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- Hi, good afternoon.
- How are you?

- Hello. Another year.
- Good afternoon.

- How are you?
- It's lovely to see you.

- How are you doing? You too.
- I'm happy to see you. As good
as always.

- A couple of signatures, as
usual, please.
- Okay.

- Is it very busy?
- Yeah.

Given the circumstances.

- And the festival will be full.
- Yes.

Yes, nothing like last year.

- Right.
- It's improved immensely.

Okay, so room 307, third floor,
wifi password as usual.

- Perfect.
- And welcome.

- Thanks. Lovely to see you.
- Thank you. You too.

See you later.

I came here for the first time

in... It was 1982.

This is heaven.

I mean, it's the perfect city.

Personally, I could tell you
a thousand different adventures.

Here I've seen some people close up

to whom my admiration and gratitude

for their achievements was infinite.

I saw a man here called Robert Mitchum.

I also saw one of the directors

I've admired the most.
He was here when he was very
old,

shortly before dying,

Joseph Mankiewicz.

And I saw a lady called Bette Davis.

Venice is fascinating, of course.

Venice is also fascinating.

And Berlin in February is
a whole different story.

It's like a different climate,
a different atmosphere.

And Cannes in May,

with those colors of the French Riviera.

But San Sebastián...

It's just that I'm in love with the city.

I think...

it has everything.

The food and drink is out of this world.

And if, on top of that,
it's a good year and you get to
see...

I'm not asking for that many,

but if you see three or four
films that move you,

that you discover for the first time,

well, then that's happiness.

Without realizing it,
I've been coming here 35 years
now.

And the time is coming for me to retire.

THE CRITIC

He's been the most feared,

most hated, most loved,
most respected critic.

I think he still is.
We're talking with Carlos
Boyero.

I remember when I used to
sneak into the festival

they already said, "Look, Boyero!"

As if they were pointing out

a creature in the woods, "Look,
a bear!" "Look, Boyero!"

He would go by, and you'd say,
"Wow, dude, Boyero."

When you make it, you become a
director, and Boyero finally
slags you off,

you think, "Shit, now I'm a director."

I remember panicking every time
we were invited to a festival,
thinking,

"What will Boyero say?"

I remember Carlos Vermut saying,

"What will Boyero say?"

Well, what could he say? "No."

I think Carlos Boyero has become
somewhat the "Last of the
Mohicans" in a long line

of people who are politically incorrect

and say the things
they think very clearly and
forcefully.

He's a model of honesty.

That's what makes him authentic.

And also what leads on
generation after another to
follow Boyero.

Because they can see an authenticity

they can't find
anywhere else in this world.

If there were rankings,
he'd be number one.

What other critic is as relevant
as Carlos Boyero?

I can't think of any other name.

He achieved something

I think is impossible to achieve
any longer, which is a fan club.

Sure, he's a critic, but he's
also a rockstar.

He's a rockstar and a stand-up comedian.

Every time the word "Boyero"
shows up on Twitter,

it becomes a trending topic.

I'd tell Boyero to go fuck
his fucking mother. Who is
Boyero?

For me, Boyero symbolizes the patriarchy,

classism, sexism, and all the
"isms" you can think of.

That's me.

I think Boyero has gone above
and beyond the role of a film
critic.

He's a man from another era

who sometimes makes sexist
comments which I obviously don't
share,

but it's true
he has an approachable style

and has taken film critique
to new places, You know?

Places where maybe other, more
intellectual critics,

or those that use a different
language might not reach.

I'd rather share my enthusiasm
for good films and receive
solidarity

towards my annoyance with bad ones.

I enjoy reading his negative
criticisms of friends of mine.

When he shreds a colleague, you
think, "Oh, my God, what he just
said!

Look, look at what he says!
Here he calls it mediocre.

And here he says
the first act doesn't work."

Truly, he's a film noir character.

He's a film noir character, no doubt.

I'd love to play Boyero.

Not a bad idea, doing a show
about a Carlos Boyero
doppelganger.

"Carlos, not the terrorist, the critic."

He's a species on the brink of
extinction.

Hi, good morning.

- I'm here for my accreditation.
- Press?

- Excuse me? Press, yes.
- Great. Can I have your ID,
please?

- Oh, good, you have the program
on paper.
- Yeah.

- Paper has disappeared from
everywhere.
- Yes, it has.

I was worried.

- What should I write here?
- Your name, please.

My name here?

Yes.

And your first surname is enough.

- Sorry about my handwriting.
- Don't worry.

It looks like a madman's.

Even I can't understand it.

- I'll give you a copy, okay?
- Okay.

You can find the receipt

on "My festival"
with your user and password.

I don't have...

- I don't have internet.
- Okay.

- I have one of these phones,
look.
- Yeah.

You don't... Okay. What about a computer?

It's an Alcatel.
You won't have heard of it.

- I have. My grandfather has one.
- You have?

- Oh, okay, your grandfather has
one?
- Yeah.

- Okay. Anyway...
- Then...

Do you have a computer?

You should have received an
email with your user passwords.

Yeah, but I don't...

- I don't know.
- Okay, then I'll lead you
somewhere

you can tell them your situation.

- Okay.
- Hold on, this isn't ready.

Tell your grandfather
we have the same phone.

- I'll tell him.
- Thank you very much.

- Thank you. See you.
- Thanks. Bye.

No, I haven't created it.

I might just be a character.

I am.

Maybe I'm despicable,

but I've never been fake.
I've never built an image for
myself

or anything like that.

Everything was much more natural.

I lived on the outskirts of Salamanca.

In a neighborhood called Caserna.

I believe in the goodness of people

thanks to my mother.

My mother and a sister of hers,
an aunt, were innocent,

generous beings.

Very generous.

And my father...

No, I didn't like him at all.

I didn't like his nature.

I didn't like his attitude towards life,

towards my mother or towards myself.

I obviously dropped his name.

My name is Carlos Sánchez.

Boyero is my mother's surname.

My parents took me to the movies

twice a week.

I remember the first film
that made me think,

"This is cinema.
It's something wonderful."

It was called Prince Valiant.

Being at the movies was so beautiful.

I remember the theatres in
Salamanca fondly.

Those were my early years.

Then my father was sent to live
at a village

in a different constituency of Salamanca.

It's a place called Sequeros.

And I lived there
until I was 9 years old,

when he sent me to boarding school.

Run by the Piarists.

The most horrible memories are
those that leave an indelible
mark on you.

Until the day I die I'll
remember those people, the
cassock-robed men,

as a murder of crows.

Powerful, cruel.

I guess your character is shaped
by many things.

And my hatred towards power
isn't something abstract,

it's not a theory.
I've seen how they brandish
power.

Against the weak, who were the children.

Children walking around the yard
non-stop until five in the
morning,

in freezing or snowed yards.

Or on our knees.

I had a sense of all the kinds
of abuse against certain people.

I was the empire of the beasts.

I also connect...

Cassocks have a certain smell.

They're viscous.

Cassocks and liquor.
Some of them, besides
worshipping God

and spending their days... They
didn't neglect the pleasures of
alcohol.

But mainly it's stale sweat.

Sometimes they let you out
during the week

if there was someone
in the city that came for you.

On those occasions I made the
most of it and asked to be taken
to the movies.

Carlos was one...

For me, he was one of my best friends.

He would let me borrow books of
his, an encyclopedia he had

because he wanted to apply
for a contest from that time
called

Las diez de últimas.

Maybe they didn't let him
participate because he was just
a kid.

But he'd give me the
encyclopedia, I'd ask him
questions about film history

and he would answer them all.

Later, when I was a bit older,
I sneaked away.

I remember the feeling
of Salamanca covered in snow.

One of my two favorite pictures
I saw one of those times.

Sneaking out of school at night,
at a theatre called Garrido,

where they had double bill.

That film moved me.

It was called The Hustler.

THE HUSTLER

"How can I lose?"

"How can I lose?" says Eddie
Felson to himself over and over.

The main character is a pool
player with loads of talent,

but his exploiter tells him

talent isn't enough to make it,
you also need character.

That black and white, the world
of alcohol and...

It moved me deeply, yes.

I understood what was happening
and felt it very close to me.

When they kicked me out of school,

my parents received a letter
in which the priest

or the precept, or whoever said
I was going to end up in jail.

Well...

They weren't too far off.

My rebellion was...

It was useless. But I never,

ever lowered my head,
though I received countless
blows.

We ended up in what was known
as "the leftovers" school,

the Nebrija school,

which was run by civilians.

We were so delighted,
so happy to have left behind the
cassocks.

The average age there

for last year, pre-university
students was 20, maybe 21.

Imagine, some of them were even married.

People kicked out from every
school, all of the expelled.

I was a drinker, a smoker,

and a regular at the whorehouses.

Today they might put me in jail for that,

but I was a minor,
they couldn't do anything.

I started studying Philosophy

because they told me
I had to study a degree.

So I signed up for that one
because they said it was the
easiest.

I failed every subject.

And in 1972 I moved to Madrid.

I can't forget the first time I saw him.

It was the first day at university.

I saw a guy standing at the
door, leaning on the frame,

looking with disdain
at all of us inside the class.

I said, "Great, someone uglier than me"

Then he came in and said
something along the lines,

"This is full of shitty leftwingers."

Don't ask me how, but we started
talking and the following day,

24 hours later, we were still talking.

Talking about movies and...

I guess we became friends
because of the movies,

and then literature,
because among all of us at that
school,

Carlos was, without a doubt, the
one who had seen more films

and read more books.

So the most important guys were there,

Boyero, Fernando Trueba,
Óscar Ladoire, Julio Sánchez
Valdés.

All of us at university
wanted to be directors.

Some wanted to be Kubrick,
others Glauber Rocha, and others
Godard.

Carlos was the only one who had decided,

"I'm not doing anything."

That was his life's ambition.

Not just films, nothing.

I didn't take my exams or went to class.

My friends would do it for me.

My father sent me money
if I showed him my grades.

My job then was playing poker.

They would get back from
university at three in the
afternoon.

They woke me up,

and depending on how things had
gone the previous night,

I invited them all to lunch,
to drinks, to the movies.

If things had gone badly, then nothing.

Boyero has always been
a very generous guy.

If he had money, he had no
problem, he'd invite everyone.

I fact, they expelled him
from the university residence

where he lived because he won
the cook's salary.

A married man, with kids.

The cook stood up for him,
but the residence's directors

couldn't allow him winning this guy.

It's just that he was very good
playing poker, very good.

No, it wasn't like that.

No, I was kicked out for...

For doing drugs.

I started smoking hash,
weed, I dropped my first acids.

So they kicked me out.

I'm so bored.

What is it? You don't like this music?

Don't you have anything livelier?

Well, we bought the record
player recently
and we only have two records,

one by Ramoncín,
and the other by Stockhausen.

My appearances in films
fill me with embarrassment.

Relationships with women,
the shorter the better.

You use them, like toilet paper,
you squeeze them and you throw
them away.

We would shoot amateur,
really shabby short films,

and always used our friends as actors.

Some of them became actors later.

One of those short films,

by Julio Sánchez Valdés,
I forgot to mention,

was Boyero's starring role,

sharing the screen with me,
imagine the quality,

and it was called Tonight is the night.

Tonight is the night.

- Understood?
- Tonight, fucking hell.

We shot it at my sister's.
And the actresses

were three girls we picked up at a bar

because we need three actresses
and didn't know anyone.

Carlos, this is a done deal.

Listen. I'll keep Marisa,
who seems the most nervous, like
we said,

- and you take care of the
others.
- Great idea.

So, while you fuck that one,

I have to entertain the other
two, right? No fucking way, man.

That was him.

He wasn't an actor.

He was like that, a character.

He had that way of talking, that voice.

He's still very much the same.

That's why we gave him roles suited to,

for example, pimp.

That doesn't mean...
But you know, he could

he could manage himself there.

Not moving, smoking,
glaring, that kind of thing.

Some say I'm an asshole,
that I don't have any morals.

But my morals are these. This
lady, this car, what you see
over there.

So, I'm doing great.

People can keep their morals.
I have a good thing going.

I'll open another pub.
And if I fall, then I'll fall
hard.

Right now I'm great.

I'm going to call him for
something we're doing, so he can
play

Cabrero, instead of Boyero,
a sour film critic.

Really? Are you kidding me?

For a Shakespeare adaptation he's doing?

I was passionate about films.

But I never wanted to be a film critic.

I always considered Carlos a writer.

Not a film critic, a writer.

He was a guy who had a lot of
books inside him.

Unfortunately, he didn't write them.

It was Fernando who gave me the idea

of going to La guía del ocio,
which was very important then.

Anybody who went out
in Madrid at night, to the
movies,

to dinner, to have a few drinks,

would buy La guía del ocio. And Fernando,

I think he suggested it, he
said, "Why don't you write about
the night?

Which is what you do every day,
roam around."

So I started writing a section

in La guía del ocio called
"Madrid at night"

o "Madrid leisure", I can't remember.

This was in the seventies.

When I started
directing, I was a journalist

for El País and La guía del ocio.

And I quit both jobs.

Carlos started at La guía del
ocio taking over from me.

It spread like wildfire.

People talked about a guy writing

in a certain way about films.

And that was me.

Carlos Boyero is a film critic

at Casablanca magazine
and La guía del ocio.

Carlos, did you enjoy this film?

- Yes, I had a great time.
- Why?

People responded to me
and still respond to this day.

I knew him as a critic
at La guía del ocio, I read his
critics.

And since he used to slag off
all the Russian films I
distributed,

I read him even more, thinking,
"This bastard doesn't like
anything."

Russian films, Greek films,

French films that were
boring everyone to death.

Carlos fit in comfortably into
what was then called "taste
critique".

That is, critics
uninterested in pointing out

issues like... language issues.

That's something more common
in the critics that came after
him.

Let's say it's in the vein of something

more related to certain forms
of writing by columnists

in the Spanish press, people
like Paco Umbral, for example.

The author is as big a star
as what he's writing about, and
the work

he's writing about.

He's a very good writer.

Maybe not a good critic,
but he's a great writer.

Without wanting to convey a
certain style,

he's created a style.
And that's interesting.

Because he plays around with
very short sentences.

He's a bit like Hemingway in
that respect.

That short phrase which is
very pointed, very efficient.

And then there's another thing,
and I think this is important.

You understand what he's saying.

Many critics write and,

al least I don't understand them.

He writes from a place of emotion.

His reviews are based on emotions,

or on his most immediate
reactions after watching the
film.

It's a review born from the "I".

Personally, I don't identify as
much with this.

I'm usually more distant,
basing criticism on arguments.

He says things I believe
should be excluded from a
review.

He never explains why he likes things.

The first review I received from Carlos

was titled "Well-crafted nonsense".

It's true, it was nonsense.

And him recognizing
it was well-crafted, that was
great.

The review I remember the most...

I think it was for Caníbal, yes...

The title was "This cannibal is
neither scary nor moving".

I remember sitting there,
reading the paper, thinking,

"Well, okay.

Neither scary nor moving."

I remember the review for Gordos.

For me it had been a year of work,

a year of my life.
Well, he said something like,

"Some characters make you reel,
like the bitter,

depressed homosexual
played by Antonio de la Torre."

And whatever else he said.

And man...

I'm asking for quality.

I'm asking for quality.
You might ask, "What is
quality?"

- Well, whatever I like. And
that's that.
- Right. It's subjective.

He always defends his honesty,
saying he never lies.

I always tell him honesty
is one of the most despicable
things.

For me there's no value
when someone comes to me

and starts by saying,
"I'll be honest with you."

I know they're going to take out
a baseball bat and start
pounding me.

A friend of mine always says,

"If Boyero can insult two
people, why would he settle for
one?"

And it's true. If he can
provoke, he'll provoke to the
very end.

He's the ultimate.

He's an extreme person.
I can't not like that.

I mean...

I prefer an insult from Boyero
than a praise from someone I
think is mediocre.

A film is something
that eats up a chunk of your
life.

And the doubts you feel about
the chunk of your life that film
has eaten up,

makes it very hard

to keep your distance
from what you've made.

You have to be especially mature
not to be bewitched by

an extremely positive review.

And not to let yourself be
floored by complete disdain.

Well, what's the critic's

- role?
- In my case, I'm

an audience member,

which is one of the things
I like the most in the world.

And I have the amazing luck
of getting paid

for telling

what he sees at the movies
and the feelings that films

awake in him.

One day the director told me I
would never give a bad review to
any film.

Pleasing the multinationals.

Because it was huge business.

La guía del ocio, which had ads,
got rid of him because there was

one distributor who wouldn't
buy advertising on the magazine

because Boyer's reviews were bad.

That's when I said,
"If he leaves, I'm not buying
ads."

They fired me, we went to court,
endless hearings

in which they accused me
of things as far-fetched

as debasing morality or my vices...

I won the case, they had to pay
me a load of money, pay a fine,

and on top of that, they lost me.

Getting in trouble
with authority and power

is something that has come up frequently.

Hi, how are you?

- Should we kiss with or without
this?
- Come here.

How are you?

- Is everything okay?
- Yeah.

Here you have me once more.

Do I have to take this paper
to the screenings?

Yes.

So I can see...

- Yes.
- My seat and everything.

- I'll hang this around my neck
too.
- Carry that.

Cannes was...

What happened to me was terrible.

The organizers were a disaster.

And then the films, which were awful.

I only saw a couple of interesting ones.

I know the critics were saying
it had been a fabulous Cannes
festival.

I felt so disheartened,

I started thinking, "Well, this...

This is over, Carlos."

And here, I don't know, let's
see how things end this year.

Let's see if I have
any spirit or moral strength
left.

What I've enjoyed the most about
festivals

is that at certain times of the
year, Berlin in February,

Cannes in May, end of August, Venice,

September San Sebastián,

I got together with a group of
people for many decades.

We enjoyed each other's company, and...

bitching against everyone

but with a lot of wit
and having a lot of fun.

It was Oti Rodríguez Marchante,
José Ramón Rey, Cristina Gil,

Ángel Fernández Santos, it was Boyero.

Sometimes we managed to get
Carlos Heredero out of the
theatre.

They didn't mix with other people.

I think one of their problems
was they didn't speak any other
languages.

Sure enough, they were always together.

For dinner, for lunch...

They also sat together at the screenings.

It also happened to be
what you might call

a "golden era" for...

Well, for...

journalists.

For critics.

I've missed those dinners very much.

The best times I've had
in the film industry

were during these dinners where...

Maybe you had Gasset around, it was...

absolutely crazy.

Some died, others retired,

others started doing other things.

And there were two of us left
from the group.

Damn, on the first days of a
festival you're already

thinking differently, with those films...

They're such pain.

Such a pain, man.

- I liked the Argentinian one
best, with...
- The Argentinian?

I imagined as much. What were
they then? Lesbians as well?

They're just kids. My son's age.

I was watching the teenage world.

- To understand...
- Mother of God.

No, he's a completely different

Carlos Boyero from the one...

I guess it's a self-defense mechanism.

There's the Boyero they make out
to be and the other Carlos
Boyero,

who is a truly lovely person.

He has a caring nature some film
directors might be surprised to
see.

He's someone who is
a very caring, very friendly
person.

Even though he often speaks
about himself,

he's very interested in others.

That's the greatest paradox
surrounding Carlos.

That someone with such a dark
view of life, of the world,

can be so joyous, so full of life,

such a good friend to his
friends, enemy to his enemies.

Carlos suffers
when he comes to San Sebastián

and has a negative review
for a friend's film at the
festival.

He's even told me,

"I'm thinking about skipping my
review for San Sebastián because

you're my friend."
"No way, Carlos, say whatever
you want."

Carlos' favorite plan

on a Saturday or a Sunday
is an invitation to lunch with
your kids.

He doesn't have a large family
of his own,

and he often takes shelter in...

In mine and in other friend's families.

With my kids he has a
relationship akin
to that of an uncle.

Yes, I would have liked,
I would have liked...

I would have probably liked
to have children.

I don't have my parents,
I don't have siblings,

I haven't had a partner

for some time.

A very long time.

I have friends.

That I do have.

- What's on tomorrow?
- I...

I have no fucking idea.

And today I've had to go running for...

- For these papers.
- What papers?

They've written down the films,
the row and all that.

This year is really hard work.

- You just have...
- And the damn glasses.

Yours don't fog up?

Let's see. What day is tomorrow?

Oh, Blue Moon!

- Blue moon? What's that one?
- A Romanian one.

- You'll like it.
- I love them.

New Romanian cinema is...

- I think it's...
- It's not that new.

Okay, what wine shall we choose?

Okay, let's see.
I'm sure it's good. I like
everything.

I like everything. Every film
and every wine.

Carlos is someone who has...

He's almost like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide.

He can be the most wonderful,
most generous man,

the most loving man. And then he can be

terrible when he starts writing.

I've talked about this with him
many times.

Sometimes he hurts people
who don't deserve it.

If someone lands in his sights...

Even his friends.

He's argued with many of them.

We've fought plenty of times.

I was at my intern's desk, he came over

and said,

"Are you Lucas?"

I said, "Yeah."

"Let that be the las time
in your fucking life

you change a single letter
of what I've written."

He took a rolled newspaper
he was carrying, El Mundo,

and kicked it so hard

it landed on the other end
of the newsroom.

I've been his enemy sometimes,
for three days.

I was his enemy
and we would never speak again.

That did happen.

It was at a Cannes festival,
where we argued about...

I can't even remember the
argument. It was ridiculous.

It was about Mayor Oreja.

On two occasions we stopped talking.

Both of them...

One lasted six months or so,
and the other a year or more.

One started
at the house of a mutual friend.

Carlos was having a bad night
and being an asshole.

Since the others didn't dare
call him on it, I had to do it.

We didn't see each other for 25 years.

People couldn't understand it.

"Weren't you friends?
What is it? Did you argue?"

And I said, "No, no.

I've never argued with Carlos."

You either take him or leave him.

Some of us take him

because he really is worthwhile
as a friend.

And the thing about Jekyll and Hide,

well...

Sure, there can be two halves, obviously.

It also depends a lot
on that thing called alcohol.

Booze and drugs transform people

and their behavior,

as well as giving you great pleasure.

Thank you.

I'm going to drink some water,
otherwise...

Once I was at a restaurant and I...

Oti...

Fernando Trueba told me...

This was ages ago.
He said at one point I had

six glasses on the table.

And they were all mine.

- Really?
- I mean...

But that's over.

That's over.

I've enjoyed alcohol very much,

smoking, cocaine,

gambling.

I've lived with it all, and sometimes

I've been trapped by it.

I looked for relief in clinics,

at rehab.

I went back,

I fell off the wagon. I mean...

I've had great times

and terrible times with my...

With my addictions.

How many styles have we known, Oti?

In fashion?

Well, in film, sure yeah.
They're not fashions, they're
styles.

I wouldn't have missed anything
if I hadn't seen

many of those fashions,
I mean, most of them.

- Thai cinema or...
- Thai, Vietnamese.

- Or that guy, Apichatpong...
- He's been around for a long
time.

He's no longer a fashion.

He showed a film a Cannes

and people who like Apichatpong
loved it, but I don't really...

Yeah, that's it, let them enjoy it.

- And the festival director.
- They do enjoy it.

For me it's like they're beating
me up with that guy.

Hitchcock used to say
what cinema was for him.

A theatre.

A full house.

- Yeah.
- With people

who feel something
about what they're seeing.

Does that Apichatpong
make you feel anything?

With some I've seen, yes. With
others, no.

Which Apichatpong did you like?

- No.
- Yes.

I know Apichatpong isn't
an easy director.

But at that time
he represented modern
filmmaking.

If you can't see it, you have a problem.

Anyway, I think Boyero has
always been focused on popular
tastes.

And saying Asian cinema
or others were boring

was really easy, you know?

And people found it funny.

I mean, if they tie me to a seat
and show me

the golden age of Korean cinema
day after day,

I'll die.

When I started working
in film journalism, Carlos
Boyero

was already a star, obviously.

As a journalist, as a film critic.

I remember the year 1992 or 1993,

when we had premieres
on Fuencarral street.

I would leave the screening

and run to a restaurant called
Vips on Fuencarral

to find out if the reviews
had been published

by Ángel and Boyero, which were
the only two critics producers
read.

People who worked in the industry read.

Right now it might seem

it was overdoing it, but then it
really mattered a lot

having people filling up the theatre.

At least that was our feeling
among distributors.

That's why they took me by the
arm and said, "Boyero didn't
like it."

Because then it was...

Forty copies less.

You have power, then.

What I say about certain films

that spend more on marketing
than on production and so on...

That won't affect the box office.

It might have some effect
on more difficult films.

Films people can discover which otherwise

they wouldn't have seen.

That's where I feel useful.

He worked for Diario 16,
Pedro J, Ramírez's newspaper.

And a few years later
he started working for El Mundo.

Carlos Boyero, apart from his
regular film review,

wrote a TV review
in the style of Juan Cueto,
which was

highly entertaining because it
trashed TV.

Does television make programs
for the audience

or for the advertisers?

I believe it's a...

Everything's a spiral, right?

An audience brings in advertising,

and advertising means dosh, dough.

- Money, yes.
- Money?

Boyero knows Pedro J.
will promote and support

his figure and his signature,
because he needs it.

The idea Pedro J. had

when setting up El Mundo
was creating a newspaper

that was extraordinarily plural,
and he succeeds.

Plural means you have to get
into a lot of trouble with your
opinion writers

to keep up with sales and the
controversy.

I think TV strategists...

I sometimes compare them
with drug dealers.

The thing is drug dealers have
very bad press.

The others appear very "light",
very civilized, very clean.

When Carlos reaches
that position of being one of
the

more "outsider" figures, but also

one of the more famous figures
in the newspaper,

the tension ramps up.
Carlos won't keep quiet.

You always say whatever you want, right?

Unless they don't let me
say whatever I want.

I've always been hounded by censorship.

He was extremely happy

busting the balls of Pedro J.
whenever he could.

He was happy picturing him
seated at his desk reading the
column

and banging the table saying,
"Boyero again! Boyero again!"

Something that happened frequently.

I suspect we were mutually
beneficial for each other.

That's why I spent over 20 years

at Diario 16 and El Mundo with him.

Tonight I'm one of those lucky women.

I'm fortunate in that Carlos
Boyero has accepted our
invitation to be here.

Who could refuse something like that?

I'll let you know we both feel
the same for you: complete
devotion.

In the 90s I was in my 20s, and
Carlos was in his 40s or late
30s.

To me he was an ugly man.

But he was a Mick Jagger type,
who was irreverent

and had the guts to be insulting
about films, but funny.

Since he's always been so smart
and so funny, he's had a lot of
fans.

With that voice,
that very studied character,

he picked up a lot of girls.

In fact, his character ended up in films.

I remember the movie

Malena es un nombre de tango,

where there was a character
for which they hired an actor

that looked like him.

I know you don't stumble
into such an attractive guy
every night.

What's your name?

What's yours?

Don't speak, no need to.

- Shall we go?
- Where to?

Do you care?

Was being Boyero a weapon of seduction?

Maybe. I hadn't thought about it.

Maybe it was to my advantage.

But also...

I was with women who didn't know

the character, believe it or not.

So, I was thinking,

what can I ask a man who has
spent 17 years replying each
week

to a chat with his readers
no holds barred?

A man who has spent the last 17
years chatting and he doesn't
have internet.

There can't be another case like
his in the eurozone, right?

There was a time newspapers
would ask you to chat with the
readers,

and I remember Boyero had
a chat, I think it was weekly,

with the readers.

I think that formula
was better suited to Boyero

than traditional reviews.

The chat...

It was really funny watching him
do the chat because...

I mean, he has no clue about...

He knows absolutely nothing
about technology.

In that senses, he's a complete
digital illiterate.

This was...

It started at the end of the century.

It lasted around 17 years, but
it must have begun at El Mundo

in 1998 or thereabouts.

He arrived at an office, a small office,

sat down with a colleague...

People sent me questions
and I answered them. How did I
do it?

Someone would receive the
questions, another selected
them,

another posed them to me.

I answered.

And it was like that

for about 18 years or so,
between El Mundo and El País.

I spoke with people every
Thursday from 1 to 2 pm.

They asked him about everything,
not just about films

or television.
They asked him about his
personal life,

about music, of course, about
literature,
about gastronomy...

And he always had the references at hand.

Because he has an amazing memory.

He probably has
one of the most battered
memories

in the past 40 years
of the history of Spanish
journalism.

Few people have been exposed to
so many liters of alcohol and
other substances,

but his neural synapses are
still so quick and agile.

I think some people
don't need their memories for
anything.

They just have to click on
that... What's it called? Google
or...

And everything just comes up.
Wikipedia, right?

That's what it's called, right?

Regarding the chat, he imagined he was,

who knows, at Del Diego having a drink,

and that he could say the same
thing he would have said

drinking a Negroni
in any of the cocktail bars he
likes.

The fact that Boyero chatted
with the public in such a crude
manner

goes to show that what he really did

was create a character
through his articles.

Boyero's greatest work is the
character of Boyero.

That character shines more
while chatting with an audience

than through the work of a daily
review or even worse, festival
reviews.

The Carlos you see in those
chats is a guy who talked about
everything,

who always tried to be
controversial
and who almost always succeeded.

- Excuse me. You're Carlos
Boyero, right?
- Yes, but, they're

- recording me.
- Yeah, I know. But...

- Would you mind? My dad is a fan. - Yes.

- Yes.
- So am I.

- Could you please sign this?
- All right.

I appreciate it.
My dad has always followed you

and taught me about you.

- Good. Okay.
- We're really hooked.

- What's your father's name?
- Pepón.

- Okay.
- He'll be delighted.

I really appreciate it. You're wonderful.

- They're shooting a documentary.
- I'm sorry!

- Don't worry. My pleasure.
- Thank you so much, sir.

Hi, how are you? Good afternoon.

- Perfect.
- Thanks.

Carlos hasn't written good
reviews about my films in
general.

He's very affectionate when
he sees me, but in writing...

Te doy mis ojos was good.
But, for example,

the films I've made with Paul
have been harshly criticized.

I remember Carlos' review,

"Tosar, as always,
in his internal struggle."

And it hurt.
It hurt because I thought,
"Shit.

Maybe I am always...
Always doing the same thing."

I have to say
I've only spoken with him once.

I probably wasn't aware that he was

such an influential and
important man,
and I spoke to him freely

and unself-aware.
Later on you realize, and think,

- "That was Carlos Boyero."
- Well, he is charming.

- At close quarters he's charming. - Yes.

I had a great time.
We chatted, it was nice.

He was very nice to me, very sweet.

And then you start seeing
things, and getting to know him,
and think,

- "It's Him!"
- Yeah.

He's funny.
Mainly if you're not involved.

If I had his same taste, apart
from funny
I'd find him very interesting,

but we don't have the same tastes.

Lately, I don't know why Carlos

has started to slag
the film he's reviewing

and the previous ones at the same time.

"Why does he feel the need to do that?"

Thank you, Iciar, for your time.

- Let's see what Boyero says
tomorrow.
- Right. Just imagine.

Hi, good morning.

Good morning, sir.

Icíar Bollaín has done such a good job

that I even felt

a lump in my throat. And it has

Blanca Portillo and Luis Tosar
giving impressive performances.

They're very good actors.

And the way she tells the story
is very truthful,

Icíar Bollaín. I think it's a good film.

Just remember

- how great this job was years
ago.
- Fuck.

We've been to loads of
festivals, and the truth is...

Well, it's still like that, really.

But it's true things have gotten worse.

In truth, Oti,

our biggest worry at times was

which restaurant we'd have dinner at.

And these were the best
restaurants in Venice,

- in Berlin...
- Yeah, yeah.

- In Cannes...
- We've had it good.

- And here, in San Sebastián.
- Well...

When this job gave you the
opportunity of having it really
good.

- Now you just get by.
- Right. Sure.

But it's true things have gotten worse.

I suspect...
It's not our case, but there
must be

in our profession, many people
who only get to eat burgers

- and pizza.
- Yeah. No, right.

I feel so sorry for them.
But they eat pizza "buona".

No, but it's true.

- And...
- Hey.

Wow, that looks great.

Goodness, that's great.

Who could have told this poor
sea bream this morning...

- It's today's catch, right?
- Yes.

Today the water was really cold,
we've done him a favor.

Like many in my generation,

I've been self-employed
until very recently.

And expenses...

It's very difficult to get sent
to a festival with all expenses
paid.

And you see some colleagues
in a very precarious position.

So when this man complains
about being sent to Cannes

and not receiving the same
treatment at the Hotel Martinez,

you think, "The closest I get

to the Martinez is taking a
selfie at the door. That's all I
aspire to."

When we founded

the Film Journalists Association
to create the Feroz Awards,

It was crystal clear.

There was a huge generational breach

between the journalists
who went to the Donostia
Festival

and stayed at the Londres hotel,

and those who rented a B&B
with another six people.

Sure.

Now young journalists who go to Cannes

pile up in an apartment

with another five or six people
to be able to attend.

And Boyero stays,

on the newspaper's dime,

at one of the best hotels in Cannes.

That divide has nothing to do
with abilities, but with
generations.

In that sense, Boyero

is one of the last classics
in the critic's guild.

I believe younger generations
look on with a bit of envy,

because, obviously, working
conditions have drastically
worsened.

And they also look on a bit
reproachingly.

I don't know. What do you want me to say?

And...

There's loads of other things like that.

- It's unbelievable.
- Everything.

I mean, when I go to a festival
nobody pays me a single expense.

I pay for everything myself.

It's impossible for a film
critic to make a living just
from that job.

So you'll find critics who
collaborate with a lot of other
media, who teach.

And that's something
we usually like because

it helps you put your ideas in order,

remind you what you already knew
and discover new things.

But I think great part of the
precariousness surrounding film
reviewing

is just linked to the
circumstances of the media.

Carlos Boyero was top-billing,

he was famous, an undeniable heavyweight

in film reviewing
and journalism, you know?

They were looking for an editor
in chief for Culture,

and that's why I came here.

And I brought him with me.

I think we got here on October 15, 2007.

We walked through that door
in here like two true

aliens in a science fiction movie.

Cultural reviews at El País
were based around

the arts and the performing arts,

with names such as
Ángel Fernández Santos,

Eduardo Haro Tecglen, Joaquín Vidal.

In a very brief period of time,
all three of them died.

They died, and we were left thinking,

"We have to find other anchors."

Carlos was already
collaborating with Ser radio,

as well as with Canal Plus on
TV, I think.

So, in that sense,

it wasn't as incoherent
as it might have seem.

One of the things we also
told him was that from now on

all the waves you've made at El Mundo,

which are fine, fantastic,
will be multiplied here

because this is El País.

This is different.
It's another dimension.

I was aware of the risk I was taking.

This was a newspaper that...
In those times it was

even more straight-laced,

even more serious, even more inflexible.

And I was aware of the risk
of the move going against the
grind

of El País at that time.

"Carlos Boyero, impersonating
himself, as well as repeating

day after day his immense weariness,

hasn't had a single problem
loudly proclaiming his walk-out

during the screening
of the latest film by Abbas
Kiarostami."

I was one of those
who set that letter in motion.

It was partially written by me.

I can't recall a single campaign
calling for signatures against a
critic.

More so, a campaign supported
by a public manifesto

signed by filmmakers.

It was sparked by Kiarostami

or because he had walked out
of the screening.

Because of him being so
emotional. And I understand

there was a group of people
who felt aggrieved by it.

"This person has not only given
up his duties as a critic

but failed in his responsibility
as a journalist,

showing his lack of respect
for the readers."

Their set of arguments were...
They were pathetic.

I had written I had walked out
of the screening of an Iranian
film in Venice.

A film that consisted of
pictures of women
for over three hours.

After an hour and a half of watching

women's faces, I said,
"That's it, I don't want to see
any more."

And I left.

Those who go to festivals
and write for the big newspapers

prevent that film from being shown.

They've already said the film is boring

and that if a distributor were
crazy enough to release it in
Spain,

nobody would show up.
Why would they bring it then?

I think a critic has to have an
open mind so they don't miss the
gems.

And to be able to watch cinema
that doesn't follow the Western
cannon,

that uses different cultural
codes, that has a different
sensibility.

If your attitude is one of weariness

or you're surrounded by films
you don't really understand,

it's hard to keep up.

I didn't sign
that document because I thought

it was completely preposterous.

What you can't do is limit
freedom of expression.

It wasn't a letter against
Boyero, it was a letter against

the policy of El País of sending
Boyero and making him suffer.

Because all Boyero does
at festivals is have a terrible
time.

That campaign with signatures
from filmmakers, names that
included

José Luis Guerín, Víctor Erice,

and people from this profession,

was one of the toughest life
experiences for Carlos.

It passed,
but it left a bitter aftertaste.

He lost a few friends along the
way, because they had signed it.

Obviously, El País didn't pay
any fucking attention to them.

And even now, 15 years later,

they still have to suffer me.

Carlos Boyero, throughout his
career, has been in many
controversies

and has clashed with a lot of people.

He had a really tough
confrontation
with Florentino Pérez

while he was a critic
at La guía del ocio.

He clashed with Jesús Gil.

He clashed with José Mourinho

when José Mourinho was coach
at Real Madrid

And the clearest example of this tension

between Boyero as a critic
and part of the Spanish film
industry

is a case that would blow up
a short while after.

Broken Embraces, Boyero.

"The only feeling that stays
with you from start to end is
tedium."

The Skin I Live In, Boyero.

"A notable idiocy.

Banderas's performance
is as grotesque as the film
itself."

I'm So Excited!, Boyero.

"I see no difference between
this product and Mariano Ozores'
crudest comedies."

And the last one, Julieta.

"It doesn't say anything to me.

Neither emotionally nor artistically."

Even more than Almodóvar's
latest film,
a lot of people eagerly await

Boyero's review
of Almodóvar's latest film.

I don't know
how Almodóvar feels about that.

I'd like for Almodóvar
not to care the least bit.

Because I admire Almodóvar.

I want my idols to be as
invulnerable
as I imagine them.

But... it's really hard.

I'd say that, for Pedro Almodóvar,

El País is more than a newspaper.

It's almost part
of his emotional and political
education.

So having precisely

that newspaper
that Pedro feels so close to

dealing him the hardest
blows, the heaviest

blows Pedro Almodóvar has ever
received, he probably doesn't
like it.

And what he once did,
sending a letter to the paper

asking for explanations
and for Carlos' head,

was a hot-headed move that made no sense.

Almodóvar would have liked, and
I say this

knowingly, and convinced even
more with every passing day...

He would have wanted Carlos
Boyero and myself kicked out of
ElPaís.

What he wrote, "It's
inexplicable that Carlos Boyero

and Borja Hermoso are at El País.

It's inexplicable that El País
could send Carlos Boyero and
Borja Hermoso

to a festival such as Cannes",

those are statements made directly

to create a situation in which

you will be called to attention
and maybe even let go of.

There's something else
we couldn't allow as
journalists.

I have a film critic.

When I deem he's not doing
his job right or going against

the interests of the directors
or of the newspaper,

I have the right to remove him.

But as long as I don't remove him,

what I don't have the right to
do is tell him what he has to
write.

Why can Carlos get away with it?

Because, in the end, every media outlet

has some wiggle room for these incidents.

And at El País,
that wiggle room is taken up by
Carlos.

And he takes it up.

He does it impeccably.
Better than anyone.

There has always been

a different treatment
to the one in general...

But he couldn't complain.
I think this newspaper

has supported the project,

the view, the importance
of Pedro Almodóvar's
cinematography.

What does that support mean? It means

giving him four pages
instead of half a column.

It means opening the Sunday magazine,

which at that time had a print run

of over a million copies, which is huge,

with a film by Almodóvar.

There's something about him,
about Almodóvar's world I don't
like.

I think it belies

emphasis, fakeness, calculation,

following all the trends.

And those films...

It's not that I don't like them,
it's just that

they make me... They make me sick.

It's not true that he trashes
every Almodóvar film.

I remember the review for Volver.

I had a role in Volver, so I was
on top of it. For Volver he
wrote

a fabulous review.

After 15 years,

- there's something...
- Twelve to be precise.

- Twelve years?
- Yeah.

Well there's something in the
work, in Almodóvar's latest
film, that I like.

Something. That doesn't mean much.

Ortega said a review
shouldn't just be a judgement,

but that it should complete the film.

And in that sense I think
Boyero's reviews of Almodóvar's
films

don't complete them,

they're a form of emotional release.

What does this Almodóvar film
make you feel?

It makes me feel... I know this word

is awful, but what it makes me feel

is that unpleasant
second-hand embarrassment.

Us Spanish film journalists

tend to be polite towards
Spanish cinema. That is,

when the review is negative
we use kinder descriptors,

and sometimes we get overexcited
when something is good.

We're human, that's the thing.
The Spanish
film industry is a small world.

Every actor that premieres a film

usually has another one coming
the following year.

In the end we all meet at the Goyas,

at the Feroz,
throughout the awards season,

in Málaga, in San Sebastián.

You're constantly seeing these people.

That doesn't mean you become
friends, but there's a certain
closeness.

And that attitude, which I support,

Boyero, not only doesn't share it,

but he feels repulsed by these things.

By the fact we're not treating
equally Rodrigo Sorogoyen and
Spielberg.

The ten films that have
interested us most in the show.

We even have

a Spanish one for those who
accuse us of never promoting

home-made talent.

I work for El Periódico
mainly doing film reviews

for almost every Spanish films.

And I do all the interviews
related to Spanish cinema.

I'm pretty much boxed in, in that sense.

It's hard, because

you have to face films
you're going to review
negatively,

and you're doing an interview.

It's a shame that has to...
It has to be that way.

Not having any kind of relationship

is much easier, right?

In that sense,
he's one of the few critics

who doesn't have to interview
or report on a press conference

where they've presented Maixabel. No.

He watches the film,

he has no relationship
with the team that made the
film,

he sees the press screening,
and the writes his review.

Aren't you a bit tired about
this "legendary" animosity
towards Almodóvar?

- Haven't you had enough?
- Well...

I don't know, it seems people

- still enjoy the whole issue.
- If you keep on stoking it...

No, what I'd really like
would be to enjoy

his films. The thing is I get
really bored

with this guy's movies.

I can't stand it. Even worse now

he's reached the heavens
of great art and all that
bullshit.

I once suggested to Carlos,
not that long ago, the
following, "Hey,

if I got Pedro Almodóvar to come
and talk with you, would you do
it?"

No. No.

No way. I'm not...

I'm not interested in the least
in sharing even one
conversation,

an interview or anything

with a guy who has spent half
his life calling for my head.

El Deseo, Pedro Almodóvar's
production company,

has rejected the invitation
to participate in this
documentary

I realized something had changed
in this country one day I joked

about Carlos Boyero in class

and said, "Well, this film
is one of those Carlos Boyero

would qualify as..." whatever.

And their faces were completely unfazed.

So I said, "What is it?
You don't know who Carlos Boyero
is?"

Not a single student from a double degree

in journalism and audiovisual media

ever read Boyero.
They didn't even know who he
was.

He's lost his influence, definitely.

Carlos and critics in general.
It's been lost.

From the moment people no longer read

newspapers and magazines
like they used to.

Yes.

I get the feeling we're the only
ones reading each other's
articles.

Among ourselves in the industry.

And reaching further than that
is very difficult. Very
difficult.

You might have more impact
with those tweets we were
talking about

than a review in Fotogramas.

The democratization brought on
by social media

has advantages and disadvantages.

Everyone can say what they think,

but it seems every opinion
has the same weight.

No. Not every opinion has
the same weight.

Younger audiences don't read reviews.

So critics no longer have the power

they once had and sometimes abused.

Another thing is that today
we're used to
those 140 or 280 characters.

People are used to being told...

I mean, just a summary
in one or two lines tops.

At the newspaper we can see
how many readers

read the headline, the first paragraph,

the second paragraph,
and you feel like crying.

Now you're obsessed
by how many followers you have,

how many people see you,
how you're getting ahead.

How many tweets you have to write a day

for it to be relevant or not.

Look, I think Boyero did that
right. From the very beginning

he decided not to go into that game.

When I taught film review at ESCAC,

we obviously spoke about

Carlos among many others,
we spoke about everyone.

Most of my students
didn't read his reviews.

I think young people today
don't identify with Carlos'
worldview.

They call us fuddy-duddies, right?

Well that's it,
this fuddy-duddy stays with...

You're not a fuddy-duddy for
the hipsters.

You're a legend.

Really? I'm not so sure.

- A fuddy-duddy legend.
- A fuddy-duddy legend.

He might have lost some of his
clout because times have
changed.

Because the kind of films
he advocates for

are probably not the films
that are trending. In fact,

he boasts about being
a bit old-fashioned.

Of not being modern, as he says.
He says he hates hipsters.

But Carlos is still a very
well-read critic,

with an ample knowledge
of music, literature.

He has a knowledge I think is
lacking in most critics.

A friend of mine
who is a film distributor,

Enrique González Kuhn,
talks about how influential
Carlos is

for some sectors of filmgoers,
older, adult filmgoers.

"A demented film."

"Pseudo psychological bore."

"Incomprehensible and sleep-inducing."

These are some of the notes

on Beginning, a Georgian film
that triumphed

at the latest San Sebastián festival.

The film's distributor, "Surtsey
Films", is promoting it on
social media

with your opinions.

What I've just read
was said or written by you.

Yeah, sure.

If this Carlos Boyero thinks it's awful,

those who disagree with him

- almost always...
- It's an anti-recommendation.

They'll be seeing a masterpiece.
Okay then, go see it.

A lot of people think,
"If Carlos Boyero says it's so,
it is."

Regardless of the witticisms
or provocations

he leaves along the way.
A lot of people connect with his
view.

Even today.

I think so.
People are aware about what he
says.

"Let's read Boyero."
Wanting to know what Boyero
says,

in my case...

Definitely,
Boyero's opinion is very
important to me.

I don't know what the future holds

for professional reviews.
I do know reviews will still
exist.

As long as there are films,
people will think about them.

They'll reflect on what movies tell us

and what we are through them.

How many will be able to make a
living as critics? I don't know.

In this year's Official Section

I've had to suffer endless,
well-intentioned shit.

Many of them directed by women.

The festival has decided to be

the foremost standard bearer
for feminism.

The jury is composed
of one man, and the rest are
women.

And the films,

I don't know if they've done
this on purpose or not,

but all of them
or almost all of them approach

those issues that seem

to be so important in this day and age.

This year, for the first time,

if I recall correctly,
there was just one more film

directed by a man in the
Official Section.

For us, that's completely new.
And it wasn't a quota decision.

Those were the films we liked.

I don't share Carlos' view on that.

I've been observing this
in a lot of writers I like.

Writers that had a punk attitude.

Where is the punk attitude now?

I think it's in rebelling
against political correctness.
That's punk.

So that's an easy target,
but it's not true.

There is still
a majority of men everywhere.

This wave of reeling against
political correctness

and not being able to say
things, which I think is untrue,

Boyero has taken a more radical stance

regarding the misogyny of his reviews.

Carlos is a man who absolutely believes

men and women are equal
and should have the same rights.

Let there be no doubt about
that. But he reacts

violently against things
that are new for him.

He has a hard time adapting to
change. That's Carlos.

Thank you so much for the gift
of inviting me here

to the festival. Thanks again.

And now, the president of the jury

will give the Golden Shell
for the best film.

"What can I say about the awards?

Nothing.

That most of them are absurd

and product of an ideological stance.

They have no possible
commercial viability.

They're just there so fashionable causes

can establish a foothold
with disgraceful products

that can receive
very convenient subsidies.

They've awarded the Golden Shell

to a Romanian film
directed by Alina Gregore.

It's a shouty stupidity.

And goodbye to all that,

which is how Robert Graves
titled his biography.

I'm sure a lot of readers will
miss me after 40 years talking
about these issues.

If I do come back,
it will be forced by survival.

Pathetic survival can go to hell."

It's like being told all the
movie theatres in Gran Via have
disappeared.

Boyero disappearing is the same thing.

It would be a shame.

If I invite him home,
I hope he comes as a friend.

It will be a shame if Carlos
stops going to festivals,

not because he'll stop writing reviews.

But because he'll stop talking
about general issues, film
issues.

I think he's brilliant.

Carlos is a great columnist of our time.

He's affected 40 years of the
history of journalism in this
country.

And he's succeeded in being what
he is and saying what he wants
to say.

It's a fantastic autobiography
written in the newspapers.

A perfect autobiography.

I think that's what Boyero
has gifted us throughout this
time.

His personality in pieces.

He's always saying he's too old,
he doesn't know how to use

a ticket on his phone...

But I think that's not true.
He still talks about films,

he still talks about many films
and still has

a current point of view.
I don't see him that much past
it.

Also, and I don't know if this has to do

with his long career,

but lately I've seen him a bit tired.

And I think a critic
has to be passionate about his
job.

Carlos has lived like a great critic.

He's had his role, he's been
very popular for a great many
years.

But, when two, three, four years
have passed

since he last wrote in El País
or since he retired, then...

It will be gone.

And we'll all forget about him,
just like we forget about
filmmakers.

When I saw him for the first
time, when I was 18 and he was
19

at university,
he was exactly like he is now.

Carlos is one of the persons
that has changed the least

from everyone I know. Even I
tell him off sometimes when we
talk,

because I say, "You're living
in the same books, the same
authors,

the same films..."

I'd like to think
I've entertained a lot of
people.

"Entertained."

I mean, it's not such
an ambitious concept.

I'm not saying I hope
I've "moved" people, or...

I don't know.

I guess

there has to be something good about me.

At the very least an identifiable style.

That would be enough.

Times have changed.

This dinner at the San Sebastián
festival,

- just you and me.
- Yeah.

With a herbal tea...

- I...
- I'm on my way to retirement.

- You know?
- Don't say that, they'll hear
you.

- Yeah.
- People will start clapping.

An ovation.

Shit, we're having a hard time
emptying one bottle of wine.

- It's...
- Just today. I had lumbago this
morning.

- It's almost embarrassing.
- Yeah. You're right.

Remember what they said in
Carlito's Way?
In Brian de Palma's film?

Pacino said,

"Time doesn't change you,
it just makes you weaker."

- Yeah, well, it's a way of
saying it.
- Right.

Weaker, sure. But it makes
you weaker in every sense.

This thing with the bottle of
wine has floored me.

Holy shit, it's the first time
in our lives

we're leaving a bottle halfway through...

I think we have to drink it.

If I don't become stupid, I mean...

Or Alzheimer's hits me on the head,

and someone makes me an offer,

a well-paid offer
to continue to give my opinions,

then I'll be there. If they don't,

then that's it.
Let's see if they admit me into

an old people's care home. Or if...

I finally have the fucking
courage to swallow all the pills

or jump out a window.