Original subtitles

FRANCE

Motherfuckers.

Little cockerels… Cock-a-doodle-doo!

You don't care about Spain.

"Those Spaniard savages can go home to die!"

What do you reckon will happen now?

What are we going to do?

Us puny French roosters?

Now that we're stuck. We're all stuck in France.

We're surrounded.

Three-quarters of our borders are in fascist hands!

You think they'll be nice and stay on the other side?

You think those wolves are scared of roosters?

You'll see. They'll pluck us raw!

Now we've let Mussolini and Hitler play with their armies

and help their friend Franco!

I smell bloodshed!

France let them do it.

Europe!

Europe let them do it!

And you're French?

Yes, I'm French.

Martin François, International Brigades.

You're a disgrace to our country!

There they are.

There they are!

There they are!

Thief!

That's mine.

- Helios! - Josep!

Martin!

Valentin!

It's too loud!

What, Mum?

So can I go with my mates this weekend?

Dad said no.

- I didn't… - I'm driving. We'll talk later.

Madame Botezariu?

Hello?

Madame Botezariu?

Anyone?

Madame Botezariu? Are you here?

It's stifling in here!

It smells like death.

Dad!

Madame Botezariu?

Why have you left my father all alone?

Valentin! You can't watch telly. Your grandfather's dying!

What do you mean you told me?

No, I never said I'd take over!

I don't have the time!

When will you be back?

Okay. Yes, I understand.

Yes, right, fine.

That awful drawing!

I've told him to chuck it so many times.

- Why? He's asleep. - He's dead.

- Can't you see? - How can you tell?

I don't know, he's just dead.

Ok, your father has his appointment with the back specialist.

You stay here with your grandfather.

- What? - See you!

But what if he wakes up…

Seriously?

Shit…

Shit! You scared me!

Have we met?

Really? Grandpa!

It's me, Valentin,

your grandson.

That's just, like,

you know, whatever…

You're not bad.

Hey! What are you doing?

Can I get you something? Shall I…

Can I do something?

The chair.

My spectacles.

What's so funny?

Nothing.

1939: ring a bell?

Duh! The start of WWII.

- Of what? - World War II.

No. France went to war in September.

I mean February '39.

You wouldn't have recognised me then.

When Barcelona fell,

500,000 refugees sought sanctuary in France.

They got stuffed in concentration camps.

Do you think they deserved it?

What?

Concentration camps!

Mind your fucking step, will you?

Don't be shy, rookie.

You can do it if you try.

Piss all over him if you want, he's just a Spanish piece of shit.

Whistling, now?

Feeling all nice and cheerful?

That's what the dagos will do to you.

A second smile.

I didn't do anything!

Never forget they're a pack of reds.

I hear they eat children.

What do you reckon?

Yes, yes…

Without the black,

your coffee would be milk.

Without the white,

kola nuts would be coal.

Blimey, it's bitter.

Like everything else:

if it doesn't kill you, you get used to it.

Chew it slowly,

make it last.

Here.

For you.

Quick, take it, please!

I beg your pardon. I'm going to have to…

Who do you think you are?

There,

that'll show you,

Spanish piece of shit!

See, Léon?

When the lesson's good, they learn fast.

There were a few kind gestures,

here and there.

But they didn't make up for the barbed wire,

there to let them starve,

freeze, fall ill…

The beatings, the humiliation…

Those people had fought and fled fascism.

You're going to let us die, without any doctors!

What did we do to you?

Answer me! What did we do?

Hey, rookie!

Get over here!

Sit your arse here, old boy.

Léon, pass him some pâté.

No drinking water,

no doctors,

scabies, scurvy, typhus.

And famine.

It's horrible to feel hungry.

Now!

Careful! Stop!

Right on target, Léon!

- So sorry, lads! - Yeah, right, so sorry!

Which ones were the animals?

Enjoy!

You have to wonder.

Here! Catch!

Which ones?

Watch them slit each other's throats for a loaf of bread.

- See? I told you. - Someone's upset!

What the…?

Fuck it. Gimme a ciggie.

Still sitting here?

You never go anywhere else?

I'm drawing.

Looks like you're longing for someone to arrive.

Yes, my fiancée.

Miss Marie!

Don't go near those urchins!

Here you go.

What have you cooked us today, Josep?

Ham croquettes.

Serrano ham or Pata Negra?

Pata Negra, of course!

Any news from your fiancée?

You're engaged?

She's from Madrid.

I guess nobody's perfect!

But she's beautiful. Show her, Josep.

She certainly is!

When I found out she was pregnant, I made her leave Barcelona.

Last time I saw her was at the station

two months ago.

I made her get on a train to France.

You'll find her, don't worry.

That's what I keep saying.

Would be a shame for us though!

- Don't say that! - Look how handsome he is!

Our Josep's so handsome!

He is.

And such a gentleman.

You can sleep here tonight.

You'll be warmer.

No, thanks.

What are you scared of? Lice or temptation?

Both.

Here, Capi!

Come, doggie.

Even the dogs are scared of us.

Women and children here, men there!

New orders.

Cooperate.

Believe me, it'll be easier for us all.

Where you going, rookie?

For a smoke outside.

I hear you're chummy with the negroes.

So? What's wrong with that?

What's wrong with that?!

The colonised are French too, no?

Well, yes but, no but…

- Goodnight. - You too.

What the…?

Don't worry.

We have an arrangement with the Africans.

- Do you like it? - Oh, yes. Very much!

No, I mean my… travail…

- My work. - Oh, your work?

Yes, very much!

Bertilia! Are you going to show us or not?

Show you what?

Something nice and hot!

We're freezing here!

Higher! Show us your knickers!

I'd be glad to, if I was wearing any!

38!

Fucking hell! That's me!

42!

Nobody has 42?

I hope your sweetheart's worthy.

Are you a…

I mean… you don't like women?

Yes, I love them.

But shagging with just your cock is like painting without your soul.

Well, I can say that.

My loneliness is less painful

since I've got someone waiting for me, somewhere.

31!

That's my number! Thief!

Put that away!

Shouldn't I do something?

No, just leave them…

Enough blood has been shed! Stop!

The communists stole all we had!

You stole our weapons and our war!

Fucking anarchist traitors…

If you want to kill each other, go for it!

Otherwise, you go that way.

And you, come with me.

56!

Wait,

why does she have paint on her fingers?

Because she's Frida Kahlo!

Hello, Josep.

Hello, Frida.

What?

Got a light?

Josep,

tonight I felt wings caressing me all over.

It was as if your fingertips

had mouths that kissed my skin.

Come on! Come on!

Excuse me!

Have you seen this person?

Excuse me, lady.

Helios?

Josep!

Come on, we haven't got all day!

But… that's my lighter!

How'd that happen?

Remember that French pig?

I saw him in Perpignan and he gave it back.

It was wrong of him to steal it.

He gave it back? Just like that?

Yes, nicely. I hope he likes soup.

It's all he'll be eating for weeks.

How was Perpignan?

They nabbed me three days ago outside the consulate

with 200 other comrades.

It's foreigner hunting season.

Signs everywhere say:

"Don't house the refugees," "Don't feed the refugees."

And Martin? Any news?

I hope the gangrene left him in peace.

We have one nurse here now.

So instead of dying in three days, you die in a week.

The same sea,

the same waves, the same drops of water bathe Barcelona.

Just there, slightly south,

a few dozen kilometres away.

When can we go back, Josep?

Next year, to Barcelona!

Hey, Josep,

come help me!

Our nation, ruled by the glorious caudillo Franco,

is open to every Spanish citizen.

Numberless crowds, millions of men and women,

not subjected to his authority for years,

will one day return to their ordinary lives.

Embraced with Christian clemency and brotherliness.

Everyone knows how Franco administers justice:

with benevolence

and a scrupulous understanding of the complex reasons…

Yes, we know perfectly well.

They took my younger brother.

My mother couldn't say where I was, so they shot him!

That's Franco's justice!

I beg you, from the bottom of my heart,

in the name of God,

to come home to Spain.

One great, free Spain awaits you!

Hail Spain!

Long live Franco!

Come here.

Aren't you going?

Because you think…

they'll welcome us with Flores y canciones?

With flowers and a brass band?

I don't know, the officers said…

They're going back to cages, torture chambers,

firing squads.

I'll go back to spit on Franco's grave.

Capi!

I'm looking for my dog, Capi. Have you seen him?

We don't speak French.

LONG LIVE FRANCE

Look at those scavengers!

Come on, you famished mob! Move your arses!

They shall not pass!

They shall not pass!

We know two of the gendarmes…

I'm the law!

They're happier playing with firearms

Than playing with a lady's rump

Their gendarme baton's game Shame they simply cannot aim

Oh my, oh my, gendarmes

Oh my, oh my, good sirs

Their gendarme baton's game Shame they simply cannot aim

Oh my, oh my, gendarmes

Let us play with your firearms

See the view, rookie?

Boy in blue sees white tits and turns red.

Blue - White - Red!

He didn't get it.

The gendarmerie is watching, ladies.

If these negroes do anything untoward,

I'll punch them like a train ticket.

Thank you kindly, ladies.

What did the negro say?

He politely thanked us, which you forgot to do.

Enjoy!

- What's happening? - Requisition.

Requisition?

Yes, requisition.

One day you tie the noose,

another you hang the swine.

In between, do as you're told.

A black and a red speaking softly. Now we've seen it all.

That's stealing!

Don't piss us off!

Stealing from bloodsuckers isn't stealing.

Bloodsuckers, comprende?

Why should France feed and house you?

Scum. Communist!

I not communist.

Easy now, Léon.

This one gives me the shivers.

He can't see he's lost everything. Even the right to live.

Even that, dirty dago!

Come on, Helios, give it.

Give it!

Well, "They shall not pass",

go put that in the car.

Such a lovely day,

I'd hate to splatter your family jewels all over the road.

Such a shame, right?

What a stench!

Is this how they teach you to draw in your country?

Not very realistic.

Yes, pig, very realistic.

Filthy Spaniard piece of shit!

Take this!

Scum!

The things we have to do…

SPAIN / FRANCE

Damn!

Shit…

And that?

Rummaging last night, were we?

I didn't do anything!

Didn't you, little shit?

No, I didn't!

You're just shit. See?

I can squash you like shit.

Léon, look, the shit is crying.

Now we've seen it all.

We'd taken you under our wing.

Hadn't we, Léon?

Take that, shit!

- Robert! - What?

- The darkies! - What about the darkies?

This isn't over.

You ain't got nuffin else to do? Mind your own business.

Seriously.

I'm fine. Really, I'm fine.

Thank you.

Come on.

Helios…

LONG LIVE FRANCE LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY

Helios!

No cross, either?

Oh, right, you anarchists don't believe in all that.

He's an anarchist,

not me.

Is it true what they say about them?

If you let starving dogs loose, mind their teeth,

they bite.

But, if you try to cage them again

they go loco.

That's what happened.

Nos moríamos de hambre,

you understand?

Yes, dying of hunger, starving.

Yes, starving for food,

starving for liberty, starving for life…

When Franco tried to cage us, some went crazy.

So,

churches were burnt down, nuns and clergy were assassinated.

In a war, you kill or get killed.

Before all this, I didn't believe in God.

So, after it…

If souls exist,

they're like beautiful ideas.

The ideas that inspired me, him,

everyone,

communism, anarchism,

the Republic…

"If those beautiful ideas

"can't find a beautiful person,

"then they die."

That was Helios.

It was him.

Here. If you like it,

it's for you.

My sweetheart,

she take the train to France, then no news.

She's… embarazada.

She's pregnant?

Yes. I have to find her.

Do you know where she is?

No, I don't.

Her name is María Valdés.

María Baldés.

No, with a V.

Not a B, a V.

V…

Baldés or Valdés?

Like Baldés, but with a V. Valdés, okay?

Have you seen that crowd?

We're doing what we can.

- Have you asked at the passport office? - Yes.

Sorry.

María Valdés?

Does anyone know María Valdés?

Do you recognise her?

- Do you know María Valdés? - They won't answer.

They're afraid of gendarmes, because of the raids.

- You speak French? - Yes, a little.

Why are you looking for her? Did she injure you?

What? No, no,

her fiancé… No!

I mean her fiancé's looking for her. He's a republican

in a camp, I'm helping him.

Do you know her? She's pregnant.

Help me up.

If you know this woman,

her boyfriend has no news of her.

He has fought for the Republic.

She's pregnant.

María Valdés!

If you've seen her, please help us.

No, I've never seen her…

Excuse me, Monsieur le gendarme,

but you're in my way!

I beg your pardon, madame.

Pardon, pardon, I don't have time to pardon.

They're everywhere, and in such a state!

What happened across the Pyrenees to make them flee?

The ravenous devil!

A mother arrived clutching her baby who'd been dead for 10 days!

I work 36 hours non-stop.

I could double that and it wouldn't change a thing.

There are too many.

Anyway, what does Monsieur want?

I'm looking for this person.

An acquaintance?

No, not really…

A friend of a friend.

Let me take a closer look.

Her name's María Valdés.

Monsieur thinks I know their names!

But her face looks familiar.

Really?

I was at another hospital before.

Right. And where is it?

I'm not promising anything.

Does Monsieur have a vehicle? It's quite far.

María?

María Valdés?

She won't answer.

Nobody's heard her speak.

I'm looking for this person.

María Valdés.

Nice portrait.

We don't know her name.

She'd have been a few months pregnant, I believe.

She could've lost the baby when she lost half her face.

Do you think it's her?

There's a slight resemblance.

Shit!

No, no, no!

You alright?

Here.

It's bitter but invigorating, you'll see.

Even Franco's aren't that bitter!

Quiet.

María?

Josep?

Shit!

Fucking Spaniard!

What did you do after diving?

After what?

You dived. Then?

Okay, stop it, what is it?

What's your name?

Valentin.

Have we met?

Yes, Grandpa, I'm your grandson.

Which one?

The only one you've got.

And how many grandpas do you have?

One. I never met the other one.

Do you know my name?

- Grandpa Serge? - Serge!

Not Josep.

- I thought… - You've got a big imagination.

- Too big, Mum says. - It's never too big.

You know, my boy, in a week, maybe a month,

I'll be gone.

So if you want to tell me what you thought, hurry up.

I thought you'd changed your name to Serge after you fled,

went underground.

The resistance fighters changed their names, so…

You'd prefer that, right?

We can't all be Spanish republicans,

fight Franco

and be gifted at drawing, like you.

Well, I was French.

A French gendarme.

What's going on? You leaving? Where to?

To our barracks.

Things are heating up there with the Krauts.

We'll beat them hollow!

Let's go!

This isn't happening!

WASHROOM

Oh, no. Shit!

It can't be…

Robert!

The darkies…

Shit!

I did what a French gendarme had to do.

It wasn't always nice.

Move, please!

Go!

Move!

I didn't like doing it.

But I did it anyway.

They're vermin. Like tapeworms.

You can never get rid of them.

Go! Come on!

Sometimes,

we had to lend a hand to the Gestapo.

To what extent did we have to obey orders?

It's Sunday, I'm going to see my mum…

- Got a ciggie? - Yes, sure.

Here.

Thank you, my boy.

Hey, you!

Come here.

Yes, you! Come here.

I know you!

Climb in!

I said, climb in!

Léon, don't you recognise this fucker?

Oh, yes, the doodler.

Exactly!

Sit down.

Sit down and don't move. Got it?

Maybe that's when I remembered the Senegalese infantrymen.

We'd brought them from so far to help us do the dirty work.

They could be fierce.

They often didn't get permission to beat up whites.

It wasn't her?

No, María doesn't have blue eyes.

Have you not found her?

The German planes bombed her train in Figueras.

She never made it to France.

When I told my Senegalese friend

about my plan to sneak Josep out of the camp

to the hospital ship, he replied,

"If I don't see him go, why would I shoot?"

I realised he wouldn't disobey orders,

he'd simply look the other way.

What's this republican scum on about?

But I couldn't just look the other way.

I told Josep about my plan.

Hey, you there!

Stop!

Why didn't you escape with him?

I don't know.

I was afraid, perhaps.

No, but…

What you did was brilliant!

Maybe I reckoned prisoners ran away all the time.

But I wasn't a prisoner.

But you're a hero!

No, no…

I let all those people take those trains.

I woke up in hospital.

I was injured, so I was useless with a rifle.

I helped out however I could.

The resistance fighters?

Did you have a nom de guerre?

Yes.

Josep.

I knew it!

- Then what? - Oh, then…

Did you find her?

- Excuse me? - Your sweetheart.

Ah, the Spanish consulate, right?

Yes.

Enriqueta.

She wasn't my sweetheart, but my friend's,

Josep Bartoli.

Josep Bartoli?

Good God!

Salvador, come see!

The baker had been conscripted.

The mayor went to find a new baker in the nearest exile camp.

He was Josep's brother.

I helped however I could.

Disobedience is the wisest of duties

A few months later,

I got a letter from Mexico.

Grandpa! You okay, Grandpa?

We were in Mexico.

Mexico?

Come children of the nation…

Josep!

The day of glory has arrived

Serge!

My friend!

Frida, have you lost your mind?

I lost it ages ago, corazón.

Frida?

Oh, yes, the one in the camp?

How could she have possibly been in the camp?

I don't know, you said…

Forget it, I must've misunderstood.

Your memory's going.

Hello, Josep.

Hello, Frida.

Got a light?

Wasn't Diego coming to help?

Ah, my darling hubby.

When he's not painting a new fresco, he's doing a new woman.

This is my friend Serge.

He saved my life. He's just arrived from France.

How do you do?

I hope you're not one of those intellectual sonsabitches

who spends their days lazing around bars

hoping to live off a bunch of wealthy skanks!

Welcome to Mexico!

Lights!

You're scaring off customers!

He must be 5 now.

- Who? - My child.

María's child.

But you said that…

What if they survived, against all odds?

Dumb fuck!

Between two attacks from the Francoists,

we were always squabbling about Trotsky.

Oh, okay, right…

You know who Trotsky is?

No, not really.

He lived here in this house.

If none of that had happened,

Franco, Hitler, the German-Soviet Pact,

if I hadn't gone into battle

with a Trotskyist on one side and an anarchist on the other,

if I hadn't been penned like an animal in a camp

with those Trotskyists and anarchists,

maybe I'd think it made sense

to come so far to kill Trotsky.

They missed the first time.

They killed him with an ice axe in the head.

Like they kill bulls.

It's scary.

What's scary?

That I might have been one of them.

Trotsky's murderers fought against Franco too.

We may have fought side by side in a trench.

What do I have in common with them today?

CONCENTRATION CAMPS

Josep!

Come, come see!

No, I don't want to.

Come on! It's almost better than the original.

The book's going to be fantastic!

Concentration Camps

Add more ink.

It needs more body, more power.

Yes, Mr Bartoli.

But, if we add ink,

we run the risk of losing the detail in the strokes.

- It might bleed… - That's how it was there:

black, white,

tough, violent.

Colour is everywhere.

We think a shadow is grey.

But, if we look,

if we look closely,

really, really closely,

the shadow of a flower, for instance,

is lilac,

violet,

periwinkle.

And in the sunlight,

flowers have silvery colours.

All those colours give me the jitters.

You're full of jitters, dear Josep.

I don't think so.

Dad!

A letter for you!

Mum? What was she doing in Mexico?

The strokes in your drawings,

like the ones children draw,

don't exist in real life.

Life isn't made of strokes, outlines.

Life is made of colourful masses, like little armies clashing,

or flavours in a dish, complementing each other…

Hurry up, I'm late.

…that attract and repel each other,

like impassioned lovers.

No, not that!

Grandpa gave it to me.

Not in my house!

It's a keepsake from Grandpa!

You hide behind your strokes.

You're detached from your subject.

You draw caricatures because what you've seen and remember

scares you.

And the day you finally let colour in,

you'll have tamed your fear.

BARTOLI, A CREATOR IN EXILE

Don't ask me the date.

I barely remember when we met in 1958.

That painting, yes.

He made it toward the end, when he was almost blind.

He kept painting until he died.

He always had projects for the United States, Mexico,

and Barcelona.

He had just come back to Barcelona after Franco's death.

Oh my goodness!

Josep often spoke to me about this drawing.