All language subtitles for Cruel Garden (1981)

Federico García Lorca, born 1898, died
1936.

The best -known Spanish poet of the
century.

His is the voice and the work and the
personality that inspires this Ballet

Rombert production.

It isn't an account of his life, though
there are echoes of what he was and did.

His theatre work, his puppet plays, his
love of music. He was an accomplished

amateur pianist as well as a writer.

No, this is a ballet that has its own
story, but which draws on the images of

Lorca's poems and plays to evoke the
character of a man alone, poet,

bullfighter, Christ figure even, someone
who has to suffer and be destroyed by

all that's powerful and cruel in the
world.

In fact, Lorca himself, a strong
Republican sympathiser, was murdered at

beginning of the Spanish Civil War,
taken out into an olive grove and shot.

In this cruel garden, the title comes
from a cocktail drawing where the

banderillas impaling a bull look like
flowers, in this production there's the

same presence of death and beauty side
by side, as in Lorca's poetry, and as in

Spain itself.

The splendour of the bullfight, the
elegance of the fighter, as well as the

cruelty and the blood.

And it too begins in a bullring, with
the entrance of the moon, who's a child,

but at the same time a traitor.

He's the light that reveals, that gives
away too much.

And then gypsies, who are Lorca's
friends and one of the oppressed

championed in his life, are driven out
by the lizard, the man of power, of

And there's the first struggle between
the poet and the lizard's follower, the

bull, ending in the poet's death, his
first death in the ballet, and his

adoration.

But then the mood changes.

The poet's very much alive again.

and we're in a sort of bohemian cafe,
conjured up in his imagination.

And this, in turn, becomes a puppet
performance, echoing Lorca's play Blood

Wedding, with the bride snatched from
her bridegroom on her wedding night and

made love to by a violent lover, all of
which ends once again in death, in the

shape of the lizard and his henchman.

But then there's yet another change of
mood.

America, an ideal world, Lorca escapes
to in...

The Afternoon Stroll of Buster Keaton, a
scenario he actually wrote for an

imaginary film.

Lorca went to the States, but was deeply
disillusioned by the great cities and

the plight of poor whites and the
blacks.

And so his dream turns dark. He returns
to Spain, to the rising tide of

violence, to civil war, and his death on
August 19th, 1936.

The last bull dance.

The final death.

out of which may be some hope, some
small redemption may emerge.

And so now, with Christopher Bruce
dancing the role of the poet, the Ballet

Rombert present their Cruel Garden.

When the moon comes out, the bells are
lost and the

impenetrable paths appear.

When the moon comes out, the sea covers
the earth and

the heart feels like an island in the
infinite.

bajo la luna llena, es preciso comer
fruta verde y helada.

Cuando sale la luna de cien rostros
iguales,

la moneda de plata solloza en el
bolsillo.

y enseña lúbrica y pura tus senos de
duro estaño.

Huye una luna, luna, cuando venga
loitano, harían con tu corazón

collares y anillos blancos.

Niño, déjame que baile.

Cuando venga loitano, te encontrarán
sobre el yunque con los ojillos

cerrados.

Ya siento sus caballos.

Niño, déjame.

No pises mi blancor almidonado.

El jinete te acercaba tocando el tambor
del llano.

Dentro de la fragua el niño tiene los
ojos cerrados.

Por el olivar venían bros.

The moon with a child.

Vela, vela, vela.

El aire la está velando.

Dios te salve, bendición, morena de
maravilla.

Te lo grazo, hijo más bello que los
tallos del abril.

In the cafe of chinitas, he said to

his brother.

In the cafe of chinitas, he

said to his brother.

I do.

that's there

Las manos de mi cariño se son por tanto
una capa, con la crema

de alegría y la clavina de agua.

Cuando fuiste novio mío, por la
primavera blanca, los rasgos

de tu caballo, cuatro soños son de
plata.

La luna es un pozo chico.

Las flores no valen nada.

Lo que valen son tus brazos.

Cuando de noche me abrazan.

Ay, lo que valen son tus brazos.

Ay,

mi niño zapatero!

Tapa pero de mi alma Por donde quiera
que vayas Con tu cintura

entallada Gozo tanto con quererte

Que enteniéndote a mi vera Y aunque

me diera la muerte Creo que

nulo I don't know.

I don't know.

Oh, yeah.

Adios si lo encuentras que te traigan en
un carro.

Las albarcas y el sombrero de los
siniestros colgando.

Se cogen los garrochones, bajan las
navas abajo,

preguntando por el toro.

Y el toro ya está encerrado.

No entres a él, mira que el toro es muy
malo, que la leche que me amó se la di

yo con mis manos.

The afternoon stroll of Buster Keaton by
Federico García Lorca.

Buster Keaton crosses ineffably the reef
and the fresh wheat fields.

The landscape springs among the wheels
of the machines.

Among the old rubber wheels and gas oil
cans, a negro eats his straw hat.

The bicycle of Buster Keaton has no seat
of caramel, and its pedals are not made

of sugar.

It's a bicycle like others, but the only
one soaked in innocence.

Adam and Eve would run in terror if they
saw a glass of water, but they would

caress the bicycle of Buster Keaton.

Mr. Keaton runs up to two enormous grey
butterflies.

He runs around like mad, half an inch
above the ground.

I don't want to say anything.

What can I say?

He continues walking.

His eyes, infinite and sad like those of
a beast newborn, dream of

lilies and angels.

His ostrich eyes, his human eyes,

in the safe balance of melancholy.

In the distance, we see Philadelphia.

The inhabitants of this metropolis have
already learned that the old poem of the

single -sawing machines can circulate
among the huge roses of the greenhouses.

Although they will never understand what
extremely subtle poetic difference

exists, between a cup of cold tea and a
cup of hot tea.

In the distance, shine, Philadelphia.

Good afternoon.

I... I would like.

Hast thou thought I don't believe the
myrrh?

Buster Keaton shrugs his shoulder and
lifts the right foot.

Hast thou a ring with a poison stone?

Buster Keaton closes his eyes slowly and
lifts the left foot.

Well, then.

Four seraphims with wings of celestial
-colored organza dance

among the flowers.

The young ladies from the city play the
piano as if they were riding bicycles.

The walls, the moon and the little boat
are shaking the

precious heart of our friend.

With great surprise to everybody, autumn
has invaded the garden as

water invades the geometrical lump of
sugar.

I would like to be a swan.

But I can't.

Even if I wanted to.

For where would I leave my hat?

My paper collar?

and their watered silk tie.

What a misfortune.

A young lady, hips of a bee, enters
riding a bicycle.

She has the hair of a nightingale.

Buster Keaton.

The young lady faints and falls to the
ground.

Her striped, docking legs tremble in the
grass like two agonized zebras.

A gramophone was shouting at a thousand
shows at the same time.

There are nightingales in America.

Miss Eleanor, forgive me, but it was not
my fault.

Miss... Miss... Señorita.

In the horizon of Philadelphia lies the
flashing star of the police.

Nueva York de cielo, Nueva York de
alambres y de muerte.

¿Qué ángel lleva su punto en la mejilla?

¿Qué voz perfecta dirá las verdades del
trigo?

¿Quién el sueño terrible de sus anemonas
manchadas?

Agonia.

foreign foreign

super on

Three steps on...