All language subtitles for Neruda (2016) BluRay 720p (Spanish. biography, crime, drama)

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Hail, emperor Caligula!

- Hail!
- Hail!

I wanted to welcome the
greatest defender of the USSR,

But I wanted to know who Mr.
Neruda is,

Because he fills his
mouth to speak of peace

But supports the strikers
against our public force.

I do not know what the
right to do with luxury

Of insulting our president
in the foreign press.

I'm talking with you.

- I'm talking with you.
- I 'm listening, Senator.

"Are you Neruda or not?"
- Certainly.

I do not know, two months ago
he was called Ricardo Reyes.

Why did you change your name?
Did you steal anything?

Silence!

"How dare you, sir?"
- It's just a question.

More respect for the senator!

Silence, the dignified senator
Neruda has the floor.

Thank you, Mr. President
of this fucking Senate.

First of all, I thank
the Russian people

For having defeated fascism
and conquered world peace.

Secondly, I thank
my Communist Party

For always defending the rights
of the workers and the people.

Rights that are
threatened at the moment,

Because they are arresting
trade union leaders

And members of the Communist Party.

This is being done
by its president,

The traitor Gonzales Videla, who
sold himself to the Northern Empire.

You elected him, did not you?

We all elected him,
unfortunately.

All the idiots here
present elected him.

Excuse.

It's been three years since the
end of World War II and here,

In this cheerful house, will
start a fabulous pursuit.

I always thought that's how it
celebrates the Chilean left.

When he is not
Complaining about something.

Deep down, they're
happy, they're in love.

They love to mingle with the
suffering and sweat of others.

In this place neither
intellectuals nor artists,

Those who traveled the
world and came back happy.

The advisors, the lawyers.

Every criminal gets
around people who are

Who went to university to learn the
art of bureaucratic deception.

Don Pablo.

You're not ready yet because
you're going to get dressed.

Like Lawrence of Arabia,
the desert guerrilla.

And your wife.

I do not understand it.

She is an Argentine
aristocrat trained in Paris

And ended up with that son
of a railroad worker.

What then? How was I?

Unrecognizable.

Please silence!

Silence! Thank you.

We will continue the program with a
surprise from the owner of the house.

With you, the poet Pablo Neruda.

All eyes fixed on him.

All the lids.

“I can write the saddest
poem of all tonight”

Many want to kiss him.

They want to take it in their hands.

They want to sleep in your bed.

They say it smells like seaweed.

"The night wind whirls
in the sky and sings...."

What a shame, keep repeating
this rural school poem.

Written over 20 years.

"I loved her, and sometimes
she loved me too...."

Women imagine that he makes
love with a rose in his mouth.

And that, after kissing them,

Will write love poems
inspired by them.

He is the king of love.

"I wanted to..."

“I can write the saddest
poem of all tonight...

To think I don’t have her. To
feel that I’ve lost her.... "

They do not know what it is to sleep
on the floor, but they are all red.

"To hear the immense night,

more immense without her... "

If we had a Bolshevik
revolution,

These would be the
first to flee.

"As in the grass the dew."

They say that Neruda is the most
important Communist in the world.

He must firmly believe in the
union of operatives and peasants,

In the dignity and historical lucidity
of the Chilean Bolshevik party.

We will not drink water.

These gentlemen are working.

Please take this from here.

Thank you.

We are coming from an emergency of
the Party's political commission.

Quiet!

I was asked to tell you

That the government is
confining our union leaders.

I was asked to
inform you that...

what...

Let's go underground.

Me too?

Yes you too.

I'm absolutely sure

That sooner or later,

Sooner than later...

Silence, senators!

This political process
will be properly judged

And their perpetrators will
receive the name they deserve.

Thank you very much.

Silence in the salt, please!

In Chile there will be no
Freedom of expression.

We do not live free from fear.

On January 6, 1948,

I am persecuted for remaining faithful
to the highest human aspirations

And I sat down for the
first time before a court

For having denounced to America
the violation of those freedoms

In the last place where
he wanted it to happen:

Here in Chile.

Why do they do this?

Well, the Communists
hate to work.

They prefer to set churches on fire.

They say they feel more alive.

The Chilean aristocracy
likes to show its wealth.

But the poet should
not be impressed.

Esteve nos sal es de Paris

And this provincial imitation
makes you laugh. But he does.

Alessandri was twice
President of the Republic.

Now he is president of the Senate.

In his office he has a key
with the word "Chile".

All of us, Chileans,
are his servants.

I was with the president.
He is very sad.

Is it really? Because?

He says that you have insulted
him with biased falsehoods.

My intention is to cause the greatest
possible harm to the president.

Write a book when you
leave the chain.

"Carcerary Poems," or something.

A lousy title, Alessandri.
Do not talk about what you do not understand.

In politics, insolence
is a form of admiration.

I ask you to open the prison of
Pisagua and release my comrades.

Why do you ask me what
I do not want to do?

I thought you did not take orders,

But is now a footman of the
traitor Gonzales Videla.

What language, senator!
That's why he has problems.

No, I have problems
because I'm a communist.

Yes, but also for
inciting riots...

Trade unionists.

I do not regret this.

What do you regret?
To have turned bourgeois?

I regret doing the
traitor's campaign.

He wrote a poem for him!

Now it's fun, but
during the campaign...

But these traitors
have their charm too.

I do not agree with that.

You and your comrades
were so thirsty for power

Who were deceived by a
populist of araque.

What evil exists in
ambition for power?

It's our turn.
We have the right to occupy La Moneda.

How will you govern?

With a Soviet democracy
of soldiers,

Of operatives and peasants.

God forbid!

The palate will be stinking
with peanuts and wine.

And you're going to write
laws with misspellings.

Can be.

But the cemeteries will not be
filled with political prisoners.

Senator, please!

They always think that they will
defeat communism by exiling us.

Getting us in jail.
I'll give you some advice.

The solution is to kill us all.
Kill us.

So they solve the problem.

Do not repeat that.
Some may try.

Who's going to do that? You?

I'll think about it.

Pablo, the Supreme Court
will confirm your cassation.

You need to leave the country now.

Please, listen to me.

If you leave the country without
a constitutional power,

Your legal situation will worsen.

But I'm going to
be banned anyway.

Don Pablo, this is the
position of the Party.

I think Pablo should get caught.

Absolutely not.

How am I more dangerous,
arrested or outlawed?

- Stuck!
"What are you saying?"

Outlaw.

"Are you serious?"
- Of course.

So we're going to have to run away.

You can not think of Paul
as a political leader.

He is a writer, his
obligation is to write.

Trapped or dead, you will
not be able to do that.

Who's going to kill me?

Do you want to go to history, Pablo?

He wants to move on to history.

Say cheese! Looking...

RESISTANCE

- Perfect.
- You're ready.

- So, what do you think?
- Pablo, give yourself.

- They'll catch you.
- No.

Disappear.

Can be. But I will not
hide under the bed.

This has to be a wild chase.

This is where I come in.

I have to go in.

I come from the blank page.

I came to get my black ink.

Here enters the
policeman full of life,

With his chest full of air.

Over here, please.

My president has a boss:
The president of the USA.

When he orders the local
communists to be killed,

This trained monkey must obey.

- Good afternoon, Mr. President.
- Good afternoon.

- This is the Chief Commissar?
- Yes sir.

Much pleasure.

It's my pleasure, Mr. President.

The Director General, present here,

You got upset because I
wanted to talk to you.

I can not believe you got
upset with yourself.

You got upset.

If you upset or did not get
upset, what do you think?

Yeah, I think she got
upset a little bit.

- Do you know Neruda?
- Yes sir.

Do you read poetry?

Little.

This country is full of
intelligent communists.

They speak French and
like to build bridges.

We are talking about someone
who only had shoes at age 12.

In my campaign, he was
pulling out a little paper

And ten thousand proletarians
were silent to hear him

Recite a poetry with
that voice you have.

But Chileans do not forgive the
criminals who have been arrested.

Yes sir.

Can I rest easy?

Of course, sir.

You will arrest him and humiliate him.

Then we throw the party.

Now the president is
going to dance a waltz.

Or spend the night
playing the piano...

Excuse.

And crying with anger.

Thank you, Mr. President.

I'm a great cop.

But I can also be
a great artist.

You tell me. Excuse.

- Is that me?
- No.

It should be me.

But it's a horse.

Why do not we buy two
horses and run away?

Of course. Can you ride?

- Yeah. You forgot I'm from the south?
- Me too.

Let's go.

Do you dare?

Together.

Of course.

Let's leave together...

And then you follow alone...

as always.

Let's go.

Let's go.

They say that Chile is an island

And that the mountain
range is a second sea.

A kind of giant wave
that never breaks.

On the other side there
is a strangely flat earth

Called "Argentina".

It's a green country, really.

With agriculture and war.

- Good afternoon.
- Good afternoon.

- Passports, please.
- Yes.

Here they are.

Here he says that his name
is Ricardo Reyes Basoalto.

In my passport
says Pablo Neruda.

But here it says "Reyes".

Because "Neruda"
Is the artistic name.

It is my name of war.

If you have two names, you
can not leave the country.

They're waiting for
me on the other side.

I can walk.

I'm sorry. It's the law.

Turn around. Good afternoon.

The first house is
the first house.

Neruda is a man from the
mountains and from the guides.

It is not colch é in the
floor nor clean bathrooms.

Come in.

Perfect.

- Wonderful.
- Thanks for lying.

At least we will not eat
lying down like Nero.

Here we put the grand piano.

Under the window,
the pool table.

Here, the ballroom.

Do you know the only problem
in this place, Victor?

Which is?

They'll never find me here.

"Do you want them to find you?"
- No.

But I wanted to feel them closer.

No one touches anything.

The astute Peluchonneau commission

Leads the operation as if it
were the conquest of Egypt.

This house is filled
with precious objects,

The only thing
Neruda really loves.

There is nobody.

But there is no one.

Of course, the order
arrived late.

At this hour the poet
must be cutting onions

For his disgusting conger baked.

THE WOMAN IN THE ZOOL GOSPEL

"Come and be born with me,
brother to the police."

Nothing special.

I have seen all this in the
prostrations of Callao.

It's beautiful, this house.

It's horrible!

It's beautiful.

A woman goes to the zoo
and never comes back.

Gray men investigate.

Dirty men, like me.

Why am I reading this?

These writers have never been
police officers with copper hearts.

They do not know what it is to kick
a body with the support of the law.

They do not know how wonderful
the criminal imagination is.

But that does not matter.

I'm here and Neruda is here.

Must be writing words in
unexpected sequences.

That cheap poetry.

Must be between four
walls and a roof.

Like me.

- Pablo.
- I'm taking a breath.

We can not stay here!

Pablo, have ordered your arrest!

"Not now, Delia.
"Is it true?" Read.

- Come on, Pablo.
- Read! This is the best part.

"It's true.
- Read.

"They look for Neruda all over the country."

Minister Miguel
Gonzales Castillo,

Who ordered the arrest
of Senator Pablo Neruda,

"Stated that the
poet fled his home."

"It's a fact.
"It's true.

"The commission Oscar Peluchonneau"

Dispatched 300 policemen in
the searches to the poet,

"Which is subject to 541
days of imprisonment."

300 cops!

"They are searching the
homes of Neruda's friends."

- "It is imminent..."
- 300 cops!

It's a good amount, is not it?

There are many, Paul.

And why are not these
shits coming after me?

Do not be vulgar, do not yell.

Are you hitting on
my friends' houses?

And do not come here to get me?

"You're my friend, are not you?"
Pablo, you drank half a bottle.

I want to know, I'm asking.

If you're looking for
me at friends' houses,

Should not they come here?

"Is it my friend or not?"
- No one knows I live here!

So, never come!

If nobody knows, they
will never come here.

You will not find me.
Or are not you my friend?

Behave and do not yell.

Olivier, the founder of the police.

The chief caretaker.

The best of the best.

My dad.

Did not want to recognize me,

But I proved by the bureaucracy
that I am your son.

Now I am Peluchonneau, too.

Olivier, Olivier Peluchonneau.

Thanks dad.

What's it?
The maid did not come?

Sink soap spoils my hands.

Look at them as they are.

Delia...

Hygiene is a bourgeois value.

We do not clean the house
for political reasons.

Senator.

Are they sticking it all over?

Yeah. Do not worry,
we're pulling out.

Do not!

We need to keep them.
It's historically rich, is not it?

You're saying, senator.

Jara...

- Who are you?
Jara is the new protector.

His name is Alvaro.

Alvaro Jara.
A sad young man, like me.

"You take care of my safety?"
- Yes sir.

He also represents the Party.

Another lost youth.

I'm going to give you a mission, Jara.

Go to the library and bring
me a quechua dictionary.

- And a "Fauna of the Americas".
- It's clear.

It's for the clandestine book.

- Do you have the manuscript?
- A sketch.

Want to see?

There is not much, but...

Here it is. "General Corner".

Thirty c's of thirty poems.

In thirty envelopes?

Were they working?

Not only by writing.

Look! Thank you.

Publisher Seventh Cycle.

Neruda likes sex,
crime and violence.

Police books make me forget
that the police are after me.

This can not be forgotten.

- I will.
- Waiting.

- For Picasso.
- The blind painter.

Very well. See you later.

The thirty poems are flying.

If I intercept one and burn,

The other 29 will reach
the 29-red hands.

Nothing can be done in
the face of a crook.

- Good Morning.
- How can I help you?

We scheduled a visit
with the President.

Did they arrest Neruda?

Do not.

So what are you doing here?

Did you search his house?

- Yes of course.
- Was it there?

- No.
- Where will it be?

- We do not know.
- It has to be somewhere.

You're right.

Seek your first wife.

There must always be
a wonderful plan.

Listen, let's do this.

But tell the President, please,

We are looking for
you relentlessly...

- No, no.
- Why not?

I'm not your employee, you shit.

I'm your civilian superior and I
order you to get this Communist.

What if I get it?

- How is it?
"What if I get him?"

Excuse.

A "civil superior"?

A civilian is never superior to me.

Why do not you dress?

- With what?
- I do not know, there are clothes on.

There's a dress in the chair.

I'm a lady, Pablo.

Without clean clothes,
I can not get up.

Nor do I have clean clothes.

Then get it out.

Come here.

He makes me a son.

The poet struggles to
say something romantic.

Delia, please.
- Please what?

What's wrong with you?

Anything! I want to get some
air and I'm stuck here.

Then, leave.

But they'll kill you.

May the Duke of Braganza die,

That falls from the horse, the Emperor.

I'm a fish too.
I live in the Pacific Ocean.

Max Havelaar, thank you.

They're chasing me.

A Chinese girl with
wet hair, I know.

There's a place where you smoke pio.
You lie on your side...

Xoxotinha, xoxotinha...

Hidden, warm here...

They're chasing me!

The elegant Peluchonneau commission
works on a secret mission.

The president has a plan
to humiliate Neruda.

So I'm going to the station
to get a Dutch one.

What?

"Is he the wife of Neruda?"
- Yes.

Come here.

Every good cop knows how and
when to sacrifice himself.

Besides, this blonde
has fire in her veins.

I would never have left her.

- Speak Spanish?
- A little.

"And how was it treated?"
- More or less.

It would help us a lot if
we gave some interviews.

I could tell how
it was abandoned.

Pablo left you with your
sick daughter, did not you?

I want Pablo to pay
me one million pesos.

Pablo has a lot of money because
he writes very long poems.

Of course, that's fair.

It is therefore important that,
when talking to journalists,

You use the right word.

- "Bábio".
- Bigamo?

"Bábio".

Yeah, bigamo.
Pablo loves women.

This woman is going to destroy Neruda.

Do not let me down.

Many women like cops.

Dream of cleaning their homes

And change their dressings
when they get shot.

The kiss of the butcher wolf.

After you read it, it's
the turn of the dogs.

It does not matter that she has
the stale stench of the poet.

I'm used to that squid sweat.

I love you.

Do not imagine how I love you.

For you I have a walking path and a
zoo in the middle of the desert.

Those who flee from there
have seen a stanza of salt.

But no one escapes,

Because the captain of the
prison is a blue-eyed fox.

His name is Augusto Pinochet.

You come?

Do not.

I need to think why
I'm helping you.

See you later.

We are here, we are
God of the day,

With Mrs. Maria Hagenaar,
wife of Pablo Neruda,

To tell us his verse.

Lady Maria, it is true
that Pablo Neruda

Is it a bug?

We have posters that show
the opinion of the people,

Saying, for example,
"Neruda traitor",

"Communist Neruda,"
things like that.

- Whose traitor?
- Mrs...

This is a lie.

He is a great man.

You owe me a lot of money, but...

is very beautiful.

I like the way Neruda sleeps.

He is not a traitor.

He's handsome, Neruda.
He is not a traitor.

He is a great man...

Thus fails the strategy of
the geniuses of intrigue.

Mrs. Maria ran out of the
gods of the storm...

Hello. Ol ل, Chile.

This poet is a public danger

And an unforgettable lover.

Any information about
your whereabouts

Will be rewarded.

My name is Oscar Peluchonneau,

Of the Chilean National
Police of Investigation.

Let's take a musical break.
We'll be back.

The World F ron of
Intellectuals for Peace

Is pleased to introduce the
anti-fascist creator...

Pablo Picasso!

This is a letter sent by
my friend, Pablo Neruda.

In this instant, he is
Hidden under a bridge

Or on a railway track.

Even so, in clandestinity,

The poet organizes resistance
against Chilean fascism.

This is the testimony of
a Latin American giant

Which illuminates the path of peace
for the workers of the world.

Girl, when I die.

Do not cry over my grave.

Sing me a beautiful tune.

Sing me "La Sandunga".

Do not cry for me, do not.

Cause if you cry I die.

But if you sing to me.

I always live And I never die.

But if you sing to me.

I always live And I never die.

Hello.

Stop this fight now!

Elegance!

- Sing, fat!
- I'm singing to the senator!

Keep singing, fat!

- It's my art!
- Joy Joy!

But if you sing to me.

I always live And I never die.

- Come to the poet!
- Come on!

- Come to Pablo Neruda!
- Thank you.

Sorry for what happened.

Say a poem. S um.

The one like this:
"I can say the verses..."

Say, go.

"I can write the saddest
lines tonight."

To think that I do not have it.

Feeling that I lost it.

To hear the night immense,
more immense without it.

"And the verse falls on the soul..."

Applause!

You sent me another
detective novel, poet.

Because?

Good evening! Police!

Good evening.

How does he know that this is
my backyard and my school?

My mother worked in a house
like this for 30 years.

Where is it?
This shitty Communist?

Are you going to want a call?

You want one of the girls, Don Oscar?

Each of these women
is my mother.

I am the son of a prostitute,
of a venereal disease.

Turn around! Let's go!

My mother never knew the
name of my real father.

When she was drunk she said
Mu oz, Martinez, Mardones...

But he also closed his eyes

And suspected it was the
Peluchonneau commission.

A silent lord, chief
of all the police.

Did he pay you?

Do you know who is?

He's a politician.

A communist.

I did not know you were a communist.

How long will you hold me here?
I have things to do.

Look, let's just say one thing.

It's not every day we find

A poet of this category,
in our house.

For me, it was a miracle.

He was there with me
and I was with him.

He told me we were the same.

He asked me what I
felt when I sang.

Imagine. I shared things that
I do not share with anyone.

I told him that I like
jazz and classical music.

I've added a...

A minuet that I love.

From Johann Sebastian Bach.

I sang that and he was thrilled.

He told me that I
was an art worker,

An artist like him,
on an equal footing.

And all of a sudden, he...

Told me a poetry so beautiful.

Long.

He put his hand on my
knee, a hand so warm.

And he told me here.

Slowly.

From artist to artist,
you understand?

From man to man.

With human respect.

But a dog like you would
never understand.

- Where's Victor?
- I do not know.

- How do you not know?
- Don Pablo...

Did you go out for
a walk last night?

Do not.

"You went out to walk?"
- No.

Need more uk?

Who do you Think You Are?

So stay here and do not leave.

If you leave, you'll get it.

They'll rip your clothes off,

Take photos of front and
back and send to France.

They will glue everywhere, even in kites.
It's going to suck.

Good ideas. All.

Reds know the language
of violence well.

No one will get me, learn!

All Chile is hunting me and
no one is going to get me!

Learn to behave like
a man, little boy!

Wear men's clothing!

Grow a mustache, buy a
gun, I do not know!

Learn to respect me!

Who does he think he is?

Easy, sweetheart.

"And here they found a
people who sang..."

"For duty and love gathered..."

"And the lean girl
fell with her flag..."

"And the smiling young man
fell beside him, wounded..."

"For these dead, our dead..."

"I ask for punishment," at
the end of each sentence.

GENERAL CORNER

For the dead, our dead...

I beg the penalty!

For those whose blood
spattered the nation...

I beg the penalty!

For the executioner who
ordered this death...

I beg the penalty!

For the traitor who
prospered with the crime...

I beg the penalty!

For who gave the
order of agony...

I beg the penalty!

"For those who have defended this
crime, I ask for punishment."

I do not want you to give me the
most splattered of our blood.

I ask for punishment.

I do not want ambassadors.

Nor were they at home in peace.

I want to see them tried in
this place, in this place.

"I want punishment!"

Thank you thank you.

"Here, my friend.
- Thank you comrade.

- You're welcome.
- Excuse...

Sorry, I do not want to bother you.

- What is your name?
- Silvia.

Can I give you a kiss?

Yes, of course, Silvia.

Mrs...

Forgiveness.

Do not tell him he autographed
his book at this party.

We are not here.

I'm a trustworthy person.

I have been a militant since I was 14.

But the senator does not
need to worry so much.

Do not you? Because?

Excuse.

If you're here, at this
party, and start reciting...

"The land, blabla..."

"Love, babe..."

"The punishments, blabla..."

I say it means

That the government does
not want to arrest him.

If they do, they get an
international problem.

- Ma'am, enough.
- Because it's political.

Government is concerned to
pursue it, but not to arrest it.

Never.

The senator is a communist,
like you and me.

Yes, but it has
special protection.

And I'll toast to that,

Because we all need
the senator poet

Keep writing about the
suffering of the people.

Madam, he is protected by the
leadership of the Party.

Do you know what I want to know?
Listen...

When communism comes, everyone
will be the same as him.

Or will they be the same as me?

To me, I've been cleaning
up the fucking bourgeois.

Since I'm 11 years old.

They will all be the same to me.

Let's eat in bed and
fornicate in the kitchen.

For that we fight, comrade!

"In Bogot they met
Morinigo, Trujillo,"

Gonzales Videla, Somoza,
Dutra, and applauded.

"You, young American,
do not know them..."

Waiting...

What if you read with the other voice?

- What voice?
- A poet, Pablo.

"You, young American,
do not know them."

They are the dark
vampires of our skies.

Bitter the shadows of their wings.

"Pris es, martyr,
death, gave..."

- Finished?
- Yes Yes.

- Where are we going?
- Valparaíso.

Thank you.

The senator needs to wait for
a Chinese merchant ship.

AND...

Delia, they do not
allow women on board.

My love...

All right, dear.

Excuse.

Good... we'll talk.

- Good trip.
- Thank you, Victor.

My love...

I will not cry.

PeG@SuS
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A good cop would follow him
to the fugitive's house.

But I'm a bad cop.

I like it when the suspects
confess with whispers or shouts.

"Come and be with me, brother."

Give me your hand, from the
depths of your disseminated pain.

You will not come back from
the bottom of the rocks.

You will not return
from underground time.

Your angry voice will not return.

"They shall not return
thine eyes pierced..."

"Here I was punished."

Because the jewelry did not shine.

"And the earth did not deliver the
stone and the grain in due time."

"I come to speak through
your dead mouth."

Like a river of buried tigers.

And let me cry for
hours, days, years.

"Blind ages, stellar centuries."

Strangely...
I believe in you.

I believe.

I am glad.
I was the first to say:

"Pablo, if you go to
trial, you will win."

So let's go get him together.

But I do not know where, they
do not tell me anything.

Because?

They distrust me because
I'm not Chilean.

I understand.

Let's stay in touch, maybe
I'll find out something.

Yes wait.

We just learned that
Neruda left Chile.

- Really?
- Yeah, he left.

How incredible.

Because?

Because you're watching
over the borders.

Do you think he's still in Chile?

No, he must be outside.

I'm going to Valparaíso.

Do not. Because?

To see if anyone saw him leave.

I think he's still in Chile.

But he just said he was abroad.

Do not. You said that
he had escaped by ship.

This is a good example of
a whispered confession.

The lucidity of the policeman overcomes
the stupidity of the Spaniard.

What looks so much out the window?

People.

"Is this silk?"
- No.

So what is it?

A sailor traded the cloth
for 12 bottles of wine.

Good business.

The poet will always applaud
an unfair exchange.

Do I have to pretend
I'm a sailor?

Do not. An eccentric guy, a
rich man from Central America.

Embarking to Ecuador
or to Mexico.

- Does he have to be Chilean?
- In those outfits? I doubt that.

Do not shrink your belly. Release.

- As?
- Release the air.

That.

Do not tell anyone my secret.

Do not worry. No one cares.

"He danced in Vin م del Mar
surrounded by jewels and goblets.

But the black eyes stare
through the black night... "

"But the man who caresses
you stops by the desert.

Near the sea coast, in a world
devastated by death... "

"Every people with their pain..."

Don Pablo?

Don Pablo?

Gentleman!

Gentleman!

Sorry, I do not have anything.

The smart cop smells
the Asian odor.

He is close.

Where were you?

They found us. Let's go.

Not yet. We're lost.

Where are we?

- I said it was a good idea.
"Still, it was interesting.

To write well, you must
know how to delete.

There is no terror to this persecution.

Why do I read this?

I want to know.

What is your novel about?

The poet has the fever
of the artistic spirits

Who think the world is
something they have imagined.

The flies.

Again, a swarm of flies.

What is it?

The last column of the Red Army?

It's here.

Ordinary little man.

Almost every night,

The president sleeps
like a child.

However, whenever you eat
escargot before bed,

Must dream about Neruda.

Senator!

Let's take another turn.

- Enough, Senator!
- Fuck.

Here we are, Gabriel
Gonzales of shit!

- Pablo.
- Jorge, how are you?

We have a plan to get
you out of Chile.

"Does the Party know?"
- Of course you know.

The Secretary-General agrees.

I'll go.

No, drink something.

- No, thank you.
"Do not you want to eat anything?"

See you tomorrow?

- I do not think so.
- As?

I'm going to ask the
Party to let me go.

- Do not be an idiot, Jara.
- Please...

This escape from the
south seems very risky.

"You're not a country man.
"It was the Party's decision.

But the decision is up to you.

"You accept it or not.
- I already accepted.

Why do not you listen
to what he's saying?

I know what I do with my life.

They're all trapped but me.

You think I'm a king?
What are you waiting for?

- In this case, stay.
- I can 't.

I can not stay, I must run away.

It is that you want
a grand escape.

Is not it?

I will not get into the game
of these fucking fascists.

I'll be their worst nightmare.

For this, I have to
be a popular giant.

You can not do that.

- I already did.
- You can not do that.

Will you say that you used
this chase as an excuse

To become a saint.

That we were never repressed.

That we like to live and suffer.

But they're really killing us.

See, I ask you to be a
little more humble.

Good luck on your trip.

"What's the matter with you?"
- As well?

Do you know what to do with your life?

Delia, please.

- People will notice.
"Realize what?"

That the artist here is me.

- No, the artist is me!
- It's me.

- The artist here is me!
"You are nothing, Pablo.

What's the story
of being a giant?

It is what it is for me to be.

- You do not know?
- Please, Pablo.

If you do not like it,
walk out that door.

No one is chasing you.

What's the matter with you?

You choke me, do not
give me a cent.

Look at me.

I was a prince, you made
me turn this around.

Of course I'm leaving.

Without life, I'm leaving.

When you arrest me, I tell you
that you want to be president.

They will hunt him down and kill him.
She's going to be happy.

Then I'll hit a river.

You can kill yourself.
You can kill yourself if you want.

That's how I write 20
more years about you.

- Antonio Ruiz Lagorreta.
- Ornit soon.

Ant, I thought I was
going to die with you.

You gave me everything.

Without you, I would be nothing.
Neither Communist.

What?

If it goes well, if I survive...

Let's start separating.

I do not worry about staying,
but I think about you.

Writing saddens you.
You bury your head in the hands...

It's lovely to be with you.

It's like living in a
leafy neighborhood.

Ant...

The little ant does
not know what to do.

Think of the strength of your arm
and the clarity of your brain.

And realizes that he will
live another 40 years.

For a minute you
only see red horses.

Excuse?

- You may come in.
- Thank you.

Are you walking?

- No.
- What is it?

It is an arrest warrant issued
by the Chilean National Police.

- No, but...
- No.

- No.
- No.

I am a person who dies
but is not arrested.

Where is he?

- It's not here.
- At where?

You do not understand it, do you?

- You do not understand anything.
- What?

In this fiction, we all revolve
around the protagonist.

- As?
- Books, for example.

This one...

That you were reading.

THE ANGEL DARK

There is a pursuer, a fugitive,

One principal and one secondary.

No, but I...

I'm no secondary character.

Why do you think he
did not kill you?

Why can not you kill me?

Could. Practice
shooting every day.

No, you can not.

Do not you?

Not, of course. He wants you
to chase him south. You go?

Are you okay?

Did he hurt you?
Hit you?

No, he asked me to
give you this message.

If you want, I can kill you.

I could not do that.

Of course I can.

- No.
- Yes.

- No!
- Of course yes.

He wrote that a long time ago.

Have you ever seen
a bored prisoner?

In your head, you are writing
a fascinating novel.

He created you, the Trojan policeman.

He created me, the absurd woman.

He wrote to himself.

The depraved fugitive.

What you're saying
is modern nonsense,

A golden lamb.

Do not you like the
way he writes?

Like.

Do you think he only
thinks of land and love?

Do not.

He thinks of naked women, of
detectives pursuing him...

He created you
thinking of yourself.

You, in your house,
reading his poems.

You, in front of the mirror.

He created you
watching our feast,

Immersed in our music.

Closed in a car,
with empty eyes.

A dog at night,

A bird during the day.

It created you spying, waiting.

He created you imprisoned,
a furious spy.

Listening to things
you'll never understand.

Depreciating ideas and words.

One hundred meters from life.

Powerless.

Freile.

He created you as the guardian
of an imaginary frontier.

He thinks of you
thinking of himself.

All the detectives are in love.

In all the detective
novels there are beds.

Right.

He writes well.

He created me.

But I...

I've held you.

And in this hug, I'm going
to take him to jail.

I'll make him sleep
and watch him dream.

And I'm going to end up
sitting on his chest.

Then you will chase after him.

You will chase after him and arrest him.

Or it will not enter
the history of men.

Am I a fiction?

Yes.

"And you, is it a fiction?"
- No.

I am real. And I am eternal.

Excuse.

Secondary character?

I?

Do not. No, sir.

Because I'll get you.

I hope you're right.

Stop the car.

- The boss is coming.
- Thank you, Manuel.

"Do you know him?"
- Yes.

He is my patron, the
owner of this land.

We're going to have to walk on foot.

Does he know everything?
You can call the police.

When do we go horseback riding?

Not yet.

I would eat a whole pig.

Good afternoon, Don Ricardo.
Good afternoon, ma'am.

This is Antonio.

How are you, sir?

Good afternoon.

Yes sir?

I want to know if you could
welcome me to your house?

Not to mention the patron, of course.

"Did you kill anyone?"
- No.

Yes. Writing.

I'm always writing.

For many years Neruda has
eaten this same burnt land.

You must like this bed.

She would sleep happily
there, hugging her daughter.

Right now, I just
want you to hold me.

- Sir.
- Good afternoon.

- Are you lost?
- No.

Did not finish

Do you know where I can...?

Look.

Seeing the bike for you.

Last generation vehicle.
From Germany.

I'll take you to the
boss, he's got gas.

I do not need gasoline.

I need a horse.

Two horses.

I'm stalking a very
dangerous criminal.

"And the bike, can I sell it?"
- Of course.

Of course. As long as they come with me.

This can be very exciting.

Hello? President?

Mr. President?

Yes, it is Peluchonneau, yes.

We arrest Senator Neruda.

Come on, quick!

The boss is coming.

Dominguez.

A feudal lord who invented
capitalism on his land.

There is a secret trail up the mountain
to bring Argentine contraband.

Hello, sir.

This is Mr. Monsalve,
a Mapuche chief.

We are afraid of these people.

Are you tired, Mr. Ruiz?

I'll call him Mr. Ruiz.

I'm Pedro Dominguez,
owner of this shit here.

On behalf of the President
of the Republic,

I'm going to arrest
him for treason.

"You're on my own day."
"Am I on your custom day?"

It is.

"Are you going to get me arrested?"
- No, I'll help you.

Crossing the ridge.

Many people die there.
I'll help you.

You do not want to pay taxes.

I'm irritated by this
president you elected.

He thinks that the state
is an enemy of freedom.

So why will you help me?

Yes.

It is more fun to help
than to call the police.

More fun?

Yes, more fun.

Over his shoulders and soul will
stand the future of the Republic.

The millionaire is always
smarter than the laws.

Patron.

A police officer is here
behind the senator.

- He wants us to show him the trail.
- What's he like?

Kind of rough, half idiot.

Araucania.

A land without a temple.

Trees and cold.

It is said that the
conquistadors wept

When a Mapuche patrol arrived.

They were more afraid of the
Indians than of the Moors.

Now it is a land of peace.

A land of clay and work.

The poet writes about it.

The suffering of the
poor inspires him.

Pablo!

Hide! Hide!

Pablo...

I'm seeing you.

I hear you gasp.

The middle one, the fat one.

I go from the left, you
see from the right.

I'm going to shoot the horse's
head so I'll die soon.

You come and grab it.

It's going to be very impressive.

You think they will not shoot?

Do not.

Because the animals
will run scared.

It's going to be a chain reaction.

Meanwhile...

I'll come forward.

It's good to be a cop, right?

Right. Let's go.

I'm sorry, sir.

The shit of the traitor Gonzales
Videla is me, and I came this far.

Me, the skinny, the bony.

In this white bed, I make a
toast to the last months.

I only have one bullet,
passionate boar.

But do not worry.
With the cold, you will not feel it.

Pablo!

Why does he come to me?

Are not you afraid?

Pablo, where are you going?

But he is curious.

Pablo, come on. Pablo!

He wants to see me.

How could he not see
the end of his story?

Where are you going, man?

He gave me a hug.

Talked to me.

And she danced with me.

I pursued the guide, but I
do not know how to fly.

I'm far away.

I can only go back to the
bottom of the earth.

I lived believing I
was a Peluchonneau.

Son of a police uniform.

But now...

I think maybe I was a Neruda.

A son of the people.

Maybe my father
lived on his knees,

With the dirty face.

Maybe put together four coins

And paid to sweat the
back of my hand.

Maybe I'm a son of the wheat.

Another black head among
millions of black heads.

But I'm going to die white,

Because nobody else
persecuted the poet.

No one else terrified
him in the snow.

No one else made him
gasp regretfully.

No one else accompanied
him on his trip.

It does not matter
that you wrote to me,

That made me a
secondary character.

I wrote myself too.

Lousy way.

I invented myself without life,

Alone, without love.

But the poet invented me furiously,

Full of wind.

He wrote me to a fabulous death.

A police death.

Slow, cold.

With red details,

With music,

with animals,

With trees,

With poetry.

Do you know him?

Do not.

Yes...

Yes I know.

This is my inspector.

My pursuer.

My uniform ghost.

I dream about him and
he dreams about me.

He watches over me,
knows my back.

Look what you wrote, officer.

You wrote the snow
and the horses.

You raise Me Up.

Now you do not even feel the cold.

We have to take him.

Alert the muleteers.

I feel the heart
beat of this horse.

I feel my own heart, too.

Because they did not kill me.

They did not kill me
with a blow to the head.

- Are you breathing?
- No.

Mr. Picasso, tell me
what happened to him.

For almost two years,

Neruda headed the Chilean
resistance in the clandestine.

The political police chased
him into the mountains.

But the poet crossed the Andes,

Disappeared in the snow
and came to heaven.

Mr. Neruda, did you write
in the underground?

Forgiveness?

Are you afraid that your political
figure will overlap your poetry?

Do not.

I'm not afraid.

It turns out that...

Sometimes I feel like I'm
freezing in the snow.

I dream. I dream with this.

- Cold dead?
- No, dead with one shot.

There's a man...

Who was about to kill me.

"Is he still pursuing you?"
- It's possible.

- Who is it?
"A policeman, miss.

Maybe he's around, watching us.

No one will know that I existed.

Say my name. Say it!

Say my name.

Say my name!

His name was Oscar.

Oscar Peluchonneau.

- You said!
- Peluchonneau.

You said my name!

Write: Peluchonneau.

I'm not a secondary character.

Many men of my country
are in prison,

Tortured, exiled.

I'm just one of them.

Because I've always been
a prisoner with them.

Why did he do all this?
For your people.

The poet gave them words
to count their lives.

Their lives are hard.

These words made sense to
his terrifying dreams.

That's why he did everything,
so they could talk.

They can already be quoted as
being trampled by history.

They do not remember
the poems of love,

S of the fairy tales.

Unrecognizable Poems...

Poems of an imaginary future.

"I can write the saddest
poem of all tonight..."

Wonderful!

Neruda made me eternal.

Your art gave me life.

I was from paper...

And now I am of blood.

PeG@SuS
Subtitle by : *GROOT*
Resync by : kang Dadan
pilemhade.blogspot.com

ALAT ELEKTRONIK MURAH & BERKUALITAS :
GPS, Kalkulator, Telepon, Perkakas, HT/WT, dll.
handycom-it.blogspot.com

Belanja Barang Murah & Original :
https://www.bukalapak.com/pegasus_bl
https://www.tokopedia.com/unicorn-shop-bdg