hoped.

And that is when he said that outrageous thing.

The famous spit.

He wanted to project this image of the great surrealist

with no respect for anything or anyone,

not even the portrait of his mother.

And he did that with The Sacred Heart.

I Spit With Pleasure on the Portrait of my Mother.

And that is the end of my father's notebook.

And then, Father said to me,

"You, Anna Maria, are going to England.

"You will study at Cambridge.

"They are more civilized there."

And disciplined, my dear, much more disciplined.

We had such a good time.

Oh, life is amazing.

His first exile lasted five years.

Who made the peace?

Uncle Rafael managed it,

but our house never enjoyed that wonderful atmosphere again.

Everything has a beginning and an end.

Bunuel came back to film some of the scenes

for L'Age d'Or at Cap de Creus,

which infuriated my father even more.

They were called all sorts of things,

Bolsheviks, pornographers, blasphemers.

Not even Paris could accept such an attack

on bourgeois values.

The youth of French Action wrecked the cinema,

throwing ink at the screen, setting off tear gas shooting,

beating up the spectators.

A real political riot.

It was the perfect excuse for the chief of police

to ban the film and confiscate the prints.

It would be half a century before L'Age d'Or was seen again.

But Dali and Bunuel were catapulted to fame.

Precisely.

Meeting you was such a help to me.

I remember it so well.

And it was while I was away

that Salvador bought the shack in Port Lligat.

You couldn't get there by car.

They had to transport everything by donkey.

But nothing could stop Salvador.

He was becoming increasingly famous.

He wanted to make Port Lligat the center of the universe.

His enchanted garden.

Oh, to me it was the witch's house.

And then, it was the Republic.

Federico came back from America.

He had become an extremely important author,

and he was very politically involved,

much admired as the symbol of the new Spanish Republic.

Was so appalling when the Francoists executed him.

I only saw him once again, in December 1935.

I wasn't there.

I arrived when the shouting was all over

and my father had given in.

So much crying made it seem like a cheap melodrama.

In the last 15 years of his life,

my father made eight wills.

Every time Salvador made some outrage, he drew up a new one.

Salvador told everyone

that the family kept a lot of his artwork.

No, no, no, that was later,

when he was outraged about my book.

No.

Salvador closed the doors of his world to us.

He or Gala, it makes no difference to me who.

Can't take any more photographs in this light.

I have spent 40 years without my brother.

Things went amazingly well for him.

You went through many hard times.

The Civil War broke out, many died.

I don't know why I was arrested.

A Francoist spy, me, it's ridiculous.

We were all terrified of the Anarchists.

They had already killed the village schoolmaster,

a good man who'd not been involved in anything.

It was like hell in Barcelona.

Two weeks of being tortured,

you have no any idea what it's like.

I shouted day and night like a madwoman.

It was lucky a friend managed to get me out of there.

He took me to my Uncle Rafael's house in Barcelona.

I owe him my life.

When I arrived, I had amnesia

and I was unable to control my sphincter.

I was nearly mad.

It took me years to get better.

I was never the same.

The war changed all of us.

When it began, Salvador was in London,

at a dinner in the Savoy Hotel.

He stayed away for three years.

He certainly was in the papers a good deal.

He went to Mussolini's Italy.

He showed his true colors.

He was very criticized in Paris.

It was as though he had no ideology.

He was Dalinian.

He got no convictions about anything.

None.

He prepared his arrival in New York very well.

He seduced the journalists with his portrait of Gala,

I have brought the portrait of my wife.

The one with the ribs on the shoulder.

It didn't matter if they were raw or fried.

It was a very big thing.

I was very proud of my friend's brother.

I've still have the Time magazine.

Surrealism would not have captured such attention

if it were not for an attractive 32-year-old Catalan

with a soft voice and a well-groomed mustache

like a movie actor.

How clever of you to have kept everything.

He was having more and more arguments

with the Surrealists and with the Communists.

In Dali's madness, there is all the wisdom of Broadway.

He has a gift for publicity which would make any press agent

representing a circus die of envy.

He learned a lot in New York.

New York was his El Dorado.

He even compared Manhattan with Egypt.

He saw the skyscrapers as inverted pyramids.

And it was the only place

where he could sign contracts constantly.

Gala crossed borders with suitcases

full of bundles of 100-dollar bills.

They didn't dare stop her as she was Madame Dali.

But they got into trouble

with the American tax authorities, didn't they?

Yes, a criminal investigation, it was very serious.

Gala was more like a member of the mafia

than the wife of the most fashionable painter in the world.

She had three passions:

luxury, young men with sculpted bodies, and money.

My brother admired her greed,

the strength of her determination,

and her terrifying black eyes.

It's a good description.

Well, I'm right, am I not?

Believe me, I'm restraining myself.

Picasso said, as far as he was concerned,

Dali no longer existed.

Salvador knew who was going to win the Spanish Civil War.

He knew what he should do.

Go to Hollywood.

So many projects.

None of them got made.

He did some drawings for Disney.

Who came to Cadaques,

and Salvador greeted with jasmine behind his ears.

He did just 15 seconds for Disney and then he was fired.

How typical.

And then he added

that Disney had a secret stash of erotic objects

and pornographic drawings.

He designed the dream sequence of Spellbound for Hitchcock,

but neither of them was very happy with it.

Is it true that Freud told him

he had psychological problems?

Well, Salvador showed him

his painting of the myth of Narcissus.

Do you know what Freud said?

No.

"This boy seems to be a fanatic.

"If they are all like him,

"I am not surprised they have a Civil War in Spain."

But that only inflated Salvador's ego even more.

In Secret Life, Salvador took his revenge.

He showed the great master of psychoanalysis

with the skull of a snail

and a brain that had to be extracted with a needle.

He was crazy about snails.

When the Civil War began,

I wrote to him and I asked him if I could go to Paris,

if he could help me get a job,

I spoke both French and English.

Um, he refused.

So, I stayed here and, well, you know what happened.

It took me a long time to get over that.

Well, it would seem to me, you haven't.

Perhaps, some things are hard to forgive.

We didn't see him again until 1940.

We were all other people.

It was eight years before he set foot in Europe.

We knew what he was up to

because he sent us the American cuttings.

In Spain, hardly anything got published.

They were years of total isolation.

Dali goes fast and furious.

One of the youngest, richest painters in the world.

Clark Gable, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Ginger Rogers.

Eight years of frenetic activity.

I don't know where he found the time.

He was at every event.

His golden years.

Even in London we knew about him.

And he was busy writing Secret Life,

he wanted it to be a huge commercial success.

Well, I was fascinated by it, so were many of my friends.

He was a master practitioner of exaggeration.

Yes, extremely imaginative.

He asked me to provide photos of our childhood.

Secret Life created huge excitement.

It sold very well in America.

Oh, in London as well.

When he was writing it, I had written to him

to ask him if I could translate it into Spanish.

I didn't know.

His reply should have warned me of what was to come.

He wrote, don't be angry.

Halley's Comet hit you on the head when you were four.

I spent a lot of time making notes about so much distortion.

Not even his lack of respect for our mother was in it.

That was when I had the idea of explaining

what our lives had really been like.

Cats and dogs?

It's raining cats and dogs in Barcelona.

No, here it's good, don't worry it won't last.

Listen, I may be a little bit late.

No, no, have dinner.

You know I am a careful driver.

Lots of love.

He's such a good man.

After all, we've both been fortunate in different ways.

- Hmm. - Hm.

I can stay a little longer but not much.

Would you like an omelet?

No, no, no, I never have dinner.

I'll have something when I get back to the hotel.

An honorable attempt at self-portrait.

Truth and lies.

He orchestrated them very cleverly, he was very sharp.

The intrauterine consciousness was an original.

A heavenly place, like paradise.

But with the color of hell, red like flames,

but soft, hot, and sticky,

from where I could already see fried eggs.

Well, it enthralled me.

- John was not so convinced. - Aw.

He explains it all in a way that portrays him

in the best light.

Not a word about his rampant Marxism.

He doesn't acknowledge Breton.

He says he is the father of Surrealism,

and then, he undermines it.

He blames Communist Bunuel

for the anti-clericalism of L'Age d'Or.

Oh, poor man.

That was why Bunuel was expelled from MoMA

and went to Mexico.

He never forgave my brother.

I am not surprised.

There was very bad blood.

Salvador wanted to flatter America, the promised land.

Selling was of the utmost importance.

He made sycophantic portraits of helpful people,

- pieces of jewelry. - And commercials

- of cars, of chocolates. - Everything.

The amount of money he amassed was unbelievable.

His fame, not at all.

He knew the way to survive.

It's a good and readable book.

A little long but well written.

It's a good story written by a cunning and brilliant man.

To distract curious fools.

Now I will have a glass of your sweet liquor.

Cadaques's prodigal son felt homesick

for the fishermen and their nets.

He couldn't stay away any longer.

But the building work at the shack was not quite finished.

I spent a few difficult days with Gala.

I couldn't forgive her

for the unhappiness she brought our family.

You were already preparing your book,

and you didn't tell Salvador anything about it.

I only wanted to set matters straight.

I put on a good face and kept quiet.

Our last family photograph.

He was working non-stop.

He did the sets for Don Juan Tenorio,

a great success in Madrid.

Peter Brook came to Port Lligat to pick up the designs

for the Salome of Strauss in London.

I saw it together with John.

It was canceled after six performances.

Oh.

They had a great success in Rome with As You Like It,

directed by Visconti.

I didn't know.

All the BBC talked about

was how he was received by Pius XII.

Oh, hello, Joanne.

I'm sorry I'm late.

Hello, darling.

Mwah, mwah.

What a performance.

Oh yes, he almost suffocated himself

in that wretched helmet.

You know, it was bolted on.

That's why I believe in destiny.

You'll be credited for saving him so many times.

Any news from that mad house?

Hmm, I left Gala sitting in her egg-shaped yellow room,

as usual surrounded by with dozens of piles of $100 bills,

counting and recounting them three or four times.

- Cheers, darling. - Cheers, dear.

Mm.

She is Madame Dali, of course.

And Salvador, a self-proclaimed masochist, huh.

Dali and I have proved to be a formidable duo.

He entertains, I'm the straight man.

He is the hustler, I'm the troubleshooter.

And he's the creative one, and I produce the dotted line.

We are a relentless team

with investors laughing as they dig deep into their pockets.

Well, he is Catalan, you're Irish.

He's the great painter, and you're the ex-army man.

He thrives on change and theatrics

while you, you prefer routine and order.

I soon understood what he wanted.

"Projects, Capitaine.

"Big or small, find Dali new projects, new campaigns,

"new investors, new reporters and photographers.

"Make Dali even more great."

Hey, and what happened in Rome

with The Christ of Saint John of the Cross?

- What, with Pius XII? - Why, the fascist.

Nothing, really.

A scandal, nothing out of the ordinary.

Dali was very impressed, like a child would be,

as we passed the Swiss Guards.

Oh, dressed in their puffy multi-colored outfits

designed by Michelangelo.

Well, I noticed a light layer of sweat upon his forehead

as he knelt and kissed the pontiff's ring.

Now, the pope spoke of art

while Dali expressed his desire to find grace.

Grace?

And what else?

Nothing about the painting?

Nope.

And as he skipped down the corridor afterwards,

he said, "The best day, the best day of Dali's life."

No, that was rather sweet.

The next morning, he called me.

"Dali is very upset."

So, I went to the Grand Hotel.

And I found him in the lobby nearly crying

reading a copy of Corriere della Sera.

"There is no mention, hmm?

"What pope did you take Dali to see?"

Oh, not being in the press made Dali furious.

"So, the pope was the real one?"

Of course he's the real one, Pope Pius XII.

What kind of a Catholic are you?

Huh, that's a good question.

Now wait, "Not a practicing one,

"but I'm always waiting for an angel

"to tap me on the shoulder."

Now I was for a few days with la signorina Lollobrigida.

Aw.

Oh, they were so great.

What a fabulous time

- we had in Rome, hmm? - Oh yes, oh yes.

- I missed them. - Ah yes.

Vivian, and Myrna, and Cotten, and Trevor.

Oh, I forgot, Alida Valli, she misses you so much.

And Roland Petit too.

Breton got fed up with him.

His anagram Avida Dollars

stayed with him all the rest of his life.

He didn't take it as an insult.

He said every morning before work,

he liked to see a tasty cheque on his breakfast tray.

Like King Midas, he turned everything to gold.

My brother could be very witty.

He said living on the easternmost point of the peninsula,

when he woke in the morning,

he was the first person to see the sun,

even before the beloved Generalissimo.

What a privilege.

He also said, "In the 21st century,

"when children ask, who is Franco, people would say,

"oh, a dictator who lived in Dali's time."

Charming.

All that mattered to him was that he was talked about.

He only lost his temper once, when he read my book.

It took him by surprise in New York.

Other people could criticize him and he would just laugh.

But not his sister.

And Gala made it worse, Gala Eluard,

or rather, Elena Ivanovna Diakonova.

You hold her responsible for rather a lot.

May God forgive her.

You still seem very bitter.

No, I was bitter, but that's all over now.

You are still here, Anna Maria.

You should take better care of yourself.

My father drew up the last of his wills.

He was to die within four months.

His last wishes left Salvador nothing.

That was what converted

the contempt Gala had always shown into hate.

I was very upset and wasn't able to go to the funeral.

Salvador didn't show up either.

The dictator's regime was delighted.

Salvador needed to be forgiven for his past.

My brother's obsession with the nobility

went to ridiculous lengths.

He appeared regularly on the Spanish news reels,

pure Francoist propaganda.

What a show.

I was so fed up.

We were no longer seeing each other.

I was tormented by our quarrel.

His sick obsession with four paintings

that had been left in our home.

I was very lucky, Josefina always helped me.

After two years, Salvador agreed to a deal,

but when it came to signing the papers,

he tore them up and evicted the notary.

It's a story about crazy people.

Oh.

Oh.

Cadaques proudly welcomed

the great paranoiac of the Mediterranean.

Of course.

And the hardest working painter who ever lived.

Spring, summer, autumn, painting from dawn to dusk

in Port Lligat.

And in winter, in Paris and New York.

And his playtime was a fun and witty variety show

crammed with sycophants.

Yes, I am the divine Dali, Da-li.

Well, the media was his playing field, wasn't it?

Captain Moore was in charge of everything then, wasn't he?

He was the most honest of all his secretaries,

and the one who made him rich.

What did he have for breakfast today?

Horse?

He's in flying form.

He's like a little boy.

Or like a puppet.

Hmm, the savage and divine Dali.

Very savage.

Very savage indeed.

Ole!

Da-li!

The anguish of death.

No one single moment in the capricious and eccentric life

of divine Dali, no one single moment of death disappears.

Death is all time present in my precious life,

and this is the reason of my most obsession,

the modern hibernation.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Gracias.

I was hurt by his cowardice.

Because of Gala, I couldn't see him.

But in the end, I got used to it.

Joan Vehi often showed us photographs.

It was a consolation for many years.

At the Boia, Pere made us laugh a lot.

He kept us up to date with all the goings-on in the town.

Often, Emilia's daughter would come and collect me,

and we would head home together.

My friends didn't abandon me, and I made my own world.

Those were good years.

- We visited four summers. - Oh, John loved it.

Josefina was doing up her house

and came to spend the summer.

There are two Cadaqueses,

the real one and the one you see reflected in the water.

And which one attracts you most?

Both, one couldn't exist without the other.

Salvador went from one excess to the other.

He loved to sign thousands of blank sheets for lithographs.

You don't know how much it hurt me.

I've known you a long time.

Gala had managed to persuade Salvador

to buy Pubol for her.

She sucked up the money.

Her lovers worked out very expensive.

An artist without ethics tends to corrupt the world.

And more if he is surrounded by a gang

whose only thought is to make themselves millionaires.

Well, in the tabloids, Gala came off the worst.

Half tigress, half martyr, half mother, half lover,

and half banker, with no friends.

Ooh, what a reputation.

But he is still Dali,

one of the greatest figures in 20th century painting.

The art was greater than the man.

Do you remember that summer, 15 years ago?

Isn't that your brother?

I love walking, especially when I'm entertained

by characters who annoy me.

They take advantage of his generosity.

They keep him company, Josefina.

Can't see Gala.

No, she's in Pubol, going crazy with her lovers.

The transsexuality of Amanda and the androgyny of Carlos

seem to be the utmost erotic expression for him.

The dream of the confusion between the sexes.

He talks a lot about the Greek ideal, the hermaphrodite.

Mwah!

And they don't hide anything.

"Balls," said the queen. "If I had them, I'd be king."

Everybody says they both are very good people.

Amanda is extremely clever.

Mwah, mwah, mwah, mwah!

God forgive me, what would Father say?

He's been parading Amanda around for years now

as if she were his new love.

A hook for everything that is said about him.

But Gala can't stand her,

and has said goodbye to Port Lligat forever.

Baby!

Baby, come back to me!

Salvador could only go to Pubol

if Gala condescended to invite him in writing.

For 10 years,

Pubol was a refuge for her senile debaucheries.

Of course, Jeff Fenholt.

I saw him once in the theater.

He was good-looking, but a mediocre actor.

Gala was in love with Jeff like a teenager.

She was 57 years older than him.

Was his youth that excited her.

And his life, music, and drugs.

But that love was no an obstacle to her promiscuity.

Gala was quite something.

What a character.

Gala bought Jeff a house on Long Island

for a million and half dollars.

Gala was Salvador's amulet, his icon.

He really believed she was the only one

who could protected him.

From who?

Perhaps everyone.

I never told you this,

but I saw Gala once eight years ago

in the lobby of the St. Regis Hotel in New York.

John asked me to go with him on a business trip.

We have a lot of friends there.

We were in the lobby about to go out to dinner,

when the elevator door opened.

She was being taken to hospital.

They had had a fierce argument,

and Salvador had beaten her up.

I hardly recognized her.

He was sobbing, scared to death in his room,

interrogated by the police, or that's what the rumors said.

I have no idea why she was brought out in front of everyone.

Oh, my god, the gold bullion.

Gala passed away in Port Lligat, and Salvador's clique

decided to move the body in secret to Pubol.

It was where she wanted to be buried.

Salvador became deeply depressed.

He moved to Pubol,

clinging to Gala's grave buried in the crypt.

He was suffering from attacks of paranoia.

He was in the final stages of his life.

I asked to see him, but he didn't want that.

"Not my family, they hate me."

He had a serious accident,

and was taken to the Pilar Clinic in Barcelona.

He called me to come.

I didn't know what to expect.

I would prefer to have avoided that visit.

The burns were affecting 18% of his body

and he only weighed 40 kilos.

He looked so pitiful with that nasal-gastric drip.

We hadn't seen each other for more than 30 years.

He got them to take him to the Galatea Tower

at his museum in Figueres,

to Daliland, not to Cadaques, not Pubol.

He wanted to be laid to rest in glory,

but totally on his own, like an owl.

The king had made him marquess in perpetuity, as usual,

but after a year, Salvador asked

that the it should be made personal

and for his lifetime only.

The title of marquess would end with him.

Unheard of, unprecedented.

In the tabloid press,

it was reported that he had been very well embalmed,

that he could last for 200 years.

The press in Madrid celebrated.

Dali has disinherited Catalonia.

Even in England, that was considered a betrayal.

The Catalan President said, "We know that we were tricked,

"but we do not know who was behind it."

The whole lot for the Spanish state, nothing for Catalonia.

Why did he do it?

Today you've explained to me that you have come through.

Do you not realize?

What do you mean?

Do you remember what we were taught at Cambridge?

Secret of life is to be yourself?

In this wild, beautiful landscape,

with all that you have suffered,

you have defended your world

despite all the blunders your brother made.

I don't know.

You don't know?

Look how it has ended.

You have survived.

You have been yourself.

You have been true to yourself, and that's enough.

From my family,

only my cousin Montserrat went to the funeral.

I was ill in bed.

I had a Mass said for him.

Anna Maria, I will be back next summer.

John has promised.

I will spend three weeks here.

Who knows if I will still be here.

You have to get through the mourning.

Now you must take care of yourself.

You have good help.

Ciao.

Gracias, Emilia.

Ciao.

Come to London for a few days.

You need a change of scene.

We'll have a good time.

See you soon, Miss Dali.

Merci, Emilia.

Is there a telephone in the lobby?

I don't want to disturb my husband,

he may already be asleep.

Emilia.

Oh.

Maggie.

Hello, Maggie.

It's 11:00, I'm in Barcelona.

I didn't want you to worry.

You made in two hours, you are a wonder.

I was so happy to see you.

Me too.

Rest, Anna Maria.

I'll see you soon.

Goodnight.

Bye, Anna Maria.

Goodbye, Maggie.

The wind of imagination swells the sails of thought

and cuts through the water like the bow of a ship,

just as if the present penetrated the future

leaving behind a trace of anxiety.

What happened to our lives?

They just passed by, and that's it.

None of us had the slightest premonition of our tragedy.

It was there all the time and we were unable to see it.

Despite all the odds, life was joyfully beautiful.

Now, there is nothing else to tell.

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