Original subtitles

- Federico is working on something now.

That will blow everything apart.

- What's it about?

His family?

Butterflies?

God?

- Me.

- It'll be sentimental rubbish.

Always has been, always will be.

Still, if you go around behaving like that...

...then you have to expect it.

Look.

You don't have to say anything.

But you should really get away from here.

In Paris, with your talent... You could set the place on fire!

I'm leaving tomorrow.

- What? Why?

- It's over here.

Everything's gone.

Your word.

Now this is more like it! Come on, Dali. Shake a leg!

- It's five o' clock.

- What's that?

- The revolutionary Dali communicator!

I'll be a millionaire.

- I'll buy shells.

Which hand?

- Left.

- For you.

And?

For you.

Where are you going?

- To the bathroom.

- With your diary?

If I became a fish.

I'd change into the grave.

If I became the grass.

Change into water.

If a became an angel.

I'd change into an eye.

And if I became an ant?

I'd turn into a knife. Then I'd cut you to pieces.

Salvador Dali, with your olive-colored voice...

It's genius.

I mean, everybody says it is.

Tell me the bit about the bicycles, again.

I sing your restless longing for the statue

Your fear of the feeling, that await you in the street

I sing the small sea siren who sings to you

Riding her bicycle of corals and conches.

But above all

I sing a common thought

That joins us in the dark and golden hours

The light that blinds our eyes is not art

Rather it is love.

Friendship.

Crossed swords.

- I don't like that line.

- Thanks.

- I love the rest of it.

- Do you?

- Yes.

- Look at me.

Look at me, Salvador.

Look at me.

You see...

- No limit.

- Sorry.

- It doesn't matter.

It's not important.

It's late.

You should sleep.

We'll go for a breakfast at the"Pelican".

And you'll paint all afternoon.

Salvador.

What do you see, when...?

You can tell me.

You can tell me anything.

- I'm going to Paris.

- What?

- I'm gonna go and see Louie.

He'll introduce me to... Picasso.

And the surrealists and...

He'll take me to nightclubs.

I'm going now. Don't...

Don't, don't try to stop me. - Why would I try? Salvador!

- Federico!

Are you alright? - I'm fine, thank you.

- What happened? - Nothing, nothing.

I just... I just need some air.

- I wanted to tell you, but it was going to be a surprise...

I got a job at the Tribune.

- That's wonderful. - I know, can you believe it?

Anyway, it starts in a month, so...

I'm taking a break, I'm going to Italy.

And I thought, maybe you'd like to come.

You could write, I could write and you need to get away anyway, so... - Hey.

- What are you doing here?

- Everyone's here.

- How was Paris?

I didn't know when you were coming back.

I came today.

I have an examination.

- Federico?

- I should go, too.

- Okay.

I'll stay.

- What were you saying before? Something about Italy, i don't know.

- Nothing. - Okay.

- You have 20 minutes to deliver an oral critique of Raphael.

You may begin.

Mr. Dali?

- Gentlemen...

I returned from Paris with a conclusion that...

The entire amount of real, artistic knowledge contained within this panel of professors...

... is not equal to one half of this.

This, my fingernail.

Not one half, gentlemen.

And I've been insulting myself by letting your shitty practices, your pathetic outdated theories...

... and questionable characters shit on my genious.

I hope with all my heart that you realize I'm right and...

Give up this foolishness and go back to the pigsties and haystacks, where you might be of some real use.

- Magdalena.

- I know.

I know, Adella.

I have to do something.

Could you...

Could you lend me something?

A dress, to make me irresistible?

- Would you like some tea?

Tea? Only xxx drink tea.

I'm surprised we don't drown in shit.

- So, you got back yesterday?

- Federico, what does yesterday matter?

Yesterday... I didn't exist. Yesterday is nothing.

Today, this moment and the bright and glorious future.

- I'm sorry.

I'm a bit confused.

So, Salvador. Who are you pretending to be today?

- Why?

Well, is it Salvador?

The extreme anarchist who's only escaped from prison?

Or Salvador Dali, the genius artist of Madrid?

Or Salvador, the... - Listen to me.

An agent came from Paris to see my new work. The canvases from Cadaques, and he loved them.

He called me the most exciting young artist in Spain.

So, now - goodbye, Spain!

Goodbye, Madrid!

And Paris... Paris - toujours!

Louie introduces me to Picasso and there was this extraordinary man...

who gave a photograph of his wife...

... and, she's naked.

You won't believe this.

Gala. Galushka.

She's Russian. She's my twin soul.

Ive dreamt this woman my whole life.

When I have her, nothing will be able to stop me.

I'll bring Paris to it's knees.

King... King Salvador!

You should've seen Louie, he's asking me to make his first film with him...

- Salvador! - ...surrealists and impressionists...

When I go back, they won't know what's hit them. The ideas, I've got it, it's coming, I can taste it...

- What's coming? - I need to go to Cadaques to prepare...

- What do you mean? Your father said... - My father said what?

I got expelled!

My father can go fuck himself!

- From this point on, my real life begins. - Your real life? And what about this life?

- You can't just abandon everything! - Abandon what?

Sitting in an art room all day, going out of my mind with boredom?

Drinking myself into a stupor every night?

I'm so sick of it! - How can you say that?

Ypur painting's never been better.

This isn't you, Salvador. What's happened to you?

- Why can't you just be happy for me? - Happy for you?

- You're just selfish, like Louie says...

You're a selfish fuckin marricon.

- Oh, really? And what exactly does that make you?

- I can't.

- Federico!

- Let her in.

- Sleeping?

You look as if you are still dreaming.

- Magdalena. - Just for now... Just this once.

Don't worry about anything, just...

- Salvador?

There are very few angels who sing

There are very few dogs who bark

A thousand violins fit into the palm of my hand

The weeping is an enormous angel

The weeping is an enormous violin

Tears have muzzled the wind

and nothing's heard but the weeping

- Coffee, please.

- Why they've made this film?

Do you know what they called it? An andalusian dog.

- I don't think they...

- Well, I do. I mean, I'm from where exactly?

Do they even know anyone else from Andalucia?

- Listen, you need a complete break.

Everyone says so. What about your idea about the travelling theatre?

You should go.

Get out of Madrid for a while.

Get on with your life, Federico.

Have you spoken to him?

Have you spoken to Salvador?

- I've tried to talk to him...

Letters.

He won't...

He took Luis to Cadaqes. I saw their pictures in the paper.

And apparently, he's got this woman.

This Gala woman.

God knows what he does with her.

Sorry.

It' just... It's as if nothing ever happened.

Sometimes I feel we've never even met.

- I'm so sorry, Federico. - No.

I'm the one who should be sorry.

I can't let you take the blame for that.

- Magdalena, please understand. There is no one I would rather be with.

- If we had a choice in this things, which we don't. - Don't we?

- I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but you cannot carry on like this.

I mean, you can. Of course you can, but it has a price.

I think sometimes we just have to risk it. Live the way we feel.

And you know, it might not turn out well...

... sometimes it doesn't turn out well at all.

But we have to try. We have to keep on trying.

Otherwise we just become puppets.

All painted smiles, bare inside.

Nothing.

But jealous.

Anyway, if you miss him more than enough...

I should depart.

Goodbye.

I've come in my overrals, so you know I'm serious.

They've been all over the country.

These overrals.

In the last year, they wrapped shoulders with every kind of Spaniard.

They've had a set, they've directed plays and films.

They are exhausted.

And they are extremly glad to be here, drinking wine with friends in the sun.

But...

We mustn't be deceived by sunshine in Madrid.

Whilst fascism is casting it shadow all over Spain.

Great sacrifices need to be made.

Great risks need to be taken.

So, I have something here to read to you. And if you are proof, then I want to ask for your signatures.

We, intellect ones, artists and members of the free thinking professions reafirm our support...

... for the democratically elected popular government...

... and we do so for the aspirations. We...

We do so... I do so... for freedom.

Not some romantic ideal. Not something for students to shout about in late night bars.

That's easy.

That's just a word.

Real freedom is hard. It's painful.

It's dangerous.

But I want it.

I want to try for it.

Whoever I decide to be.

However I decide to live.

Whomever I choose as my companions.

My friends.

It's my right.

It's our right.

Freedom. Now.

In Spain.

Thanks.

- Come here.

I don't see him anymore.

- No?

- Don't care, too. We no longer speak the same language. The only word he understands now...

... is "money".

- He wrote to me.

And?

I know.

8 years. Nothing.

He asked me to come and see him. Come and to meet Gala.

Bloody witch. Still fucking every artist in Paris, from what I hear.

What else?

He thought we should work together.

He said we could reach an agreement this time, on a lot of things.

He signed it "Buda".

- Will you see him?

Be careful, Federico.

- Where are you off to, brother?

Senor Garcia Lorca! - Hello.

- I didn't recognize you. Join us at the demonstrations and the support of the republic.

The troops in Morocco are siding with the fascist. - I'll come later. - Gracias. - Good luck.

- Come in.

Come through.

Time and Dali wait for no man.

Ignore this absolute prutescent travesty of a hotel.

It's temporary surroundings.

Apart from the bear. Have you seen the bear?

It has a reality about it, in this bear...

... primacy of Eden.

You look the same.

Thanks.

I grew this moustache.

What shall it be? This place? College? Merde? Us?

Federico.

All this time.

All this time.

The dark, unfavaned retrospect

the teaming gulf.

The sleepers.

And shadows.

Cheri.

It's Frederico.

Federico, this is Gala. My wife.

Delighted to meet you, at last.

Isn't he charming, cheri?

I've heard so much about you.

Smile.

He went to America.

- I loved it. Well, it's America.

New York was... pitiful.

Poverty and suffering... - We'll gonna go back to America soon.

Spain just seems so...

- Dangerous?

- Passe.

Anyway, America is the place for our opera.

No. You write, I design. It will be a triumph.

- Will it?

- Undoubtedly, considering the subject matter.

- Which will be?

- Louis II. of Bavaria.

He was... He was a deviant, you know.

It'll be the most shocking opera ever staged. All kinds of unspeakable things...

- Louie told me the surrealists threw you out.

- So, the two of you've become friends again. When did that happen?

- I imagine around the time he stopped seeing you.

- The surrealists expelled me from the movement.

Terribly traumatic.

Breton is a genius.

His whole equation with the communism just makes me want to...

... puke.

The only viable solution for surrealism - World War.

A cleansing.

Cut through all this dead wood.

Purge the weak elements.

An era of enlightenment. - Are you saying you actually support the fascist?

You used to be an anarchist. - Oh, Frederico you've become so... liberal.

With all the government schemes and your theateral little people...

- Listen. This country is on the blink of something terrible.

And here you are siding with the people who could destroy everything we've stand for.

I know you are not through, but you must see that'd be no freedom of speech, anyone who is different...

... would just be wiped out.

- Would that be a bad thing?

- Naughty boy.

- Don't joke to that.

- Salvador is completely apolitical.

No one knows you

No But I sing of you

I sing, for later on,

Of your profile And your grace

The noble maturity Of your understanding

Your appetite for death And the taste of its mouth

The sadness in you valiant gaiety.

- It's nothing to my ode.

Gala, you've heard my ode.

Press when crazy fright.

Oh, Salvador Dali With your olive-colored voice

Federico, you finish the rest. I want Gala to hear it.

- I'm afraid I have to go.

It's been such a pleasure.

- Let me see you out. - There is no need.

- She doesn't mind, you know?

She and I are like twins, not lovers.

Not like us.

Look at you, you little beast. You're so angry, you could spit.

I knew you would be. I planned everything.

- And, is everything going according to plan, Salvador?

- Knew you would say that, too.

Listen, it's alright now. Everything is alright.

Go pack your things

Say your goodbyes

And we're conquer America together.

I hurt your pride, I know.

But, I'll make it up to you.

You'll teach me how.

There's someone else?

It doesn't matter. There's Gala... We can all live together. We can...

- Goodbye, Salvador.

You'll come back.

Sweet little tail tingling between your legs.

You won't be able to think about anything else!

- Senor Garcia Lorca, how was your meeting with Dali?

Will you walk together again?

What do you think of him?

- What do I think of him?

Well... He's a genius.

A genius.

Genius, Salvador Dali!

- Very charming... Exactly as you've said.

I'm going to my room, love. I'll see you in the morning.

See you in the morning, my love.

- I just saw Paco. What on Earth do you think you're doing?

- I'm going back to Grenada.

- Have you finally lost your mind? And nose this morning, Federico?

Morocco's fallen. It's only a matter of time before they get to Grenada.

- Listen...

I'll only be there for a few days.

I have to be with my family.

I've got so much do to, Louie. I can tell you...

I feel like.. like.. I could write 6 plays without stopping.

Without eating. - Then write them here.

Think about it, Frederico. These people know who you are, what you've been saying about Franco... They know - everything.

- I have to go home, Louie.

I'll call you as soon as I can. - Be careful.

- Open the door!

Federico Garcia Lorca?

I'm arresting you in the name of New Grenada.

- What are you talking about? - No! - Come on!

- Garcia Lorca, it is you, marricon.

-Grenada. Spain.

The incredible rumours are preceding from the core of the front this evening.

Reporting the abduction of the poet, Federico Garcia Lorca, from his home town in Grenada, three days ago.

The guverner of Grenada says he does not know the whereabouts

- Still alive.

Only one way to kill a queer.

The weil of mystery overshadowing the disappearance of Federico Garcia Lorca has been removed.

The word is coming this evening that the execution of the poet, Federico Garcia Lorca, had been confirmed.

Federico.

Salvador!

The guests are here.