Original subtitles

The Adventures of God

Don't say anything;

it will be something old by the time you say it.

How are you, sir?

On vacation?

No...

Although honestly I don't know what I'm doing here, so...

I wouldn't rule out being on vacation.

I don't remember.

I understand. It happens to all of us.

Forgive me; this is not the room.

It's farther ahead.

I had just walked in when I saw you and said to myself...

"What else could he be but an idiot with a face like that."

Have I disappointed you?

No, imbecile.

Do you know, Monsignor, that I am dying?

AIDS?

No, Father... sadness.

Masterbate. That will make it better.

Trust me; I know what I'm talking about.

Don't say anything;

it will already be old when you say it.

Forgive me, do you know his language?

I don't remember.

The Professor says that

cephalopods have more right to hate progress

than mammals do...

...and that the color of a woman's pantyhose

need not match that of her eyes.

Valeri.

My name is Valeri.

What are you doing in this hotel, Valeri?

What everybody is doing: I'm waiting.

Everything brings me memories;

echos of other things,

but I'm not certain of what.

Is it a dream, Valeri?

Am I dreaming?

Since I arrived, I've felt that

something is about to happen which will explain everything.

Don't lose hope.

Do you think it will happen?

No.

I think you'll stop waiting for it.

WHERE DID YOU HIDE HER BODY?

- I'd like a room. - Go to a hotel.

And what is this?

It's full; it's no longer a hotel.

All of the town's hotels are full.

Well, the hospitals and madnhouse remain.

I already went; they are full.

Try again tomorrow.

The radio announced that they are going to release many tonight.

Discharge!

[Trans. Note: "De baja": release with negative implications, such as due to death or dishonor.]

[Trans. Note: "De alta": discharge with positive implications, such as due to recovery from an illness.]

Sleep on the beach;

it doesn't rain at night.

And what do I do with my umbrella?!

Keep it;

tonight with bring rain enough for the coming century.

Mother!

What are you doing here?

I thought you might be born and I didn't want to leave you alone.

Did you feel pain?

All my life.

Well, seat yourself somewhere

or go to the bar if you like...

when I am born,

let me know.

Yes, son!

To baffle the soul is to prove to it its error.

They say something is going to happen.

Nothing ever happens here.

Take my word for it;

I've been coming here for a long time.

Do you always summer here?

I'm not summering;

it's not even summer!

Excuse me, sir.

Have you seen me recently?

I am sorry, Madam; with so many people...

It's just that, I thought I had forgotten myself in the bathroom...

I looked and... I'm not there!

If I see you, I will let you know.

Thank you so much!

Yesterday in the dream I had a revalation as to what's happening.

Maybe we're not dreaming.

Maybe someone is dreaming us.

They've studied the dreams of the dreamer, but no one has thought

"What happens to one being dreamed?"

Dreamed by whom?

Will we live only while the dream lasts?

Are you making fun of me?

I make fun of everything.

I agree with you.

Everything is too apparent.

They're all entangled conventions we pretend to believe in

to bear the fear of realizing that it's all a fa�ade.

Patriotism is an illusion.

Love is an illusion.

Death is an illusion.

To understand is an illusion.

Have you been drinking?

Why do you drink?

To remember.

To remember?

People drink to forget.

That's in the movies;

I drink to remember.

What do you remember?

Nothing, Valeri.

Nothing.

That's my anguish.

I feel as if at some point I opened a door I shouldn't have;

as if at some point I went down a corridor that led me here...

and I don't know where here is.

Why would you have to know?

What would it change?

Why not simply be,

without asking yourself so many questions?

Why don't you forget about me...

and kiss me?

Go to your room and wait for me.

Will you come?

No...

simply wait for me.

Thank you for using our service:

you may begin your confession after the tone.

Son!

It's been so long since you've visited!

I thought you had forgotten about me.

Mother...

You're going to eat me again?

It's inevitable, mother.

THE ADVENTURES OF GOD -The book in the cabinet?

Impossible; I do not have the key.

I would have to ask the manager.

-No messages? -No.

I'm going into town; where do you recommend I go?

"The Shouting Place".

It's free.

It's a place where people go,

shout,

and leave feeling better.

-They shout? -Yes, they shout.

How many times have you felt the urge to shout,

but had no place to do it?

If you were to shout in public, you'd be taken for a madman.

This is a public service, for the people.

You'll like it!

Go and shout; you'll feel relieved.

Thanks.

Don't say anything;

it will already be old when you say it.

Want to go to the beach?

No, thanks.

I'm going to explore the town.

Any messages?

No, Mrs. Raquel.

Anything for me?

How are you?

Who says I am?

You're not?

I was, but you weren't.

I hadn't noticed,

but if I return I'll give you a card

so you'll be able to find me if you wish.

I like conversing with you,

but there is something I find very unsettling.

No, don't let yourself be driven by appearances.

Actually, I drove myself here.

Appearances are everything; reality does not exist.

So I could penetrate you with my arm?

Yes...

but I'd rather you do it with your tongue.

Oh, no. If I did it with my tongue, it would be love.

Rinse out your mouth beforehand.

I'm inside out.

I digest my food on my shirt.

I wear my best ties on my sternum.

Valeri,

I have dreams that distress me.

I awaken exhausted by an inexplicable sadness.

I'd rather not even talk about it.

I need to calm down.

Valeri,

there's something I should tell you:

when I see you I feel calm.

You make me feel a special kind of peace,

but I can't remember why.

Still trying to remember?

What for?

I went to the cinema this afternoon.

There were people with small dropplets of water

rolling down their faces.

They were crying?

I don't remember how one cries, or why.

Maybe that's why my body aches at night.

Teach me to cry, Valeri.

Begin by laughing.

Laughing at what?

What does it matter? You won't have a reason to cry either.

Listen to me! Let's laugh!

You killed everyone!

No! I didn't kill anyone!

Would you be able to remember?

Valeri, that mirror

is reflecting very strange things.

It's been there since the hotel was built.

No one really khows where it came from.

It reflects different times.

It can reflect whatever's in front of it

like any other mirror, but

sometimes it reflects things that aren't happening in the present.

It's very curious.

This room is called - no one really knows why -

"The Room of Lost Loves".

Sometimes couples appear in the mirror;

who look at each other, who kiss each other,

who cry as they say goodbye.

I've seen Federico Garc�a Lorca sitting on that couch,

writing "Yerma".

I've faked believing in reality for so long...

I'm tired.

For so long I've concealed my fury and disgust...

The first mistake was believing in time.

Everything coexists in a single instant.

Maybe that mirror knows it.

If I try, I can see you as a girl...

as a woman...

as an old lady.

If you can see me without time's boundaries,

you'll know that I could have loved you being an adolescent,

that I could love you being an old lady.

I'm loving you now.

Can you see that?

The times I wanted to call were out of fear.

The fear made me believe in the others.

Being with others:

would you call that love?

Yes.

You transmit memories through your eyes.

Hadn't you noticed?

No.

Might the same be true for my thoughts?

It would be horrible; can you imagine?

A transparent man.

I couldn't go anywhere.

What do you see?

A cottony cloud is passing by one eye.

And in the other eye?

Nothing.

Relax.

There we are.

There's an open window...

a curtain, waving in the breeze...

and a tray of peaches on the table.

We all have our things.

I'm going to have a son.

When?

Now!

Valeri, I didn't know you were pregnant.

I always am.

And who is the father?

He who is your father, and mine...

In my body certain mechanisms activate

to make me pregnant under predetermined circumstances.

What circumstances?

They're not always the same.

Mozart's "Requiem", for example, impregnates me.

It's difficult to hear an Astor Piazzolla tune

without birthing a few days later.

When a burst of wind carrying a strong scent of jasmine comes by

I immediately prepare.

I know that in a few days I'll give birth.

Since I've known you, I've had 15 children.

Some organic, some not.

Here.

I brought you one as a gift.

Don't think I'm some soulless mother who gives away her children.

He'll continue to be my son,

even if he's with you.

Hold it to your ear and listen.

Don't say anything; just listen.

I knew you would like it.

I want to show you something.

I'd like you to meet some of the children I've birthed these days.

There's also a little angel...

...he must have gone out for a spin.

I fear for him; I think he's blind.

If at some point we have sex I'll love it,

but I'm already pregnant by you...

by your gazes...

by sighs you hold back...

by the tears you don't dare shed...

by the silences you insist on not hearing.

Do you need help?

It's too late...

but I thank you.

I see that you

are one of the few remaining morons

who would ask someone if they needed help.

Moron! Moron!!!

What a miracle: you being here.

What a miracle: you being here.

You're an actor who looks like...

We're all actors who look like...

But... are you?

And you... are you?

If you were, I could ask for a miracle.

NO MESSAGES.

I suspect that we're part of a dream someone is having...

someone here, in this hotel.

Help me find him.

What for?

To kill him.

That will wake him up.

And why do you want to wake him?

Are you sure you want to end the dream?

Are you having such a bad time?

Do you know where you'll go when the dream ends?

And if we are nothing but part of that dream,

upon our dreamer awakening... we'd die.

I miss logic;

the natural order of things.

There is a natural order of things, Valeri.

I always believed so.

People who are mature and serious believe so,

and that's why they succeed in life.

You need help.

I want you to see someone. Talking to him will relieve you.

I know my chronic stomach discomforts are a digestive problem.

I've eaten my mother,

then afterwards I periodically vomit her up;

but then...

she's outside again...

in front of me...

and eventually I can't help but eat her again.

I know now that if I vomit her anew,

it will once again be something I won't know how to handle.

Tell me more about these

recurring dreams

which haunt you.

You dream of a house.

Do you live there?

I think so.

I want to write a poem, but I never have the time.

I'm condemned to work in an awful place

many hours a day

because if I don't,

something terrible will happen:

I'll be unemployed.

A baby's cry grabs my attention

and the house is filled with...

What is the house filled with?

...the smell of baby poo.

Who is that baby?

Do you know?

Feeling better?

Know who I saw today in the hotel?

Christ.

Oh, yes. He shows up from time to time to ask for a glass of water.

Are you lying to me?

Only partially.

I've never seen him,

but they tell me he works in the casino.

In the hotel's casino?

There's a kind of lottery,

but I've never gone. It scares me.

Scares you?

There are certain things...

that I'd rather not know.

that I shouldn't know.

Heart attack.

Romero, Vicente...

- Cirrhosis. - No!

Rodriguez, Jos�... Cancer.

Chaynne, Carola... AIDS.

Fern�ndez, Josefina... Car accident.

Jesus Christ.

I have to find him.

I know he's here.

Who?

The dreamer of this dream.

There are hundreds of people in this hotel;

how will you find him?

I don't know...

maybe by asking him the day and time.

If he doesn't know...

Do you know?

Neither do I.

Nobody knows.

Didn't you notice there aren't any clocks?

...not even an almanac ...a newspaper?

Newspaper, yes! In the hall!

I saw someone reading a newspaper!

Mr. Petersen!

What are you doing here?

Who is that?

He's the Head of Human Resources from my office!

Maybe he knows something.

I'm going to say, "Hi".

Mr. Petersen; what a coincidence!

What coincidence?

Seeing you here.

Do you always come to this hotel to summer?

They're getting rid of many people.

I'll defend you,

but don't get there late.

What did he tell you?

You look worried.

He told me to...

get to the office early on Monday.

Wonderful! That means he knows you!

Go ahead, ask him for a name!

It's Mr. Petersen, the Head of Human Resources.

No, ask him what your name is!

No. No.

He'd notice I'm a little confused.

He might fire me for health reasons.

Valeri,

do you think he might be the one dreaming me?

...that he might be dreaming with me

because Monday he's going to tell me I'm fired?

If that were the case...

What are you going to do?

You know it's inevitable.

I'm going to kill him.

I think he knows; he's rushing through his drink.

Do you have a good motive?

I don't even have a motive; I don't know who he is.

That's why I can't help myself.

Don't worry;

if it's he who's dreaming us

he'll merely wake up anxious.

And if it's not him?

You're turning into a murderer.

Valeri,

tell me the truth:

haven't you thought about going out in the streets, clutching revolvers,

firing through a cloud of shells until it's no longer possible?

We're still here.

We're still here.

There is the explanation for everything.

Who else is in that apartment? Do you remember?

I don't remember.

I don't remember it being in the dream.

But there is something else.

Yes, the smell of baby poo.

Therefore, there's a baby,

and someone with it, obviously.

Are you afraid of marriage?

...and having a child?

You might be dreaming me, you colossal son of a bitch!

You shouldn't stick your nose in the dreams of others!

Get your hands up!

Easy! Easy!

-I can help you -If you're dreaming,

I'm going to fuck up your dream!

I'm going to make it a nightmare, and you're going to leave me in peace!

Say "Mama"!

"Ma-Ma"!

Mama!

Again! Louder!

Open you mouth wider!

Ma...

Ma!

I'm still here...

The book in the cabinet?

I would have to ask the manager.

Don't say anything;

it will be something old by the time you say it.

The mystery of life is interrupted in my presence.

The mere movement of a clumsy finger of mine

puts an end to dreams...

endeavors...

illusions...

memories.

I've noticed that the names disappear when they stop breathing.

All the dead are anonymous.

I don't feel guilt.

Thanks to my mercy, many no longer suffer,

but apparently they have not stopped dreaming,

for I am still here...

suffering.

It wasn't me. I swear to you.

A 60-year old man on the second floor: it wasn't me.

Well, then someone other than you is killing people in the hotel.

Did you see a wound?

No, I only took his pulse,

but when I saw he was dead I thought you had...

No.

He must have died of sadness, like so many others.

I'm going to give up the search.

I've already killed some twenty people...

I'm still here.

Valeri,

have you considered that

maybe the person dreaming us

might not be in the hotel?

Considered he might have killed the man you found?

Have you considered God?

A Dreaming God?

...who as some point during creation

took a nap and stayed asleep?

Is that what you think?

If we were a dream of God's,

upon waking might he feel a certain nostalgia for that which he dreamed.

Although perhaps he'd remember us as a nightmare.

In that case, there's no way around it.

For God, this may be a dream,

but for you, it is reality.

Help me wake him.

Wake who?

Wake God.

Why not go to the casino and talk to his son?

You're the one who told me that man is Christ.

Or better yet...

why don't you kill him?

Again?

If that doesn't wake him...

That's no going to get you anywhere!

I was looking for you.

Have a seat, please.

Keep me company.

Yesterday, I got lucky at the casino.

I was able to rescue the Crown from the pawn shop.

Look at it.

Pick it up.

It's very valuable.

Whenever I get an irrational urge to have a "caf� con leche" with buttered bread,

I go and pawn it.

Are you willing to go all the way?

Are you the one dreaming all this?

Dreaming?

I paid a high price for my dreams.

Don't fuck with me anymore.

Is that you?

No.

But it is, it is you! Look carefully.

Are you married?

I don't know.

If you hadn't told me that was me,

I would never have recognized myself.

And her?

I don't remember.

It's possible that I loved her.

It's possible that she also loved me.

I don't remember.

There's no one as poor as a man without memories.

Nevertheless, that is a memory.

That is the mirror's memory.

That wedding must have occurred in these rooms.

Maybe you're right;

why leave the dream?

My only way out is to love you.

I'm going to lose myself in you to forget the nightmare.

Let yourself go.

What you know is just a stop on the way to your destination.

The goal does not exist.

Baby! Good Baby!

No, sweetie!

There, there, there, there, sweetie!

Whoa! What a dirty baby! What a baby!

My baby! No, my sweetie!

There, there, there, there, sweetie!

There! My baby! Well, that's it!

If I love you, I think God will begin to acknowledge me.

We're in the mirrors;

now we're an eternal memory.

For a century, anyone who enters this lounge will know of us.

We are immortal.

We float.

We always return to the surface.

It's impossible to sink forever and remain alive, Valeri.

What a nightmare!

What a nightmare!

I feel as if at some point I opened a door I shouldn't have;

as if at some point I went down a corridor that led me here...

and I don't know where here is.

Don't worry!

They'll never be able to catch us!

General Production Eliseo Subiela's Professional School of Film

Images inspired by the work of CRISTOBAL TORAL