Original subtitles

I'm not a seed of anise.

I am a girl and I'm seven years old.

The five fingers on the right, and two on the left hand.

And when I stand, I can look straight at my father's knees.

No higher.

I imagine he is still growing like a great tree...

...and that on his highest branch, crouches a tiny tiger.

My mother is different.

Her hair, so black, so thick, so curly...

...draws passing birds who like it and stay.

I only imagine it, I've never seen it.

I see only what lies at my level.

Certain bushes with leafs half-eaten by insects.

The school desks, stained with ink.

My brother.

And him, I see completely, for he was born after me...

...and by then I knew many things that I now explain to him in detail.

Such as this:

"Columbus discovered the Americas."

Thank you very much. Thank you, Rosario.

I want to add that FCE Press is fully confident...

...that Balun Canan is already a classic in Mexican literature.

Dearest Ricardo:

I started writing this letter as soon as I got to Spain.

I've been feeling very sad, and what's worse, it shows.

So, the others leave me alone, just what I need to be with you.

I examine myself incessantly and find your image everywhere...

...the memory of you.

With you, I was so perfectly, so thoroughly happy...

...that this separation hasn't disturbed nor destroyed me.

I am still too full...

...too overflowing with the happiness you gave me.

My reserves of joy are still plentiful...

...and I hope they won't run dry before your presence renews them.

Doesn't it make you uneasy, to mean so much to someone?

Because you should know that I can't love whom I don't admire.

I'll say goodbye now.

And I swear upon my heart that I'm utterly faithful to you.

It makes me happier to think of you than to talk to people.

I love you, dear Ricardo, as far as the eye can see...

...and keep in mind I stand facing the sea.

I am genuinely grateful that you agreed to see me.

I didn't do it for you. I just wanted closure.

I wanted to talk to you...

- We're talking now. - No, not like this.

How else are we supposed to talk?

What is that?

- Are these my...? - All of them.

Every single one you ever wrote me.

- Are you giving them back? - No! Of course not.

I wanted...

...I don't know, I guess...

...I wanted you to know I still keep your words.

All together like this, they do seem like a lot.

You were gone for a long time.

I have five postcards from you.

Look, I'm nothing but a poor philosopher, Chayo.

The only words of love I have came from you.

- I didn't do things right. - You don't say!

You're exaggerating. Other than the bit about...

...asking me to marry you and then marrying another...

...you were a dream.

I made a mistake. That's why I wanted to see you.

To tell you that I know I made a mistake.

Next week, I'm signing my divorce papers.

I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.

Oh, Guerra!

You are... a prodigy of nature.

- Like the Rock of Gibraltar? - No!

Nothing as boring as that.

I'm sorry.

Do you have plans? Want to get lunch with me?

No.

Yes... I don't know.

I don't know what I want.

I did five minutes before seeing you, I swear it.

Ouch!

I'm sorry!

I am so sorry.

What's wrong?

I used to be skinny.

But so skinny that I almost didn't have a body.

I used to wander around, floating like a ghost.

And at night...

...I used to dream that I died.

My brother and I used to pretend that we died.

And the following morning, I couldn't feel alive again.

Later, I got fat as a cow and that was that.

I now dreamt of pork rinds, instead of dying.

Come here.

When I'm with you, I feel solid...

...and consistent, dear Guerra.

I love you.

I don't want to be something sad and heavy.

I love you.

Like all those things you learned back home.

I don't want to be heavy and sad...

...or any of those things you learned back home.

How dare you, scoundrel? My house was a carnival.

"Loneliness traced its wrecked landscape."

"The shape it takes before men is that of a hostile nudity."

Give me the sheet.

- Give me the sheet. - What? Why?

It's hard enough being naked to feel exposed on top ot that.

You brought up childhood and you wrote the poem.

Ricardo.

You show up after all this time and make me feel naked.

Literally.

Look at me.

I'm just as naked as you are.

I want to be by your side.

Don't think I'm fine with you reading me my monstrosities.

I did it because I liked that poem even before I liked you.

Don't you dare.

This is my favorite one.

"And so it is that we love and enjoy."

"And even of this feast for worms, we make pornographic novels."

"Or adult-only films."

You scare me more than high windows.

Don't you leave again.

Miss Castellanos!

- I'll get it. - Don't.

Darling, let it ring.

Hello?

Yes, yes. I told her.

Tomorrow.

I can meet you there.

I’d rather.

Yes.

Yes, I know.

No!

No, no, no.

No, it’s the building that is…

What?

Nothing.

You're not the only one working, you know?

I'm sorry.

Excuse me.

- Your coffee, ma'am. - Thanks, María.

Dear, your coffee!

- None for him? - That's OK, leave it here.

The kitchen is gleaming in its whiteness.

It's a shame having to tarnish it with use.

It'd be better to sit and watch it, describe it...

...to close one's eyes and bring it to memory.

On close inspection, its sharpness and tidiness lacks the glare...

...that usually prompts chills in hospitals.

Or is it the aura of disinfectants, the rubber steps of the nurses?

Or is it the hidden presence of illness and death?

Come here.

Come here a minute.

I'm coming.

I just need to finish...

- ...finish this. - Come here.

Now that democracy has come to our beloved Guatemala...

...President Arévalo has extended an invitation to Mexico's youth.

So we can start a dialogue on the future of Latin America.

We know of no one better to respond to this invitation...

...than our comrade Rosario Castellanos.

Rosario, please.

I'm honored that you call me your comrade, Otto.

Who is she?

Who, Castellanos?

She was the student rep for the faculty last year.

- Where is she from? - Chiapas, I think.

I see, so she thinks she is a communist.

- But she is a landowner for sure. - Ricardo!

Excuse me, comrade. I have a question.

Save your questions for the end, please.

I thought this was a forum, not a press conference.

- It's more practical to... - Don't dismiss me, comrade.

Politeness doesn't detract from your socialism.

I am comrade Guerra.

There are only two subjects worth writing about.

And by writing I mean rearranging...

...because in their pure state, they are intolerable.

Sex and death.

That's it, we all suffer them, but they are kept hidden...

...in a dark place, covered with prejudice.

Bringing them to light is risky because we're doomed to fail.

There are no words to talk about sex or death.

They happen in the body, so far from our conscience...

...and its instrument, language. So, what can we do?

Should we recognize our limits?

Chayo! Our poems were published!

- Really? - Let's see them.

- Let me see. - Sergio!

Lola!

"I was encircled by rings of words."

"Rising like smoke in space."

"Diluting their mass, becoming lost."

"All that remained, thick like milk poured over me..."

"...one that knotted origin and destination."

"Woman."

"A hypnotizing, radical voice..."

"...in Eve's throat and all thereafter."

"A docility of honey meant for kissing."

Rosario Castellanos.

Someone should tell you...

...that even if you hide, you are visible for miles.

You, again.

Don't tell me you didn't feel my presence.

So, you're the source of that unpleasant odour.

Come, I want to show you something.

Come, come.

Reading Mistral reminded me of this and I thought about you.

Do you know her?

She's Uruguayan.

Her husband killed her when she was 28.

It's beautiful.

Do you really like it?

It's yours, then.

- You're crazy, it's too expensive. - Don't worry about it.

I can afford it.

What are you doing? Stop that!

Follow me.

- Can I help you? - I'm fine, thank you.

Chayo!

Thank you, goodbye.

Goodbye.

How could you do that?

- You wanted it. - But not if I end up in jail.

Why? I'd come visit you. I'd bring you lots of books...

...and a file baked into a cake for you to escape.

Scoundrel!

We didn't hurt anyone.

And poetry...

...is priceless, comrade.

Shoot! Don't look now. Here comes the owner.

Don't look!

I'm sorry.

For what?

Now I'll have to shoplift an entire library.

You're back at it already?

Know what I dreamt?

That you let me work.

We were on a beach.

It was nighttime, but there was a full moon.

Have you seen the moon when it shines on the sea?

- How it looks like a path? - Mhm.

So, in my dream I walked away on the path of light.

It'd be a killer poem.

I'll let you write it, but dedicate it to me.

That poem already exists. It's by Juan Ramón Jiménez.

It's called "Departure."

Ha! Two-bit plagiarist!

What does your machine have that I don't?

What can it be?

It's not too shabby...

...and it doesn't complain.

All you do is write...

...and write, and write.

That's why you feel alone...

...because you only live inside your head.

That's enough, dear. I mean it.

You're picking a fight that doesn't exist.

I'm only trying to finish my work.

That's exactly what I mean. Name a recent gesture you had.

Name one.

You never think about me, I ask very little.

Just a nice gesture once in a while.

A nice gesture.

You want a nice gesture from me?

Here.

Buy yourself a coffee somewhere else.

My treat.

Go to hell, Rosario.

There must be some other way whose name is not Sappho...

...or Mesalina, or Mary of Egypt...

...or Magdalene, or Clemencia Isaura.

Another way of being free and human.

Another way of being.

I tripped with your typwriter.

I don't want to know.

I tripped because I drank a little bit too much...

...and then I couldn't get back up.

I don't want to know.

That's why I came in so late.

Don't you dare lie to my face.

I'll believe anything you tell me.

I take each and every one of your words as true.

I don't doubt.

I've never questioned the reasons why you want to be with me.

My love for you is unconditional.

All I ask in return is that you speak to me with the truth.

That your words are accurate.

That they express exactly what you feel.

Because if you say no...

...to me, it means NO.

And if you say it's raining...

...to me, it is raining.

And if you say love...

...it means love.

All right?

All right.

Rosario?

Are you all right?

Why are you here?

I was just reading.

In the bathroom.

What's wrong with it?

Well, it's commonly used for other purposes.

Come here.

Come, come.

All done, take a seat.

Isn't this better than the bathroom?

Don't be foolish.

Hey...

Why don't you and I have lots of children?

With my looks and your brains, they'd be perfect.

Remember when Lola and I went to see Gabriela Mistral?

Well, she told us that if we want to write...

...we have to give up everything.

I don't think it has to be like that.

You don't have to choose between life and writing.

I want to write.

Everything will be OK, don't be scared.

Pressure 160 over 110.

Ricardo.

Call Ricardo.

Easy.

- She lost one a year ago. - Stay here, we'll let you know.

Lola.

And so I return and fail to recognize myself.

I come home and find it ravaged by furies.

I walk the paths with nothing to cover me...

...other than the veil torn from my shame.

With no ribbon but despair to press on my temples.

Madness buzzes around me with its horsefly stinger.

It's 3:00 am.

Are you staying here?

Oh, it'd be better to die.

But I know there is no death for me.

Because pain...

(and what am I, if not pain?)

...has made me eternal.

Thank you very much for being with us today.

Thank you.

Dr. Guerra, I'm Julián Mendoza from the Chiapas Tribune.

How do you do? Nice to meet you.

Could I ask you a few questions for the paper?

What do you think about the honor bestowed upon your wife...

...by Governor Efraín Aranda, with the Chiapas Award?

Oh, so this is about my wife?

Listen...

...I think that in this times our country is going through...

...it's absolutely vital for all political figures in society...

...to find an effective way...

...to deal with the tropical issue of the annoying Dipterans.

I mean, the fucking mosquitoes.

Which, in these regions are pretty vicious.

They annoy people during solemn, splendid events.

Like this one, in honor of my wife.

If you'll excuse me.

That scene with the spinster and her mother!

Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

The women in our state sorely needed a voice.

I hope you'll excuse my wife's incipient feminism.

We just want to tell you this is forever your home.

- The state welcomes you. - To tell the truth...

...I am very interested in your wife's comments.

Please, don't take me wrong! My government...

...is taking extreme measures to open spaces for women.

Like you said in your novel: "Give voice to the voiceless."

I understand things can't change overnight.

Especially when customs are centuries old.

But I think we can start to think about changing our ways.

My husband and I have...

You were saying?

My husband and I have thought about social programs...

- ...that, through art... - Of course!

...may change society for the better.

Swear to me you won't leave me alone.

Not today, truly. Not today.

Just swear it.

Oh, you're...

...I can't believe it.

Where am I?

You're seeing me, right?

Right here, in front of you.

Do you see me, or not?

Do you see me or not?

I'm here, goddammit! Here, next to you.

I accompanied you to Tuxtla-fucking-Gutiérrez.

I came to this hellhole just to be with you.

Do you see me or not? Goddammit.

- I'm not talking about... - But I am.

Right now it's not about what you believe, think, feel...

...or what you fear!

Here I am.

Here I am!

I'm sick of you seeing monsters instead of seeing me.

I can't compete with that.

How is it possible that in Mexico...

"...stubborn men who accuse women..."

...is still the boldest thing us women say?

I'm asking you.

How are we still on Sor Juana and her centuries-old complaint?

What have we done since then?

What battles have we won?

Today, our duty is to name the causes of our marginalization.

To name the causes of our oppression.

It is not equitable, and therefore not legitimate...

...that he has the chance to educate himself...

...while she has no choice but to remain lost in ignorance.

That he has complete freedom of movement...

...while hers is reduced to the runway.

Does that seem fair?

It is not equitable, and therefore not legitimate...

...that he can own his body and do as he pleases...

...while she reserves her body, not for her own ends...

...but so it can house processes alien to her own will.

- Good morning! - Good morning.

Good morning.

I agree with the ancients in that living is not necessary.

Is that all you do?

You've been here months and all you do is write.

But since we must live, it's a contingency...

...that can be overcome by writing.

Therefore, I think of as lived only what has been written.

What's all this?

Why do you write about this if no one cares?

Maybe that's why, Raúl.

Ready?

- You promised you'd do it. - You'll regret it tomorrow.

If I regret it, so be it. I have worse regrets than this.

All right, then.

Let's see.

You told me so.

You said if I left for Spain, he wouldn't wait for me.

And I left anyway.

Everyone told me so.

- And I thought he'd... - You thought nothing.

Stop lying to yourself, little sister.

A real woman wouldn't have left.

Let me finish or you'll end up looking awful.

I'm awful already.

Just don't even think about going to see him.

Do you think I'd dare to, without any hair?

Do you know what has always been your problem?

What?

You feel too much.

Like all guests eventually, my son got cumbersome.

Taking a space that was my space.

An untimely existence.

Making me divide in two every mouthful.

Ugly, sickly, bored...

...I felt him growing at my expense.

Stealing the color from my blood.

Adding a secret volume and weight to my way of being on earth.

His body asked me to be born.

Make way for him.

Give him a place in the world.

The time provision needed for his history.

I gave consent.

And through the wound he escaped, through the hemorrhage of his flight...

...also departed the last of my solitude.

The last of me, staring behind the glass.

I was left open, offered to visitations.

To the wind, the presence.

What am I missing?

Do you think it's very funny, love?

Really?

Please, tell me more.

I was missing these.

You can't put these in your mouth, you cheeky monkey.

María, can you take him for a bit?

- Yes, of course. - Careful with this, thank you.

Come here, baby. Don't worry, ma'am.

- Thank you. - Sure.

What are you doing? We're going to be late.

We have time, and I want to do this while Gabriel is quiet.

Oh, by the way, I talked to Dr. Chávez.

We agree you should stop teaching for a while.

You can go back later, when Gabriel starts school.

You'll have more time to write at home.

And fold your briefs.

Excuse me?

- Are you serious? - Of course.

You can stop scrambling between your classes and Gabriel's naps.

It's my work, Ricardo. Mine.

How dare you and Chávez decide over my work?

Goddammit.

Make up your damn mind. Should I worry, or not?

Should I help you, or not? Tell me.

Please tell me, because I give up.

Who said you could go to my office...

...talk to my boss, and discuss my business?

Tell me, isn't it true that the doctor said...

...that it's best for the child to be with his mother?

Damn it!

- That's my decision. - Whose child is it?

Yours and mine, right?

Yes, but I don't see you giving up anything.

Why don't you stop going to the office?

Don't be stupid! I put no one at risk if I keep working.

Oh, so you're saying that if I, a woman who is a mother...

...keep working, I endanger my...

Don't put words in my mouth! I'm not one of your characters.

I don't understand...

...why it offends you so much when I ask for respect.

And when will you start respecting me?

No one is stepping all over you.

What you want is a woman who dotes on you.

Who raises your kids at home so you can leave for work!

María.

- What happened, María? - I'll take care of it, ma'am.

- You will? - Yes.

Aren't you going to get dressed?

No, I'm not going.

Please, come along. Don't be awful.

Someone needs to stay with the kid, since you can't.

María is with him.

I promise we won't be back late.

If you were raised like that, I don't want it for my son.

Stop making me feel like I'm wrong.

Can't you see I'm trying?

I'm trying and you keep making me feel like I do everything wrong!

I won't stop being a mother, I won't stop teaching...

...and I won't stop writing!

Rosario.

Spare me the tantrums.

You got old a long time ago. Look at yourself.

In Mexico, when we say the word woman...

...we're referring to a creature dependant on male authority.

Whether her father, her brother, or husband.

Even her priest.

Submissive in the choice of her marital status...

...her field of study...

...or her professional career.

Trained since childhood...

...to understand and endure the abuses of the strong.

The Mexican woman doesn't consider herself...

The Mexican woman doesn't consider herself...

...nor is she considered by others...

...to be a fully realized woman if she hasn't borne children.

If she is not enveloped in the glow of maternity.

María!

Let's not fall for the weak sophistries of anti-feminists...

Ricardo!

...who declare inferiority on the basis of sex.

Sex, like race...

...doesn't constitute a biological, social, or historical hindrance.

What happened, María? Where are they?

Your husband took the boy to your mother-in-law's.

The usual argument of irate, yet thoughtless feminists...

...is a demand for equality.

A demand that provides us with a false start...

...and comes with a series of undesirable consequences.

And, ultimately, it's nothing but an acknowledgement...

...of the male models of life and action...

...as the only viable ones.

As the goal we must reach no matter what.

But let's not despair.

Every day, a woman, or many women...

...win a battle to procure and keep their personalities.

A battle that...

...in order to be won...

...requires not only lucidity of intelligence...

...a determined character, moral fiber...

(and those are big words)

...but also require expediencies such as cleverness...

...and, above all, persistence.

A battle that upon being won...

...creates human beings that are more wholesome.

Happier marriages, harmonious families.

And a country constituted by conscious citizens...

...for whom freedom is the only breathable air.

And justice, the soil in which they are rooted and prosper.

And love, the indestructible bond that unites them.

Thank you very much.

It's vital to keep the changes to the lesson plans.

That's the only way we'll demand from the government...

...from the federal government what the university needs.

We have formed committees that will supervise...

Comrade Guerra, a question.

Sorry, save the questions for the end.

Oh, my! I thought this was a public forum...

...not a press conference.

All right.

As I was saying...

These committees will visit each area.

- And propose... - I want to say...

Sorry, excuse me.

Say that Dr. Guerra's words not always match reality.

- Rosario, please. - I can attest to the truth of that.

Though it may be redundant because everyone here...

...knows already.

Isn't that so, Dr. Guerra?

- Rosario... - You're not answering me!

Everyone knows, right?

Excuse her.

Professor Castellanos needs her Valium.

Don't make an even bigger scene. Have a little dignity.

You coward.

And don't you dare take my son again! Hear me?

Rosario?

Because we were friends and sometimes loved each other...

...perhaps to add another tie to the many that bound us...

...we decided to play games of the mind.

We set up a board between us.

Equal in pieces, values, and possible moves.

We learned the rules, swore to follow them...

...and the match began.

We've been sitting here for centuries...

...furiously contemplating how to deal the last blow...

...that would utterly annihilate the other one forever.

Hello?

Gabriel?

Hello?

Can you hear me?

Ricardo, please put Gabriel on.

Hello?

Hello?

Rosario Castellanos died at 49 years of age...

...on August 7, 1974, in Tel Aviv, as Mexico's ambassador in Israel.

Hers is one of the most powerful literary voices in 20th century Mexico.

She made cracks in the walls that still stand in the way...

...of women's rights and gender equality.

A domestic accident ended the life of the poet, novelist, and essayist.

An electric discharge silenced her pen forever.

THE ETERNAL FEMININE