Original subtitles

THE EXILE OF GARDEL - TANGOS

For my parents

We're going to present

Quite simply

Quite simply

The tangos of the exile of Gardel

Just as they are

We're going to tell you

Quite simply

As a start

The tangos of our little dramas

The tangos of the exile of Gardel

Are tangos written with our flesh

A topical "Tango-dy" still up to date

I'm Maria. I've just turned 20.

I arrived from Buenos Aires with my mother 8 years ago.

And I'm still here.

That's probably why I need to tell you

what we and her friends have lived through in Paris.

The capital of all exiles, miracles and misery.

The story of the "Exile of Gardel"

began in a suburban home for refugees and immigrants.

It was called "Río de la Plata" as many Argentines and Uruguayans lived there.

There was Gerardo.

A writer-professor friend of Papa's who helped us a lot.

Poor man! When he renewed his passport, the consulate made him

shave his beard off.

I asked for refugee status.

I didn't want to cause trouble. But this is too much!

They can go to hell! I'll have a beard!

Down to here! Like Valle Inclán or Martín Fierro!

El Negro and Susana also lived there.

He was a lawyer and bass player.

They were expecting their first child.

Miseria was a Uruguayan musician.

Everyone adored him.

He knew how to use a public phone for free.

Who screws up the phones? It's impossible to call from here!

Alicia was the ex-wife of Juan Dos.

She'd just arrived with their children Manuela and Carlitos.

Juan Dos...

... a composer and Mama's lover.

He'd formed a quintet and convinced his pianist Angel,

also a choreographer, to help stage the Tango-Dy,

which, said he, was the greatest tango opus ever written.

I don't now how, but I'll do it.

Pardon me, Maestro.

Joker!

We'll continue our story

Our song

By entering the Exile of Gardel...

Thus, without realising it

they had begun to live a real dog's life in the City of Lights.

And there was Mariana, the Tango-dy's star...

Divine...

Unbearable... my mother.

Are you there?

No one came for the kids?

I don't like to see them all over the flat.

Turn the music down when I talk to you!

Leave me alone!

Seen my briefcase?

I'm fed up!

- You must've mislaid it. - Don't be sassy!

The bank rang: You're overdrawn.

My account? What did you tell them?

Nothing. They want you to phone.

Come on, kids...

Still phoning that boy, Cool?

A 1,800 franc phone bill!

- Cool lives in Lille. - You call Buenos Aires!

Don't talk nonsense!

I'm taking 20 francs. I'll sleep at Teresa's.

We're rehearsing late. They're waiting for me...

- Skipping school again? - It's the last time, I promise!

Grandma sends you money for your schooling and you don't study!

Please don't exaggerate! That's enough!

Enough? I make sacrifices like a fool and you do nothing,

absolutely nothing about your diploma!

What good it'll do me?

I'll phone later. Have a nice evening!

MISERIA IN PARIS

At the station we'll find

The heroes of the Exile of Gardel.

Form a line, or we'll get caught!

Now dial long distance.

No, I need change!

- Where'd you call? - Montevideo, last night.

Who told you how to do it?

An English girl, a model.

A model! I need change! Fix it!

10 people are freezing to death. Miseria, hurry up!

Fix it!

- How long will it take? - No idea!

Why not simply use coins?

Miseria! Miserable!

Never mind, Gerardo, we'll have our pizzeria.

Sure, Juan's mama is bringing the dollars in cash.

A Lebanese...

from Goteborg taught me this trick. It's simple.

Pick up the receiver.

I make contact and cut the dial tone.

You didn't cut a thing!

It's the same dial tone!

Careful... the line...

If you keep smoking, you'll burn up your lungs.

Yes, everything'll burn.

All my books... everything I have.

He's not allowed to smoke!

What's wrong, Gerardo?

Everything, my dear.

We've lost my house, my daughter, my books, my archives. 20 years of work.

Don't exaggerate! They haven't burnt anything yet.

2,000 books. What'll they do with them?

Bury them? Destroy them? They'll burn them!

You'll talk to them on the phone.

The brother-in-law is to sell the house and empty it out.

Can't they be stored elsewhere?

2,000 books? Where?

No one'll dare touch them. They're afraid. They'll burn them.

I'll go get them.

We've already discussed it.

- I said I'll go! - Don't be stubborn!

Don't yell. Besides, the mothers expect me.

I'd hoped to enjoy my old age by doing nothing,

not caring about obligations

and devoting myself to creativity.

But no...

I had to accept this job as a guard at the Trade Center.

Since they locked up my daughter Marta and her family,

my wife and I have endured the worst ordeals,

dangers and misfortunes.

These notes are also meant to evoke the memory of San Martín

and the exile of the great unfinished nation.

Latin American people have lived in exile inside as well as outside,

always under the hold of neo-colonial power.

Yes, Mama.

My best wishes!

From the kids too!

Is Juan Uno there? Did you get the dollars?

Did you see El Negro's mother?

I told you, I didn't want you to rent the flat, Mama!

When they pay, I'll send you the money.

I can't bear living here! I want to leave!

I can't bear it anymore, Mama!

Did you go to El Negro's mother? Hide them well. Don't get robbed!

Then buy a plane ticket and come.

They checked on it? Can I come back?

Fernando saw the lawyer.

You must wait 2 months more.

How's Papa? Did he get the ECG done?

Tell him to stop smoking. I want to see him alive.

Hello? Goddamn exile!

We were cut off! At least we got to talk.

You! You talked!

I'll get more change.

What a phone!

Let us talk!

What a glutton!

Wonderful!

ANGEL'S TANGO-DY

They're coming!

It's starting any minute!

What a beautiful set!

Here they are.

What are they dancing? Tango?

Marvellous!

I thought you might not come.

Miss your Argentines?

Are you crazy?

This is Juan Dos.

Not Gardel?

Is that Florence Millet, the actress?

- Is the Tango-dy on then? - Sure, dummy!

Here's Mariana.

Argentina's greatest actress.

And the most beautiful!

She did "The Respectful Prostitute".

Yes, she fits the part!

Coming...

Are you the writer?

Only of the music. The author is Juan Uno.

I see - Juan Uno and Juan Dos.

That's how they call us.

But we're practically one.

Juan Uno lives in Buenos Aires.

He'll never leave.

Loaded with talent, but raving mad!

I love Argentine authors:

Borges, Cortázar...

And that famous one... with Solitude.

García Márquez?

Wonderful!

He's Colombian!

Doesn't matter. What's worse:

They're not translated enough.

Ready?

Off we go into exile...

You're going to see a Tango-dy.

Tango-dy: Tango plus tragedy

plus comedy.

That Mariana's splendid!

Is the musician her husband?

Very interesting...

You're kidding? It's more than that.

It's loaded with talent, but... hard to understand.

Like everything you love, darling.

I'd have to see a finished version.

But it's great. I love this Tango-dy.

Can you help us out?

Of course!

When it's ready, call me

and we'll show it to Jean-Marie.

But it must be complete!

- We didn't agree to that! - What do you mean?

- It needs 2 more months of rehearsal! - Don't get excited?

You said you had a theater, backing and...

...that Florence would sign her contract today.

That's almost true.

Almost? You're crazy! You got nothing that's real!

The Angel is finished, finished!

Angel, don't go!

- The Angel's taking off... - You'll break your wings!

For me, Tango-dy is over.

We've rehearsed for three months and I dream of finishing it.

I can't help you anymore.

Do you think I'm not hurt?

I've been in Paris for nine years!

It's another flop. I'm a professional!

Nine years! I've taken all the courses...

With Béjart and Peter Brook... Do you think I'm not hurt?

You're leaving us just like that?

What are we going to do?

Can you replace him?

Me?

Sure!

We'll all help you!

There's not much more to do...

THE POETICS OF JUAN UNO

How did you think of the Tango-dy?

Back home, I was really in a shitty mess.

Separated from my wife, no job,

and banned on the radio.

Juan Uno said: "If you played sax,

you could stay here,

but with the bandoneon:

Go to Paris!"

"And what'll I do in Paris?"

I asked him.

"The Tango-dy, Juan!"

"The Exile of Gardel".

"What's that,

what's the Tango-dy?"

"It tells of what's happening

here in Buenos Aires".

I said: "It's a terrible risk!

They'll tear you apart!"

What did he say to that?

He said: "Deciding to be

is always a risk."

Juan, we are both in danger,

Living here is a risk,

but leaving is also a risk.

Success lies in resisting,

and in staying united... here and over there."

That's how he began to develop

his strategy of risk:

"We must invent a culture,

a risk of poetics."

The full power of desire!

Gardel... the Angel...

Some are gone, others have disappeared.

We are buried in Corrientes and Talcahuano.

That's Juan Uno?

No, that's Discépolo.

Here's Troilo, my master.

Here's Arlt.

Macedonio Fernández...

Marechal... Homero Manzi...

An anthology of Buenos Aires... a mythology...

A cosmogony.

A poem of love...

But with blood.

Listen: Juan Uno's exile...

Alone like a zero

Far away like a stray dog

Do you like mate?

Pulling my old bones together

Alone, as for a suicide

Nothing's too bitter for you.

French wine?

That's the truth.

The poetics of Juan Uno, his exile.

That's our Tango-dy.

That's the show?

That's it...

Uno writes with no logic...

In bars and restaurants.

Oppose intellectual speculation with life's fantasy.

Down with imitation,

creativity's bureaucracy and dependency.

Dare to decide.

Decision is already success.

Drawings too...

We must find the overall logic.

Beware of comfort and vanity.

Throw esthetic rules out of the window. Mix styles.

Smash ready-made formulas and invent our own.

Creation means whim and disorder:

It must be organised!

We must risk ugliness to attain beauty.

That's a Tango-dy's principle.

Achieving perfection is death. Long live imperfection and life.

It's Uno's hermeneutics. Understand, Pierre?

We'll begin Act 2

With letters from exile and the homeland

We'll tell you

What they lived through in Paris

Letters from those in exile come and go

Loaded with love

With news and demands

They prove everyone is back there

Letters come and go

Letters, more letters

Letters come and go

LETTERS FROM EXILE

After what happened to Papa, we were to go to Europe

and to come back after vacation.

But Grandma wrote, telling Mama to wait a few months.

It's been that way for several years.

I lost a year at school, my pals

and Diego, the boy I dated.

Mama tries to help, but when I tell her what's happened,

she doesn't know what to say.

When I lost Papa,

I felt like I'd lost Mama too.

Every Saturday we go to a solidarity meeting

in a theatre near Paris.

What a bore! But for me it is

as if I had a date with Papa.

People are fed up with messages.

People want to hear

something positive:

We have to win their attention.

How many of us are here?

Thank you for coming,

Jean-Marie and Florence.

We must make an united effort!

To speak to people in a new language!

Will it work with mannequins?

It'll work better with them if there's music

and a show, right?

Yes, something positive!

We're constantly torn between feelings

of weariness and duty and pity, but we feel

that things aren't coherent.

What we need to know first of all is

why the public isn't concerned anymore,

why they're out of touch,

why they've lost that curiosity

and that passion...

Why have we become amorphic?

Why don't we ask any questions anymore?

Why have we taken refuge

in an egocentricity

that's leading us to death...

When I heard that France has over 400 committees

of support for the Argentines, I was deeply moved.

One group is called "Marta and Martita".

I remember the day

when Arlette and Céline arrived from the Alps in their 2CV,

to organise Alcira's trip to Buenos Aires.

"Dearest Martita,

Soon you'll be 3 years old,

far from your loved ones.

It's been already three years,

since you and your parents

were snatched away.

You, a baby full of life.

For three years, we've done nothing but think of you,

and try to find you.

For three years, I've done nothing but dream of you.

Where can you be?

What are your eyes like?

Like those of Marta?

Or those of RaúI?

What do the people

you are with call you?

Are you happy? Do you need anything?

Do you know your Grandma

would smash down all doors to find you?

That we're going to Buenos Aires

to find you?

Don't be afraid:

I'll recognise you.

You're my daughter's daughter,

the blood of my own blood.

Trust me: I'll find you!

See you soon, grand-daughter!"

What can we do?

A campaign of support

for our trip:

We'll send 10,000 letters

to the Argentine government

demanding that Martita

be returned.

But the trip...

Is it already arranged?

We've collected enough money

to go with Alcira.

I don't know what to say!

I can't keep my wife

from going...

But to land like that in Buenos Aires:

Totally crazy!

It's not our first trip

to defend human rights.

We've always obtained a result.

We have the support

of many world organisations.

UNO IN BUENOS AIRES

Ok, hold on!

Good, good, good...

Come here, Inés!

This is very important.

Your hands like this...

This is the transition.

Let's try it again! Come on!

We don't have 7, 8 and 9 and the finale.

Not number 8!

It's beyond me!

I can't imagine how!

Don't worry. Listen:

Juan Uno changes the Tango-dy daily

because he's discovering the fullness of exile.

His exile. Understand?

There are terrible things:

Massacres...

I can't do a show

without a finale!

Ok, I'll call him...

Either you connect me with Buenos Aires or I'll kill you!

I have no dial tone! I must talk with Juan Uno in Buenos Aires!

This is Juan.

We need grounding! Pass me the wires!

You're so dumb, Miseria!

It's an "antimatic" phone booth.

"Antimatics" require a ground line.

It's the sole secret. 50 francs each.

- 50 francs... - 50 francs to talk to Juan Uno.

50 francs, that's cheap!

I'm doing it only for you.

We mustn't be seen!

Come here. I'll give you some juice!

Stand there. As soon as you got some juice...

connect the wires.

I got the dial tone!

Hand me the pliers. Ok, see you later...

What's going on here?

You know, the ending... Juan Uno...

You're under arrest.

Ana!

It's been three years!

You're divine! You haven't changed at all!

Neither have you!

- How's my Buenos Aires? - Worse than ever!

Everything's too expensive to buy! A disaster!

- What're you doing? Any theatre? - On TV, as always.

- Look at that, darling! - What a country!

And you want to leave? Look where you are!

Close your eyes and look!

How odd people are here!

Mariana, you don't meet with the refugees, I hope?

I'm serious? You'd be done for.

Upon your return, you'd be finished. Be careful!

Picasso!

No, Picabia.

What a resemblance!

Such a flat! It's divine!

What is it?

They're fucking.

Fucking? Incredible!

Get dressed!

I'm with Cool, Mama!

Exactly!

Don't push! Where'll I do it?

I don't know... in school...

- In my own home! - They fuck here?

Marvellous! That's Europe for you!

Where else should they fuck? In the street?

I'm sick of living here!

So go home. Nothing happens there anymore.

Nothing? What about Adela's boy?

Who knows what he'd been up to.

People here exaggerate so. There's no torture like before.

It's awful, but you get used to it.

- I doubt it. - You want to go back or not?

- Sure! - Then go!

- What do you mean by "go"? - Susana went back.

She's delighted.

Sure! She talked to a general.

You should see Ricardito.

Explain to him.

Why should I explain myself to him? They're the ones with explaining to do!

You exaggerate so! You dramatise everything.

I have to run.

I'll call you...

- For your phone bill. - I don't want it.

I know, but I pay it anyway. So I can phone you tomorrow.

Juan...

I'm leaving.

I'm quitting the Tango-dy, the "Exile"...

What?

- I'm going back to Buenos Aires. - You can't.

I miss my family, home,

friends, the theatre, everything...

Yes, darling, but you're here with me. We'll do "The Exile" together.

- We'll find an ending. - Never!

I swear we'll put the show on!

Don't tell me no tales! Go sing that one to Gardel!

And you'll marry me, Mariana.

The day I'll love you!

The day you'll love me,

we'll go back together.

Don't tell me no tales Go sing it to Gardel

- I say I'll take you away - I love you and it scares me

- I can't go on anymore - I love you and I'm not playing

- I'll take you away - I believe you and it scares me

- I love you - I believe you and I'm scared

Exile adds to your natural madness

Like a drizzling rain that goes on, never ending

Exile goes on like a carnival of sadness

DAILY-DRAMA TANGOS

Winter vacation arrived...

With Christmas trees... visits...

Grotesque as it was, I'll never forget Christmas 1979.

As if the dying year meant to end Mama's dream of returning...

Or Juan and El Negro's pizzeria.

It all began the night of the arrival of Pepa, the mother of Juan Dos.

She came loaded with letters and gifts

and the savings of El Negro and Juan.

Afraid of being searched or losing them,

she'd put the 6,000 dollars in a handkerchief,

which she hid in her bloomers.

They got away from her.

My God!

The money...

Gone with the handkerchief!

She flushed the toilet, Juan!

The dollars are up shit creek!

Look how the French dance!

Thank you!

Now I'd like to introduce the quintet

of Juan Dos.

They're going to premiere for you

some numbers from "The Exile of Gardel".

In homage to Gardel and Discépolo,

two great tango composers

whose work was banned by the dictatorship.

No need to introduce you: Eduardo, my husband, Hector Lobotrico,

Norma Lobotrico from the embassy.

Ernesto Figueroa and his wife.

He works at the Ministry of Economy.

It's best we left.

We've no reason to be here, Ana.

Is something wrong?

Wrong? Are you joking?

I don't understand...

The Exile of Gardel? As if he'd been exiled!

It's just the title of the play...

Like slandering our nation!

What did you say?

You heard me. I'm notjoking.

It's your fault the country is in such a state!

It's your fault!

Shut up!

- Never! - Subversive!

- Fascist! - Terrorist!

Throw him out!

I love you...

...and you know it.

TWO EXILES

Pierre! The show needs to end,

but not the play!

Cause exile continues here and at home!

That feeling'll go on with the public.

We must give them an ending...

I'm a director!

You don't understand. It must be left open...

It's the South, like our lives, our encounters...

It's the pampas, see?

Enormous... infinite... unending...

Brilliant! A pampas show!

I never heard such nonsense!

I want an ending!

No adventures for me!

That's not true!

You won't take any risks!

It's not disorder but a different order.

Not a lack of style, but a different style and form.

No creation without risks. Bureaucrat!

And the creativity and talent you mentioned? Joker!

You're scared, that's all.

Scared to break the shell you're wrapped in!

Me? Afraid?

Scared! Scared to death!

I've been here ten years...

When did you get here?

I quit and walked out on everything.

I'm the exile, not you!

Think you must take a ship

to be in exile?

I left everything, my work, the theatre,

so that I could be free!

That's my exile...

Any story has an end.

Tango, tango to dance together

Two more... complicity tango

I search for my country, tango with you, my love

I dream of my country, tango with you

A land that helps you live

And above all respects you

Even at the age of lollipops

A land where you can vote freely

Where you're gladly listened to

even if you're only a little mouse

A land

Where I can be myself

Without letting myself be stepped on

Or having to drop my pants

Where will this country be

Where you can work without having to beg?

Tango, tango... The daily-drama tango

Dance the tango with all your soul

ABSENCES

The land we left exists no more.

It's changed,

theatre... the people... everything.

We must accept that in order to go on living.

That's what counts.

I know.

But I can't forget...

I miss him...

I see him...

I see Hernán.

I see the house...

Angela... the plants...

I can't accept the thought

of having lost it all.

We have all lost

something very dear and valuable.

But we must admit that. It's the only way to go on living.

It's all that counts.

I don't feel like it. Understand?

I don't feel like it anymore.

You think I feel like writing?

What a chore it is to get up each day.

At times I'd like to die... but no...

Cortázar was right: We must find ourselves a goal...

A project... we must invent things to do...

What is it to be old, Gerardo?

To have no more desires.

Simply to have no more desires.

When I think of old San Martín. 25 years here.

25 years alone.

Such ingratitude!

The man who liberated half a continent.

The house of General San Martín Boulogne-sur-Mer

"You will acknowledge

as the nation's sole legitimate government

only that which has been elected by the spontaneous free will of the people."

He died in this room.

Exile is absence.

And what is death, if not a prolonged absence?

Who among us hasn't died a bit these past years?

Who hasn't lost his dreams...

...and his hopes?

I know I'll never see the land of my dreams.

The same as San Martín and Vallejo.

"There are so many hard times in life..."

Why didn't Papa go into exile?

He thought nothing could happen to him.

But he's been threatened!

Like everyone else.

When Hernán took on Martita's case, there were six more.

No lawyers would take them.

Twenty lawyers had already been killed or imprisoned.

They were killed or they had to flee.

But why?

Why?

We've decided to do a performance

of the Tango-dy here.

Tango-dy?

Yes, in 10 days. Is it possible?

Pierre agrees,

if the group regroups

and you get an ending.

The ending?

Every story has an end...

What'd Florence say?

People from the Cultural Centers are coming, critics, producers. They'II...

Please! There are kids all over the place!

It's not my fault. Come...

We've got to finish it...

- We'll do it together. - We need an ending!

So let's do it!

No, the Tango-dy! Idiot!

- Pierre wants... - All he wants is to see me dead.

What are you doing? Please, no!

Get out!

Seen Frédéric?

No, close the door.

I'm going in the bath.

I love you, I love you!

What's the kid doing here?

Hello, madam!

Who's better? King Juan Carlos or Giscard?

Stop it, Manuela!

The last one: Which is easier? French or Spanish?

Spanish.

How lucky!

We're going to Barcelona.

On foot?

In a week.

We're going to Barcelona.

Are you crazy? No one told me!

I don't know. Ask Mama.

Why didn't you tell me?

I couldn't, Juan.

Couldn't you have asked for my opinion?

Ask you if I can leave Paris?

We separated seven years ago.

I know, Alicia.

It's my firstjob offer since I came to Europe.

It's not in France.

I know it's not.

But France won't give me a work permit.

So why stay in Paris?

The kids shouldn't be hauled from town to town anymore.

Buenos Aires, Paris, and now where?

You're the one who sent for us.

You'd been thrown out of the school, right? You felt persecuted.

You're right...

But you said that I'd have a job.

No, that I'd help you.

Please don't go, I beg you.

I'm not being selfish. I want us to stay together.

I cannot bear the thought of being separated from the kids again.

I must seize this opportunity.

A kiss, my love.

CRAZY MILONGA

Seen the group Juan Uno sent?

You can't imagine what life's like back there.

Someone disappears daily.

But our first strike was a success.

The beat us up, but the struggle goes on.

Nothing from Uno?

A little something.

What is it? A bass drum?

He's crazy!

No letter?

"United we shall win."

What about the ending?

But who is it? Who is Juan Uno?

The guy'll kill me.

Snapped.

Totally snapped. Nothing to do.

I don't want to!

THE SINGER'S GHOST

Juan... someone's coming.

A man!

He's watching us. Let's go!

He looks like a cop.

He's laughing, Juan, he's laughing at us!

He's coming over!

You're not doing it right...

Wait...

There!

What a guy! Brilliant!

What a character!

If I talk about this, no one'll believe me!

The Café "Universal"?

Is Juan Uno there?

Is this "Los Angelitos"?

Is Juan Uno there?

Juan Dos from Paris.

You old beanpole!

Mariana's with me. I'll put her on!

Send me the ending!

I'm serious. We're staging "Gardel".

He's crazy. He hung up!

Impossible. Call him back!

May I?

Don't insist.

He's scared. That's normal.

Aren't you Discépolo, our deceased poet?

Discépolo... himself.

Come on.

Uno wants the play on stage. It's his greatest dream, but...

It's easy here to talk about it. But he's back there.

That's a bad thing... terrible!

If his name's on the Tango-dy, he'll be in trouble.

It's best he stay there.

We never meant to mention his name.

You must understand. Fear is terrifying:

It follows us everywhere like our own shadow.

Like a mad dog before it bites!

What would become of us if Uno disappeared?

But he can't abandon us before the ending.

We'll find one.

The Tango-dy will be our revenge!

Bandied about by life, a wandering bohemian

I am Buenos Aires, anchored in Paris

O distant Buenos Aires, keep your splendor

It's already been 10 years since you saw me go away

If you only knew my desire to see you again!

Here a penniless prisoner without hope

Perhaps one night Death will take me by surprise

And, farewell, Buenos Aires, I'll never see you anymore.

THE FINAL TANGO-DY

It was great!

Especially the music!

Well done, Pierre!

And the tangos!

"The Exile of Gardel" is beautiful!

I always knew it was!

And Gardel was such a great character!

It's a pity. Why don't we get to see Gardel, Pierre?

But he's present all the time.

A pity! A great idea!

An entire era.

A great man.

I met him one day at the studio.

I was a young film extra.

He'd arrive each morning,

with a hideous broad,

a filthy rich American,

the widow of Chesterfield.

So he'd arrive in a huge car

and said to us:

Muchachos - with his Toulouse accent -

Get rid of this big cow for me,

and I'll take you to dinner."

Know where he took us?

Us, the cinema hobos?

To the Plaza!

Fabulous Gardel! What a pity...

Interested?

Yes, it's very good.

It's wonderful, a very beautiful show!

I don't see

how it could interest our audiences.

It's a bit local.

Yes, the music, the characters,

even the tangos...

...it's too Argentine for us!

Would people understand?

Are you serious?

Yes, why?

What did you expect? An Eskimo tango?

Don't be upset!

What?

The Tango-dy is really southern,

from Río de la Plata.

That doesn't mean much to us...

We're not used

to this theatrical form.

That's no reason to reject it.

Pierre, explain what it is.

It's a Tango-dy.

A work the author conceived

without consulting you.

Why'd you invite us?

If we judge this by what we usually

see here, we won't understand it.

I liked it, but the ending...

I didn't quite grasp it.

The ending... is a risk

that we must take.

In France we tend to want

people to do what we expect of them.

You believe in it, Nathalie?

I'm interested.

I'd like to have the show

for our festival in Amiens.

They don't know what we feel.

Don't exaggerate.

The public's the public!

Aren't we running a risk

of finding no finale at all,

if there's no return home?

We must fight back!

The Tango-dy has found its conclusion...

...and we, the 2 Juans, have become of no use.

Don't be depressed, my love.

Juan... don't fall apart...

Let's continue the exile and song

Looking for an outcome, a finale

Tales transformed into fiction

In all their painful humanness

Europe has offered solidarity

In all sincerity or out of guilt

The North has provided its complicity

Loneliness from East to West

Nothing new to announce.

It was incredible to see the courts again,

the police stations, the barracks.

And think every moment

that Marta and Martita might have been hauled through them.

We were afraid we'd find ourselves alone in Buenos Aires.

But the mothers and grandmothers awaited us.

I realised so many people have been fighting for the same cause.

And that gave me new hope.

Ladies and gents!

El Negro and Susana

have something to show you!

An act for the life

we've dreamed of, we've invented!

Unique! Little Victoria!

ALONE

Hello, Mama?

Papa? What'd you say? How are you? Better?

Who?

Who, Papa?

Mama?

Wait for me! Don't go!

Mama, I'd want...

Wait! I want to say things I never told you before!

Don't go, Mama...

I love you, Mama!

Alone and on the fringe like a zero

Like those thrust aside I struggle on, alone

Lost in the distance, like a stray dog I fight against oblivion

Pulling my old bones together

Alone and penniless, as for a suicide

All I have left is the tango to tell of my exile

Alone and haunted in my Buenos Aires

I wander aimlessly like a shot in the air

Alone and hidden with the saga of my people

That they have banned, living on, engraved in my memory

I hang up my heart in the closet

My poor heart shot full of holes

The clock... so beautiful!

Hands off, María.

Papa's pictures!

Please don't touch them!

Let me see. Don't be selfish.

Look! Papa, when he was young!

Please, María, close that!

Don't you understand that's all mine?

You're such a pain!

How long are you going to keep this up?

I don't like you pawning through my things!

I know... but what are you going to do with your life?

Leave!

Then go! Once and for all!

Because I want to live my life too!

I'm going and you're going with me.

No, you go! I'm renting a studio with Teresa.

What'd you say?

You heard me. I want to live alone.

I want to have something of my own!

Shut up!

Don't talk to me that way!

I talk to you however I can.

If your papa had lived...

He'd have opposed your whims!

And I'd never have lived through years of shit!

Shut up!

You're so selfish you're unable to enter my room.

Because you know I'd be crying!

My darling...

Forgive me, sweetheart, you're all I have,

the only one I love.

But your father is always here,

he's present and waiting for me.

I wish he'd disappear once and for all, understand?

Yes, Mama.

But how long'll I understand you?

You never spoke to me like this.

You never told me how you felt about Papa.

I can't forget him either.

After all you've been through, you're still causing trouble?

- Who are you? - A friend.

Keep it up and you'll never see your daughter or grand-daughter again.

Don't dare give me your name?

- Understand? - Hoodlum!

You'll never see your daughter and grand-daughter again.

For you who remained

For Gaby, Tito and Diego

For you who went into exile in your neighbourhood

or in your hovel

For you who underwent

the general's interrogations

For you who endured

the cops and manhunts

For you that they dragged

by the hair, poor suspect

For you that they humiliated

and abandoned naked

My song flies out to you

In search for its roots

We are children of exile

In this land or anywhere else

GOING HOME

Who's there?

- San Martín? - It's me.

Not going to give us a scare, are you?

I'm not very well... at all.

Don't you think it's time to go home?

But how, General?

I'm very weary and very poor.

I understand, Gerardo. I don't have a peso either.

They've even forgotten my pension.

But we must go back... even if we don't feel like it.

For a century and a half I've been waiting...

to see the fatherland we've dreamt about.

Great... united...

To go back...

Yes... with a furrowed brow.

Gardel!

Of course... to go back.

Have no doubts.

It'll soon be time... The country's decaying.

You think so?

It saddens me to see they're not very patriotic.

And you, Carlos?

As you see, I'd like to go back.

Will you sing us something?

I don't sing anymore, General. I'm old.

Going back... with a furrowed brow

My temples are silvered by the snows of time

To feel... that life is but a gust of wind

That 20 years last but a flash of lightning

I wasn't bad, was I...

I fear to meet the past that is returning

To confront my life.

I fear the nights peopled with memories

That enchain my dreams

But the voyager who flees

Sooner or later ends his run

Though oblivion which destroys all

May shatter my old illusions

I keep deep within me a humble hope

That is my heart's entire fortune...

Years have slipped by since those events.

But so many things have happened that the time seems very short.

I've saved the memory of one night before the cabin.

When they all swore together to return to Argentina.

With songs and other magic

and their longing to return, thus went the nostalgia of the exile of Gardel.

Almost all have returned with their tangos and daily dramas.

Carrying away to their land their exile in their flesh.

I barely know what I'll do.

I come and go. I'm still here.

One day I'll leave, when I know who I am.

But I've learnt this from exile and suffering:

We have so many years to live...

No tragedy ever lasts... very long!