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Oh, there you are, camera.

Are you working, camera?
Are you...

I thought you were
just sitting there,

waiting to... to be used
to do something.

♪♪

Hello?

Irene!

It's Michelle.

Does this visitor come

because the visitor
wants something?

Or because the visitor
brings something?

Is there something
you're looking for?

♪♪

And what else?

And when I reach the...

♪ And to reach the high... ♪

♪ ...est peak ♪

♪ And to reach
the highest peak ♪

♪ But it wouldn't
thrill me ♪

♪ But it wouldn't... ♪

♪ But it wouldn't
thrill me ♪

♪ Half as much ♪

♪ As dancing cheek to cheek ♪

♪ Heaven ♪

♪ I'm in heaven ♪

Is a ham sandwich heaven?

Yep.

Now, how do you like
my outfit here,

from here down?

You gonna put on some shoes?

Look how many layers.

Don't tell me I'm not
the champion of layers.

Because it's one, two,
three, four,

five, six, and seven.

Am I not the champion
of layers?

You are the champion
of something or other.

Am I the subject
of your film?

Yes.

Am I so fascinating
that you feel

I don't need script,
I don't need a rehearsal.

If I'm just myself...

I'm gonna leave it
like that.

By myself, I will be
so interesting.

People will say,
"Who is that movie star?"

This is where
you tap dance?

Only in the middle
of the night.

Is this part of my outfit?

Yes. You're the writer.

You always have to be
carrying papers.

You think you have style?

Oh! I have so much style

that you don't even know--
you think it's mistakes.

♪♪

♪ Heaven ♪

♪ I'm in heaven ♪

♪ My heart beats so ♪

♪ That I can hardly speak ♪

♪ And I seem to find ♪

♪ The happiness I seek ♪

People always ask,
who are your influences,

so I say Maria Irene Fornes,
and they--

they don't know who she is.

No one ever knows who she is,

and so I always have
to tell my students,

or I'll-- I'll mention her,
you know, in New York,

and people are like...
"Who?"

Welcome to "Spotlight."

My guest is one of
the most original voices

in the American theater,

the playwright and director,
Maria Irene Fornes.

Irene, welcome.
Thank you.

Maria Irene Fornes...

Irene, as she
prefers to be called.

...was born in Cuba.

And with only an elementary
school education...

...has become one of America's
most distinguished...

...experimental
and original playwrights.

Wrote over 40 plays,
won nine Obies,

the major Off-Broadway
theater awards.

Nominated for
a Pulitzer Prize.

Major woman playwright,
certainly of recent times.

Oh.

I don't know of any playwright
more intuitive...

more reliant on taking stuff
from the unconscious,

and letting that create form.

♪♪

What's this?

See? I work.
I'm working.

I learned to work.
I wake up, and I work.

Open my eyes,
and I work.

I work!
What do you do?

Every play is different.

Each play is demonstrating
a different muscle.

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
Damn it.

You're all wrong.

♪♪

She discovers what

she's writing by writing it.

♪♪

I created a game where I wrote
things in different cards,

and then I shuffle them and then
I picked them at random,

and whatever the cards said,
then I would go off...

off in that direction.

And I wrote it
in two or three days.

My most vivid memory
is "Promenade,"

and that was
certainly not first.

I was so enchanted by that show

that I learned-- I learned
all of the lyrics.

♪ To walk down the street ♪

♪ With a mean look
in my face ♪

♪ A cigarette
in my right hand ♪

♪ A toothpick in my left ♪

To alternate between
the cigarette and the toothpick,

ah, that's life.

I mean, you know, you just--
they're in your head forever.

♪ Yes, I have
learned from life ♪

♪ Every day
I've learned some more ♪

♪ Every blow has been of use ♪

♪ Every joy has been a lesson,
yes, I have... ♪

She was constantly observing,

constantly finding things.

She would find these objects

in thrift stores.

And one thing would
give her the whole scene.

♪♪

And she was just always open

to the imagination.

Take it. Take it!

Some of her work
is very brutal

and very, very violent,
I think, and shocking.

But it's also very tender

and very delicate.

Do you direct
all of your own plays?
Yes.

Why should
I be deprived

of this part of the fun

of something that
I work hard constructing?

She just felt her way

through it.

She used the actors
in the room the way that

a musician uses instruments.

"I wanna know what that does."

Irene, I think, suffers from

pioneer syndrome.

She's the one who's been
out there cutting the bush,

cutting the brush,
paving the trails.

We all felt of her, like,
the mother of our writing.

"Irene's children,"
we used to call ourselves.

If you let your mind go,

you stop writing
the bullshit dialogue.

That's what happened
in her classes.

Your mind was set free.

One day, I just felt

that I had to write a play.

This play came to me,

and I don't remember it
coming to me.

It was there.

Almost if to say
you're having a dream then,

you know, that comes to you.

And you've never
looked back, then?

I mean, you've known
ever since then that the theater

was really your life.
Yes.

Completely.

And she never stopped.

She just went on
to the next one.

And then she just
went on to the next one,

and then the next one.

There's no excuse in her life,
it seemed to me,

for not going forward.

It's up to him to find out.

You can tell him that.
"It's up to you to find out."

No.

No, you don't go...

I don't, um...

Loss.

Loss is L-O-S--
L-O-S-S.

S-S. That's an "A," no?

Isn't this
how you spell "loss"?

Mm-hmm. Yeah, loss.

L-O-S-S.

Does loss of memory imply

that I don't remember
anything,

or that there isaloss?

Aloss.

Okay. So.

How long have
I had this problem?

Oof! Forever.

How long have I had
this problem?

It's been, uh...

About four years.

More.

Four or five years?

Four years in a very
intense way, no?

Yeah.
Has it been that long?

Mm-hmm.
That I've been
out of it.

Irene Fornes?

Any thoughts of the moment?

The moment
is a little bit confusing.

But, on the other hand, I feel
I am in good, loving hands.

Four hands.

Two loving hands to the right

and two loving hands
to the left.

And... a kind of
interesting painting.

Behind.

Is this part of your story?

I prefer
not to hide anything.

I feel the moment
I want to hide something,

I say, "Uh, watch out."

If you expose anything
about you,

the good, the medium,
and the bad,

you are a freer person,
a healthier person.

I trust you enough

to think that you're not
gonna do anything

ugly with these films.

Like, you're going to...

And even if you tried,

who'd be interested in it?

So I don't know how I got
into this.

But here we are.

How did we meet?

How you and I met?

Yeah.

You tell me.

I don't remember how we met.

I was interviewing you

for an article
on playwrights and critics.

Yeah.

About eight years ago,

nine years ago.

That long?

Mmmhmm, I met you on the corner
of Waverly and 6th, and...

Did we go someplace, or did we--

The interview took place
on the corner?

We went to Baluchi's restaurant.

Uh-huh.

And we sat there for many hours.

And you were a little girl?

You were like
very young, right?

Mm-hmm, I was 25,
and you were 70.

Uh-huh.

Was that the very beginning?

Well, then--

then we became friends.

Yeah.
Yeah.

And at the time,
you weren't writing,

and you didn't know why.

And I actually wanted
to write a play,

but I didn't know how.

Uh-huh.

And one day we took

a trip to Brighton Beach

and I took along
this old Hi8 camera

that my father
had gotten me.

And we turned it on.

We started working together.

Irene, does the camera
make you uncomfortable?

Oh, no, no, please!

I love it.
Don't you understand?

A camera to me is my beloved.

The one who understands me.

The one who
wants me always.

And I give everything I have
to a camera.

So, who is doing
the writing?

You are.

Writing, I am using now
Michelle's language.

She calls talking
to a camera writing.

I don't know how to do

the light on the camera.

So you mean that you're
not going to be able to--

It means I don't know
what I'm doing.

What do you do
in a creative situation

where you don't know
what you're doing?

Meditate.
I meditate?

Don't look for it,
don't push it.

Don't get, you know,
on top of it.

but rather...

uh, be kind of like
a little Hindu.

Sort of just
concen -- meditate.

Letting it come to you.

Learning how to become intimate
with your own imagination...

...is so very important

that it's more important
than accomplishing--

you know, finishing a piece.

And to be able,
by making contact with it,

for it to... to flourish,
to be abundant,

to... to be fertile.

I want to talk about
your plays,

how different they all were.

Uh-huh.
How did that
come about?

Well, you see, um,
that came about

because of the way
I was writing,

because I didn't know how
to write a play.

You see, and when you don't
know how to do something,

you're experimenting
every minute, every minute
of the way.

It's like when you go
to a new city

where you...where you never been,
you don't know anybody,

and you don't know, uh--
you haven't--

You're not carrying
your-- your-- your guidebook,

um, everything you do
is an experiment.

How-- How long have you been

a "camera-ographer"?

Cinematographer?
Cinematographer.

Not very long.

I bought-- I started--
A couple of hours?

You don't trust me.

I only--
I do not trust professionals.

But-- but people
who have confidence

in their artistic...

...instinctive knowledge

are all on my side--

side of the artistic road.

♪ You move away from me ♪

♪ I move away from you ♪

♪ Because, honey ♪

♪ My love for you
is secret ♪

♪ And it has to
stay that way ♪

How was that?
I just improvised a song.

Isn't it divine?

You made that up?

I made it up.

Melody, words.

Follow me, kid.

♪♪

Move.

♪♪

Hey, babe.

You wanna you know what?

Ha!

♪♪

Everybody always fell in love

with her, male and female.

She was an arch-flirt.

I mean, I always
called her Doña Juana.

She was really a Don Juan.

Her mother used to call me
Prince Valiant.

Irene was the only--

and I've had many affairs
with women--

the only woman
where the sex was great.

It was a mad passion
for a while.

My ex-girlfriend told you
I was a classy broad.

Yeah, who's
your ex-girlfriend?

I-- I don't have
an ex-girlfriend.

I thought you--
Ex-lover?

I have many ex-lovers.

And she has this long poem.

"You keep your love wrapped
in birds' nerves."

Something like that.

"You have such big eyes."

"Very warm fingers,
teeth of coconut.

You like to dance slow."

"I would like to die
with you."

"I'd like to die with you

because you will die singing

and you speak Spanish."

Isn't that beautiful?

Wow.

Yeah, she's a talented lady.

Do you sometimes wish

that you had a partner
right now?

I... hardly ever.

If it happens,
I'm sure--

If it happens, it will happen
because there's someone

that-- that delights me.

And how about you?

What about me?
Do you feel--

are you with somebody?

Are you...

Yes.
Yes?

Something that makes you
very happy,

or something that
you feel is more, like,

something that exists?

I don't know
what makes me happy.

♪♪

When are you most happy?

If I'm writing,

then I am in heaven.

If my plays are being done,
I am in super heaven.

I have been very fortunate
in my life

that I have done things
that I would have done

even if I had not gotten
a penny to do them,

because they're things
I love doing.

I think you should keep writing

and try not to think
too much about

what makes "good writing,"
but just let it come out.

The food is always there
available to us.

By the "food," I mean
the desire to write

and the vast...

number of subjects
and different stories,

different characters,
different personalities

that we can become
interested in,

and involved with,
and want to write about.

There's nobody who's had

the influence on
American playwriting

as a teacher
that Irene has.

Tremendous influence
on the way playwrights

think about their craft

and that's the kind of teaching
that nobody--

I mean, everybody takes
exercises from Irene,

but nobody can quite
teach like Irene.

She really is the one
who sort of looked at

Actors Studio exercises
and said,

"Oh, this is really good
for writers because

it gets them
into a creative place

and that's
the most important thing."

That's where you have
to start from.

I mean, you tend to think
you write a play,

you have an idea and/or theme,
and you want to illustrate it.

And you sit down
and write it.

That's not the way
Irene worked.

She wanted to get us
into our bodies, you know,

and into-- into whatever
the particular moment,

whatever the "now" was.

And with the palm
of your hand,

you feel your hair rubbing...

When I start a new play,

I don't sit cold
to a blank page.

I have to play games

and get myself
into writing obliquely.

♪♪

Let your head rotate.

I get inspired with whatever.

It could be a person I see.

It could be
just a gesture.

♪♪

You see somebody that you
haven't seen for a long time.

That moment of--
of a contact.

♪♪

It has to pull you.

And when it pulls you,
you are in.

♪♪

When I give a class
an exercise,

I did it.

So I was the teacher,
I was also the student.

♪♪

I often think of it

as the experience
of "Alice in Won--"

when she goes through -- through the hole.

♪♪

I wasn't worried about form,

about clarity,
about understanding.

I just laid it all out.

To me, writing plays is not
a way of earning a living

but it is a way
of earning a life.

What was your first thought

when you woke up
this morning?

It was so strange
because when I woke up,

it was very light.

And I thought,

is it that I went to sleep
in the middle of--

of the day,
or is this another day?

And I started getting
very worried.

I haven't written a play
for a long time.

I don't know how long.

Do you remember
when you stopped?

No, if I remembered
when I stopped,

I would know how long it is.

There are things that stay.

A person's face.

Sometimes a name,
sometimes a name doesn't--

Who's the cameraperson?

This woman who is holding
the camera and talking to me.

Who is she?

Her name is something
like Mi-- Mi-- Mi--Mi--

Sh-- Sh-- Sh--
Mich-- Michi-- Michi--

Michi-- Michi--
no, that's a cat.

Michelle!

My-- my profession is not
to have a good memory.

That's not what
I'm hired to do, you know?

"Bring in the woman
with the memory!"

♪♪

They called me to come

assist her
on "Letters from Cuba."

And that was when I really
got a window into

how her whole process worked

from beginning to end.

I got to watch her
direct in the room,

I got to watch her do
her rewrites in the room.

She's someone who had spent
her whole life devoted

to, um,
capturing the truth

of a moment
in theatrical space.

And so there was
an argument to be made

that she was, like,
so deeply in the moment

that she didn't
retain information

about anything superfluous,

like how that moment
was contextualized.

And then, it became clear
that the, I think,

the memory was starting to go.

What she told me when

she was beginning to realize
that she was losing her memory

was the whole purpose
of her classes

that she gave
to young playwrights

was to teach them
not to get stuck.

That...

the problem was
you got so fixated

on the channel that you were
using to get a thought across,

that you lost all nuance
and all flexibility

within your own medium.

And so you just hit the wall.

Over again.
Bang, bang, bang.

Same wrong word,
same wrong patterns.

She said, "You know what,
Jana, the nice thing about

what's happened to me
is I can never do that again."

Are we taking a subway?

Yes.

Do you have change?

You have money
in your pocket.

And is this my money?

Yes.

Are you being interviewed?

Connie? Connie!

Do you know Connie--
Constance Congdon?

How are you, my darling?
Hi, darling.

Connie, do you know
Irene Fornes?

Irene!
Constance Congdon.

How are you?
And she's being photo-- yes.

We're doing a documentary
on Irene.

Oh, well, about time.

And you are?
John Guare is my name.

John Guare,
nice to meet you.

This is an old playwright.
Constance Congdon.

This is incredible!
Hi!

It's perfect for this movie,
you know, this is the--

the neighborhood of artists.

Of artists,
that's right.

That's what we do,
isn't it?

We do art.
Yep, we do.

From morning till night,
we do art.

Except the little times
where we meet in the corner,

then we just say "hello."

Which is art also.

Yeah, it is, it is.

There we are.
Anyway...

There we go.

Irene, it's great
to see you.

Oh, wonderful
seeing you.

Goodbye, Irene. Bye.

What are you thinking?

The things we take
for granted.

Like, John Guare was...

I haven't seen him
in such a long time.

We see each other
two seconds.

Very, very nice
couple of seconds.

Greetings, and then
"goodbye, goodbye."

And that's..that's the end of it.

♪♪

Do you find that where there's
a whole period of your life

where you used to hang around
in a certain area

and you got to know people,

and just the little places,
and restaurants,

the little things
felt like home?

And then for some reason,
without even knowing it,

you stopped-- or,
you still want to go there,

but the--the people
are so different

that-- that you don't feel
like going anymore.

♪♪

Maria Irene Fornes
as she was.

Huh.
This was in 19...

uh... 66?

Welcome to La MaMa
repertory theater...

...dedicated
to the playwright

and all aspects
of the theater.

Thank you.

The Off-Off-Broadway scene

was fabulous.
Four different venues.

Two churches and two cafes.

The Cino and La MaMa.

There was the Judson
Poets Theater.

And Theater Genesis.

And suddenly, this started

mushrooming into a kind
of underground salon, you know?

With no permissions
and no-- no holds barred.

Do you remember where

Caffe Cino used to be?

Yes, it's around here.
Yeah.

Judson was your home.

♪♪

Nobody was famous.

Nobody had agents.

Everybody communicated
with everybody else, shared,

and nothing cost anything.

It was the attitude.

It was wanting to do
something different

from the commercial theater.

I mean, we never had
any money to do anything.

We just--like-- I used to go out
in the middle of the night

with my Volkswagen bus
and find wood,

and cardboard,
and stuff like that.

And we would use it
in sets.

There were a lot of things

I didn't take into
consideration-- that one
must have lights,

that one must have
proper scripts,

that one must have entrances,
that one must have costumes.

We didn't have any of that.

♪♪

In the Off-Off-Broadway
movement,

because things
were not so systematic,

everybody did what they could.

When they did something,
it was to help out.

It wasn't so much a privilege
or a-- or a job.

It was, "I'll help!"

I did costumes
because I knew how to sew.

I did everything.
I did the bookkeeping.

The office was in
my apartment.

When people talked about
those movements,

I also noticed that
Irene's name often was

kind of left out of it

and the guys
were talked about.

But Irene was there
and part of it.

And later,
as I got to know her,

I realized how strongly Irene
must have been part of it,

'cause she was no
shrinking violet.

Hi, how are you?
I'm Jason

from the New York
"IT" Awards.

And I'm Shay.
Hello, Shay.

Pleasure! I'm so honored
that you could be here.
Yeah, thank you so much

for coming tonight.
Oh, it's just so wonderful.

Ellen, how are you,
my dear?

How are you?

Just that seeing you
makes me feel so--
so connected, you know?

So completely-- so-- so--so this is--

this-- this is a party
for the Off-Off-Broadway...

Evidently.

She as the only woman

in a place where
there were all men.

And she survived
and did beautiful work

and has always done
beautiful work.

Thank you.
What is your name?

Akia. A-K-I-A.
Akia.

"I loved your grand air."

My grand air?
Thank you!

Yay! Woo-hoo!
Ginger! Ginger Fornes!

He is Walter. Oh, my beloved!

Oh! I did nothing but--
Get your hands off my man!

We think of-- of ourselves

as being in this community,
and you-- you wanna tell people

that you have this illness,
and you have this idea

that people will come over
and-- and bring food to you,

and you know, and stick
with you and be with you.

But there is this
unbelievable isolation

that takes place in
every Alzheimer's home.

It just pushes
the vast majority

of people away.

♪ Bum-bum ♪

Michy, I'm going to miss you
so much when you decide,

"Well, that's it,
I don't need anymore.

I have all I need."

I would say,
oh, where is she?

I needed to see her
every day.

Now, this is the moment
of truth here,

where these keys
always do this to me.

They play games, they decide
they don't want to open up.

They drive me crazy.

What I'm gonna do
is I'm gonna leave it...

I'm not going
to drive myself crazy.

Have you been outside today yet?

No?

I think I was--

But just like to the corner.

I don't even know to--

No, this is two.
I don't know to do what or...

To check the mailbox.

I don't get any mail no more.

Nobody writes you
letters anymore?

No.

I have been forgotten.

♪♪

Who would you say is
the closest person to you?

Right now?
Yeah.

No one.

Did you eat today?

Oh, I don't know.

I don't remember.

I have no sense of time
at all.

♪♪

Did I open this drawer?

No, I didn't.

Ahhh.
Letter from Cuba!

Isn't that amazing?

You know that
I'm Marinca, right?
Mm-hmm.

This is a letter from
my brother,

my brother Cuco.

What do you remember
from Cuba?

The Malecon.

What was The Malecon?

The Malecon is the wall

that sets like a barrier
to the ocean.

I actually had a very poor
childhood in Cuba,

when it was during
the depression

and my father was out of work.

We took that picture
in 1945 in Cuba

after my father had died.

You see how we're all
wearing black, mourning?

Mm-hmm.

And my mother,
my sister and I

came to the United States.

I was 15.

My mother needed to work
to support the family.

In Cuba, it was difficult
to find work.

And she had always
wanted to come

and live in the United States.

This is the Cuban walk.

Uh--Walk a la cubana, in the Paseo del Prado.

They are-- they're
ignoring you, see?

These are memories
like dreams.

It's true that when we start
getting older,

we return
to our childhood again.

When was the last time
you were there?

So, so long ago,
I don't remember.

You want to go back?

I want very much to go back.

Should we try to go?

Oh, that would be divine.

♪♪

Passport.
Secret.

Secret adventure.

Good afternoon, everyone,

welcome onboard Flight 250,
service to Havana.

Irene Fornes.
Señora?

Where are we going?
To Havana, Cuba.

♪♪

Hey!
¡Hola!

Ay chico, qué bueno.

Hey, he is like
a movie star!

Are your parents worried

about Marinca
and her memory?

Yeah.

We all are very, very concerned
about it, you know?

And we ask it to the family,
we ask it to--

hmm, her-- Marinca's sisters
about how she's living.

It's so hard to know what to do.

I hoped that this trip would

get people involved
in trying to help.

But I think that this trip

is very important for her.

I see her, and I see her
very, very happy

to be with us here,

and it makes me happy
to me too.

Amen.
Amen.

Amen.
Amen.

In my family,
practically every person--

my brothers and sisters,
my nephews--

uh, have an artistic bend
to them

which, to me,
since I am a playwright,

I-- I find very,
very interesting

and very, um...

...wholesome, and dynamic,
and--and a wonderful thing.

My brother has been,
since he was a very young man,

he was about 14,
a cartoonist.

Always dealing with
some political issue.

In your opinion,

Sometimes I say
where are we?

And when you-- when you
have those thoughts,

you don't get afraid
or anything?

Like if you don't know
where you are?

No, if I see right away...

...instantly, I know
where I am.

Welcome to Havana.

I'm your tour guide Michelle.

You're in for
a fun-filled stay.

And the guide--
the tour guide is gonna

be in Spanish or in English?

Or in French?
In inglés.

The good thing
about this camera

is that if you don't remember,

it remembers.

The camera is your memory.

Even things I don't
want to remember?

Even things
you don't want to remember.

♪♪

Walk-- Walk a la Cubana?

♪♪

I want to look at Havana today.

Through the eyes of us?

No!
Through your own eyes.

I am a tourist,
too, in Havana.

You're looking at
something...

with the same curiosity as
the first time you look at it.

♪♪

- Is this me?

Irene and Michelle.

Is there any
resemblance with me?

There's no resemblance
with you.

If he's aiming
at a resemblance.

A likeness.
At a likeness.

He's out to lunch.

Do you feel old?
Me?

Yeah.
No, I feel young.

How young do you feel?
I don't even know

exactly how old I am,
but I could be 60.

Mid-60s?
Older.

You're 70, mid--
Mid-70s.

Do you feel mid-70s?

Oh no, if I don't even
feel mid-60s,

how can I feel mid-70?

Because I know that when
I am interested in something,

I have as much energy
as somebody 15 years old.

It isn't that I have

it's that probably
that anybody at any age

who becomes excited
about something,

the energy comes.

It's the power
that humans have.

Which is magic.

♪♪

In Cuba, I feel like
I have returned

to a long-lost great love.

This is my soil.

This is my spirit.

If I have any kind of spirit...

that-- that in
the United States,

I have been-- celebrated is
too big a deal--

But I have been taken
seriously as a playwright.

It is-- and I'm very grateful
to the United States.

But it is because
I'm being Cuban.

In some ways, I absorbed
things from my father,

from my mother,
each one very independent.

My mother,
her way of life

had nothing to do
with the conventional

Cuban woman of that period.

And my father
was a Bohemian, really.

♪♪

Oh, it's beautiful.

You want me
to tell the world

how much I love you?
Yes.

What a good camera lady
you are?

How you hold that black,
shapeless thing

in front of your face

and both the camera and you
become gorgeous,

even if one doesn't
see your face?

Sí.

♪♪

♪♪

How did we meet?

Tell me how we met.

Oh, make up a story?

Yeah, make--

tell me how we met.

I was work-- waiting--
I was sitting

in a cafe in Paris.

Sitting,

I had been waiting,
I had ordered a, um, daiquiri.

Pretending that
I was a very...

interesting person
waiting for someone.

Not at all alone.

The person that I met
in that cafe in Paris

was not Michelle.

Who was it?
It was Susan Sontag.

♪♪

People identify you as

America's leading
intellectual.

But, do you reject that?

No, I never think of myself

as an intellectual.

I wouldn't say I'm not,

but I would say
I'm a writer,

and a reader,
and a dreamer.

And dream about what?

How things could be.
How things could be better.

How things could be,
um, deeper.

More intense.

More wonderful.

♪♪

You know, I've only heard you

talk about Susan Sontag--
of all the lovers.

And?

Why is that?

Guess.

When a person says--
if I say because

she was the love of my life,

would you...

would you get
any more information?

It was the person
that I loved with...

...the most profound.

Right now, I--
my eyes begin to tear.

And this is
now 155 years later.

Right?

So do you want to still
ask why--

why sooner or later
I start talking about Susan?

And why is someone
the love of your life?

That is the mystery.
That's magic.

Cannot be explained.

You say, "Well, if it cannot be
explained, what is it?"

It's as real as this table

And yet, you cannot say
it's because of this--

you cannot analyze it.

It's because it is.

Do you think
you could be gay

and be Cuban
and be a playwright here?

In Cuba? Never!
No?

You don't think
lesbians live in Cuba?

They live in Cuba
in secrecy.

No, I'm serious
about that.

Oh no, in Cuba...

people do whatever
they please.

Cubans are very free.

But it's all in a...

It's all discreet?
It's never out in the open.

Huh.
If somebody would--

would say,
"Is your brother gay?"

You would say...

But you were ne--
you were never

out in the open
in the United States?

Well, not out in the open
that I'm d--

that I'm declaring anything.

But if-- if...

if people are saying that
I'm gay or this and that,

or I'm a lesbian
or whatever,

I don't give a damn
what they say.

I don't try to correct them
and say you say that

about me again
and I'm gonna...

I don't give a damn
what they say.

In Cuba, it would destroy
a person's life.

So does your family here,
do they know about...

I don't know
because to find out,

I would have to ask them
and it's-- I--

and I've never
asked anybody,

because asking is already,
you know, declaring--

making a confession,
I don't--

My life is my life

and I don't care
what they think.

But the moment you would ask,
you're already putting yourself

at their mercy
in some way.

You don't want people
to know more about--

I don't hide anything.
I am what I am,

and I don't-- I don't...

but it has not been easy.

♪♪

Yeah.

♪♪

You're not filming
in this light?

It's a night shot.

And you're-- and you're
gonna take a picture...

Here's the camera.
Show me what you see.

What I see is what
the camera's gonna print?

Yeah.

How is it possible,
that when I look at you,

your whole face is dark?

I don't see
the features at all.

And I see your face here
as light

as if you had a very strong
spotlight on you.

Yeah.
This is just

a kind of miracle.

♪♪

Are you a camera?

Are you a...

tape recorder?

Are you a sweet,
sweet friend?

Are you a curious
little child?

Are you the person who makes
people movie stars?

Are you the person

who does plastic surgery

to make people beautiful?

Definitely not.

Mm? Definitely not?

So that's life.
That is.

One has expose your--
one's self,

not be afraid of having...

not having desire
for privacy.

Because privacy
is probably, uh...

Overrated.
No, but also more than that,

is... is a personal attempt

to enclose oneself
and limit themself.

And in shutting
oneself off,

you miss a lot, a lot

of things that
you could enjoy,

and things you could learn

and expand yourself

and become a really vital

and, uh, interesting person.

♪♪

Even the camera?

You are a very important
personality.

Oh, Marinca.

Are you gonna miss your nephew?

Yeah.

To Cuba?
No.

I would like to have
a magic bar.

♪♪

Lead the way.

So tonight, Miami.

And what're we gonna do there?

Dance the rumba?

Carmencita.
Carmencita?

They're having
a party for us tonight.

Carmen-- my sister Carmen?

Yeah.

♪♪

Does this movie go

into the future?

Or is it only the past?

It depends,
what does your future look like?

I haven't looked at it.

To look at something,
it has to exist.

And the future,
as far as I know,

cannot be seen.

Can you photograph
the future with your camera?

You cannot, right?

So does it exist?

So you have to be patient
and wait for it.

♪♪

To our right. Right?
Right.

Right.

♪ Only one ♪

♪ Only one naked lady ♪

♪ I want to be
naked too ♪

Yeah.
♪ Two, two ♪

And on-- no, no.

♪ Only one ♪

♪ Only one naked lady ♪

♪ Two ♪
♪ Two ♪

♪ I want to be naked too ♪

♪ Only one ♪

♪ Only one naked lady ♪

♪ Not you, only me ♪

I never-- I never
wrote those words.

No.

♪ I want to be naked too ♪

♪ Only one ♪

♪ Only one naked lady ♪

♪ Two, two ♪

♪ I want to be naked too ♪

♪ Only one ♪
♪ Two ♪

♪ Only one naked lady ♪
♪ Two naked ladies ♪

♪ All right ♪
♪ Thank you, thank you ♪

♪ Two naked ladies ♪
♪ Thank you, thank you, sir ♪

♪ Only two ♪

♪ Only two naked ladies ♪

♪ Three, three ♪

♪ I want to be naked too ♪

♪ All right ♪
♪ Thank you, thank you ♪

♪ Three naked ladies ♪
♪ Thank you, thank you, sir ♪

Well, who lives in
this house?

Your sister.

My sister Carmencita?
Si.

And where is Carmencita?
She's... somewhere.

But why isn't
she here tonight?

She is here.
Carmencita is here?

I haven't seen her.
I've been here for many hours

and I haven't seen her.

Did you see her here?
Yeah.

Do you remember
anything from Cuba?

That we went to Cuba and
that uh, we were back today.

No?

So I don't know that
we went back to Cuba

or-- or that
we came back today.

Yeah.

And-- and when we were--
when were in Cuba,

did we see anyone?

Yeah, we saw your brother.

We saw... all of his family.

We saw--
we saw everybody.

And how long
were we there?

For two weeks.
We were two weeks in Cuba

and I forgot?
Yeah. Yeah.

The whole two weeks
I forgot?

That's... that's a bunch of...

that's a bunch of time!

Oh, that's really heavy, eh?

So what else
do you want to ask

that I don't know
how to answer?

It's okay.
Eh?

It's okay.
It's okay that what?

It's okay if you
don't remember.

No?
Yeah, it's okay.

Well, it makes one feel
a little nervous.

You can say

whatever you want to say.

In what language?

Uh... in English, please.

In my family,

practically every person--
my brothers and sisters,

my nephew-- have an artistic
bend to them.

She's very logical.

You know, she has
a sense of understanding...

a lot,
she still does.

She has any problem,
she solves it.

She solves it by creating...

a story.

I don't know if I should
continue further

before I jump in the ocean.

'Cause I know you can live
without me easily.

You don't care at all.

But I'd rather not live
without you.

No one can replace me.

There is in that song
total humility

and total vanity, eh?

To say "you will have
the taste of me

forever and ever,
no matter how much

you want to wash it off,

you will have
the taste of me."

Michelle) Hello.
Hello.

So it's been a month.

A month?
Since I've seen you last.

Yes, where have you been?
You have d-- deserted me.

I knew something was wrong,

but I couldn't tell
what was wrong.

It was that
you deserted me.

If you hadn't told me
it had been a month,

I would have not suffered
so much.

I would have thought
it was just a couple of days.

But now you tell me

it's a whole month of suffering.

Could you live here?

I think I could
because it's all very,

very, um-- it's pretending
to be a city.

But everything is
too clean, too organized.

Even the cars seem--
does anybody drive them?

Or are they just decorative?

Eh? Doesn't it seem like
the whole thing is decorative?

Your sister wants you
to stay here, in Miami.

Did she tell you that?
Yeah.

Because they doctors say
that you should--

should not probably be living
by yourself.

The doctors say that
because I may be suffering

from some ailment
that may overtake me?

You-- you have a little bit of memory stuff.

So it's safer for you
to be with somebody.

Yeah, but
it's important, too,

to have for somebody who...

who, uh...

who has been creative

and of some value
to some people, you know?

Who ha-- to be in a world

where that kind of, um,

creativity or activity
is valued and appreciated.

You know what I mean,
don't you?

I do, but the community

is no longer there
in New York.

The community's there,
more than anywhere else.

Look around you.
Look around me and tell me

that you think there's any
theater going on in this place.

New York may be different than
what it was ten years ago.

No, it's not that
New York's different.

It's that you're--
you've changed, you know?

I am a playwright.
It's my-- my life.

It's my work.
If I live here,

everybody here is very happy,
very peaceful,

and lovely life. Right.

If I don't live in a place
where there is theater

and people are going
to theater

and there is
a theater community

and a theater involvement,

I am just a nice person
who lives here.

You see the difference?

I know, but you're not
writing plays anymore.

But why am I not
writing plays?

It's because I live
in a place...

No, you haven't written a play for five years.

I haven't written
a play for five years?

Yeah, it's because
of the memory stuff.

If I'm not writing now,

it's because there's
no theater here.

If there were theater--
theater, I would be writing

my-- my little fingers off.

You've only been here for a
couple weeks, though.

I've only been
here for a couple weeks?

Mm-hmm.

And I haven't been writing
for how long?

For years and years?

So you mean you have to
live in a place

where there's theater
to write theater?

Yes, because it's something
that it-- you--

first of all,
if you are writing plays

it's because...

you don't write them just
because you love to write plays.

It's directly connected
with performance.

You write as a preparation--
it's almost like cooking a meal

when there's nobody
to eat it.

You don't cook a meal
just because

you love to cook a meal,

you love to cook a meal
that's going to be eaten.

You understand that, right?
Yes.

The same way is
writing a play.

A play needs the action
of the performers...

...for it to be
a complete thing.

A play that's on paper
is completely incomplete.

Completely incomplete.

That sounds peculiar.

♪♪

I missed you.

You missed me?
Mm-hmm.

When did you miss me?

I haven't seen you
in a month.

And where were you
for a whole month?

New York.
Doing what?

Working.
Working hard?

Mm-hmm.

And how long
have you been here?

A day.
Only one day?

Mm-hmm.
You know, it's funny

because when I see you,
it's almost like I see you--

you've become
so familiar to me...

that I did feel
when I saw you,

I felt very happy to see you

and very, kind of,

excited to see you.

But then, after a little while
it just seems like

we have always been
seeing each other

practically every day
or every other day

or once a week or,
you know,

there's a kind of-- it doesn't
matter how frequently--

frequently during the week,
but that--that you're always there.

Available.
You're always there.

That's the feeling I get.

Like family,
you know?

Don't you feel that way?
Mm-hmm.

Do you feel
that way about me, or--

or you don't give a damn
whether you see me or not?

You're definitely
my family.

Yeah?
Yeah.

I feel like we're sisters
or something.

Sisters, or cousins, or...

or partners.

All kinds
of possible different things.

But-- but that they all--
all of them

have to do with
some kind of trust.

Shall we do some work?

I am ready.

What do I need to do?

We're doing the dialogue.

We're-- we're doing it?
Yeah.

And you're doing
one character

and I'm doing
another character?

Mm-hmm. Yeah.
Okay.

Ooh, I need a line.
You start.

You're the line person.
Okay.

Pike. Pike says,

"Julia, I am sorry."

"I can't hear you."

Pike:

"Of course
you can hear me,

you are standing
right next to me."

♪♪

Everyday existence demands

that we follow certain...

conventional routines

and conventional,

even emotional,
state of being.

But being an artist,

you have to abandon
any notion

of things making sense...

I mean, things have to make sense,

in a different way.

Not the sense that

our everyday existence
demands from us.

♪♪

Irene Fornes.

Si, senora?

We are going to
receive an award.

Dónde?

At the Seattle
Repertory Theatre.

And what is the award for?

The award is for
theater practitioner

of... something.

Of the year?
Of the year, I think, yes.

Of the century.
Of the century, as well.

How do you feel about that?

I like it very, very,
very much.

Okay, good.

Michelle) Now this is theater.
Right here, right now.

In-on the streets of Seattle.
Quick costume change.

See, that's nice.
Ohh.

Okay, now we have to...
oh, fantastic!

Oh, that is so marvelous.

Irene is a magician.

Her plays are glimpses
into the unique world

that is only hers.

She is the architect
of how we create theater,

how we teach, and the way
we lead our lives.

So please join me
in congratulating her

on this award,
thank you.

Every time that you do see

a performance of a play
of yours

and the audience applauds,

it's like a new...

a new reward, you know?

A new kiss on your cheek.

♪♪

What's your name?

Michelle.

Michelle,
what a beautiful name.

It was assigned to me.

That's exactly what
an angel's name should be.

Michelle?
Michelle.

What does it mean?
It means "angel."

What does Irene mean?

I think, actually,
I used to know what Irene meant

and I forgot.

Tell me a story.

You see that little boat
over there?

That it-- it left
the trail behind?

Yeah.
Now, this boat...

the trail, it has almost
dissolved around here.

But this one, now,
is following

the trail of the other one.

And it's probably
reinforcing it.

♪♪

You changed a lot

of people's lives.

Me?
Oh, yeah.

Yeah.

You changed my life.
Oh, really?

Yeah.
How?

I think I was very lost before I met you.

I didn't have confidence
in my own ability

to make things.
Oh yeah?

And now it's not even about the making things,

it's about being present
and enjoying...

and working.

Enjoying doing that?
Yeah.

Yeah.

See how simple it is?

♪♪

Who am I?

You are me.

♪♪

Shall we say goodbye?

Goodbye to the camera?
Goodbye to the camera.

Or goodbye to the...?

Goodbye to the camera and the camera lady.

Goodbye, camera.

Goodbye, Michelle.

Goodbye...

everyone.

♪ Goodbye, goodbye ♪

♪ Goodbye beautiful land ♪

♪ Goodbye, goodbye ♪

♪ Goodbye beautiful country ♪

♪♪

So how should we
end this movie?

If you don't know
how to finish it,

you turn the lights out
and you say "the end."

And then people
think that was...

they would even discuss

their feelings
about the end.

So maybe that's how
we should end this movie.

Has-- has it started yet?

What, the movie?
Yeah.

Yes.
It has started?

Yes.
No, let's--

let's end with a happy note.

♪ I know everything ♪

♪ Half of it,
I really know ♪

♪ The rest I make up ♪

♪ The rest I make up ♪

♪ Some things I'm sure of ♪

♪ Of other things,
I'm too sure ♪

♪ And of others,
I'm not sure at all ♪

♪ People believe ♪

♪ Everything they hear ♪

♪ Not what they see ♪

♪ Not what they see ♪

♪ People believe ♪

♪ Everything they hear ♪

♪ But me,
I see everything ♪

♪ I see everything ♪♪

♪♪