All language subtitles for Where.Are.You.Joao.Gilberto.2018.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

Downloaded from
YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site:
YTS.MX

"Carlos's gift."

"It's like a time machine
roaming through time."

"Diamantina ..."

"Bar Baiuca ..."

"The Tower!"

That's it. Is that it?

"This is where he lives," Watson says.

"Now go in and get him, Sherlock!"

"Now go in and get him, Sherlock!"

In one of these rooms
there lives a rather strange man,

who wears rather large glasses.

He's world-famous.
Everyone knows his songs

and can whistle them on the spot.

But hardly anyone
would recognize him in the street.

He has been hiding
in his room for thirty years,

living contrary to everyone else.

He gets up
when everyone else goes to sleep,

and he goes to bed
when everyone else gets up.

Like a ghost.

Somewhere up there lives João Gilberto,
the singer and guitar player

who gave the world Boss a Nova music
more than fifty years ago,

and has been silent ever since.

It's him we want to find,
Watson and I.

HOBALÁLÁ, MARC FISCHER
IN SEARCH OF JOÃO GILBERTO

Rio is my second home.

I've been coming here for years
and I was able to meet

all the most famous Brazilian musicians.

Only João Gilberto eluded me.

With nothing but his guitar and his voice

João Gilberto created
a new genre of music all by himself:

Boss a Nova.

That was in 1958.

I'd give everything
to get closer to this artist.

The other day I found a book in Berlin,
written by a German author, entitled:

"Hobalálá,
Marc Fischer in search of João Gilberto."

A book
that could have been written for me.

"A smiling Watson,
who isn't called Watson at all,

who isn't even a man.

In fact, this person
is my most trusted companion Rachel,

the world's fastest sleuth

and most fluent interpreter
of Rio de Janeiro.

Because, of course,
I don't speak a word of Portuguese.

She's a Lebanese-Brazilian Jew

with a devil tattooed on her calf,

who weighs twice as much as I do
and who prefers women to men.

From the first moment,
I knew she is my Watson."

And he continues,
"Watson wears a flowing dress

and an orchid in her black curly hair.

I'm dressed
to perfection as a detective,

despite Brazil,
despite the beginning of summer."

This book by Marc Fischer,
mirroring my own path

into the world of Brazilian music,
captivates me.

His thoughts and his story
offer answers to my own search.

Fischer wanted to meet João Gilberto.

So do I.
I have been wanting to for ages.

For how long had you been doing
this work for João? - For João?

More than ten years.

He always had the same meal,
steak with coarse salt and "crazy rice."

But before João made his order,

I had to explain to him on the phone
for at least one and a half hours

which other dishes we served and
God knows what else. Then he'd say,

"No, Garrincha,
I want the steak with coarse salt."

- Did you see him often?
- No, I never saw him in person.

We were virtual friends.

We spoke on the phone every day.

He knew how many children I had,
how old they were, the things I did...

He knew everything about my life,
but we never met face to face.

Who took his food to his home? You?

No, a boy who did the deliveries.

He delivered it.
But it always had to be the same boy.

No one else was allowed in.

- Did he ever meet João Gilberto?
- No, he never saw him.

- So how did it happen?
- He put the food outside the door.

Then the boy left.
The money was slid underneath the...

- He never managed to see João Gilberto.
- How is that possible?

Explain it to me in more detail.

He never caught a glimpse
of João Gilberto.

"The Case."

"Why try to find a man
who obviously doesn't want to be found?

Why try to contact someone
who doesn't want any contact?

Reason Number One.

Because João Gilberto is a mystery.

Because it isn't clear
what motivates him,

if anything motivates him at all
up there in his hotel room,

or wherever he happens to live.

Because there are so many

strange stories about him. No one knows
which are true, modified or concocted.

He's said to play the guitar
all day long, always the same songs.

He's said to speak with cats.
He's said to speak with the dead.

He's said to howl at the moon.

He's said to communicate only via slips
of paper that people slide under the door,

even with close relatives.

He's said to have stopped
communicating completely.

He's said to hate people so much
that he can't bear them.

He's said to love people so much...

that he can't bear them."

"And if nothing is clear at all,

if the questions keep you awake at night
because you can't answer them,

then you have to go.
You have to pack up your old guitar,

get on a plane to Rio
and go in search of some answers."

Like Fischer I must have walked

up and down the streets of Ipanema
a thousand times,

hoping to run into João Gilberto.

I would've met Fischer in excitement.
We would've exchanged leads and clues

like two detectives,

he, the writer, and I,
with my connections to musicians.

Then I was shocked to learn

that Marc Fischer had died
four months after his stay in Brazil,

shortly before his book appeared.

There was talk of suicide.
He was only 40 years old.

What's more,

through his family
and friends in Germany I learned

that Fischer and I had been in Rio
at the same time, in the same quarter.

I want to meet
the people he kept in touch with.

That way I hope to get closer
to Gilberto, for me, for Marc,

for everyone who loves this music.

Could maybe Gilberto's ex-wife
Miucha help me?

They have a daughter together,
the singer Bebel.

Hello, good afternoon.
It's Georges Gachot.

Hello, Georges. - You were right,
Miucha, it's been raining.

Yes, it's been raining.
People stay indoors.

That's sad.
So, how are we going to do this?

- Let's meet on Thursday.- Suits me fine.

And tell Bebel I'd love to meet her.
It'd be a real pleasure.

Yes, I will.

I haven't spoken to her today yet,

because
she's still very tired from the trip.

She's resting now. I think
she's been searching for João. - Yes.

With all this rain, I enjoy being at
home reading that book. It's fantastic.

Everyone's searching for João.

- I'm searching as well.- Everybody's searching. That's true.

It's crazy.

So.
- Kisses. See you Thursday.

Kisses. See you soon.

There she is. That's Rachel.

- Hey, Rachel.
- Hey!

- I'm so excited to meet you.
- You alright? - Fine.

- Finally.
- Finally!

- I'm fine. You alright?
- Watson! - Great.

- Alright?
- Fine.

Well then.

- Do you want coffee?
- Yes, please. - I just had one.

This is nice.

Right...

- Have you spoken yet?
- Is there a likeness?

- In the outline there is.
- To me?

A little. It's a bit elaborate.
Is it a picture of you two? - Yes.

- I love his pictures.
- Me too. - Marc's photographs.

It took me so long to realize it.

Then I spoke to Georgian a,
and it was the same for her.

At first I thought it was rubbish.

Another crazy man who wants
to know stuff about João Gilberto.

"The Beauty of the Heart,
Hobalálá," how boring! - No,

- that's something else entirely.
- It's what I felt when I met him.

I called Georgian a
and we started to watch him.

My first impression was
that he was dressed up. - He was.

He was dressed up as a detective.

He wore these sunglasses...
He really was all dressed up.

But I could see that
he had blue eyes, like Georges said.

What I could see was that he was
awfully intelligent and rather crazy.

The craziness was staring right at you.

I thought he was Mexican.

- This photograph is really...
- Wonderful!

- He's a great photographer.
- But I'd really like to know

- who took these pictures of him.
- Somebody whom he asked to take them.

They unite the three elements:

the city, him and the music,
the record, João, everything's there.

He kept changing his lodgings
because he always... He used to joke,

"I'll stick around and suddenly
I'll meet João in the street."

- In the street. How crazy!
- He used to sit in this place,

- thinking João would pass by.
- You don't know this,

but at the time I used to have
coffee here practically every day.

Maybe we met.

You sitting with Marc at one table,
and I at another, reading the newspaper

or on the phone to João,
something like that. It's incredible

how near we were.
So many coincidences.

I was fascinated by his theory
of João seducing people.

João's the greatest seducer there is.
He gets close to you and convinces you.

He convinced me to marry him.
I married him. Imagine that!

I think, there's something
very special in João's voice.

That has to be it. Boss a Nova.

Something in his voice
that bowls you over,

and all you can say is, "Ah!"

In the States he sold out Carnegie Hall.

Yet nobody could understand
a word he was saying.

It's his sound that gets people...

- Under his spell.
- It's impressive. What's more,

he doesn't even have to meet them.
Some of them he got round on the phone.

Marc's parents have trusted me with all
his documents from his trip to Brazil.

His dairy,

his notes, drafts,
and more than a thousand photographs.

I carried them round with me for
a long time before I dared open them.

He bought this record and then he took
a picture of himself on the Corcovado.

- Of himself holding the record?
- Yes. Like this.

Ah, how cool!

- As if it was his profile.
- Yes.

Really cool.

When you said,

"He took a picture of himself,
holding up the record on the Corcovado,"

I thought, "What a cliché!"

Because I thought he held it up
like this, you see? - Yes.

But that's different.

- That's special.
- Very special.

As if he was holding up his own profile.

I thought the German journalist
bought "Chega de Saudade,"

but it was this one.

"Chega de Saudade" was his first album.
This is the second or third album.

- But this one's for sale, am I right?
- No.

These are mine, the ones I listen to.

The ones for sale are over there.

I'll get it for you.

- Do you want to hear a particular song?
- "Hobalálá." - Okay.

"It was a Japanese who
infected me: Toshimitsu Aono.

That was 15 years ago.
I'd flown to Tokyo with a friend,

trying to forget someone.

Didn't work out. Tokyo's foreignness
only made me think of her more.

Then I met Toshimitsu. One evening
in his home, enjoying a beer,

I noticed a small installation that he'd
set up on his book/CD/record shelves.

A kind of shrine.

The centre of the shrine
was taken up by a record.

On the cover was a young man,
looking rather glum,

with dark, slightly curly hair.

His gaze expressed a distance.
As if he was saying,

'You don't understand me.
I'm not like you.'

The man was João Gilberto.

It was the cover of his first album,
'Chega de Saudade, '

'No more longing.'

The official beginning of Boss a Nova."

"Toshimitsu
took the record from its cover,

held it carefully
between the tips of his fingers,

blew off the dust
and put it on the record player.

Toshimitsu put the needle

between two tracks in the middle.

Side one, song number four.

A short crackle, then it began.

Light, springy percussion.
A samba rhythm.

Very dry. As if drummed
on a bucket with the fingertips.

Yet forceful.

A guitar sounding in the distance.

Just a few notes. Then, a voice...

The voice is soft and warm. It sings...

'It's love, Hobalálá,

Hobalálá, a song.'
A voice like ice-cream.

A flute joins in. It sounds like a bird.

'Whoever hears this, Hobalálá...

Happy, the heart that will find love.'"

Will be happy

in their heart

Will find love

Hearing this song

Someone will understand

your heart

Come and listen to the hô-bá-lá-lá

Hô-bá-lá-lá

This song bá-lá-lá...

"After 2 minutes and 17 seconds
it was over.

But of course it wasn't over.

The music was still present in the room.

It had bonded with the objects,

with the air, with us...

Precisely because it had been so soft,
it was still there.

I had been infected by this music.

What we'd just heard
was the essence of something.

A result.

Ultimately I came to Rio
because of 'Hobalálá'.

João must play it for me."

Today we celebrate
the one who introduced silence.

Even the "Folha de São Paulo,"
which I'm a reader of,

had something fantastic to say:

"João Gilberto
celebrates his birthday in silence."

Before we call

our fantastic musicians on stage
to bring this evening to an end,

I suggest, because so many people
are still here, that we all sing

"Happy Birthday" for João Gilberto.

So here we go... one, two, three...

Long live João Gilberto!

That was wonderful!

Rachel wants to introduce me to a
musician whom she also introduced to Marc.

Anselmo Rochat has been
João Gilberto's official impersonator

ever since Gilberto allowed him

to sing on a TV show in his place.

Today I'm really touched that
Marc's Watson has now become my Watson.

Marc Fischer came here
and he asked me to play this song.

That's why I think
I should play this song.

Also because the title of his book is

"Hobalálá, in search
of João Gilberto," that's why...

I want to sing and play this song.

- Sing a little for me.
- Sing a little? - Yes.

Who's going to help me?

You are.

It's love, the hô-bá-lá-lá

Hô-bá-lá-lá, a song

Whoever hears the hô-bá-lá-lá

- Will be happy - Will be happy.- Will be happy in their heart

Will find love

Listening to this song

Someone will understand

your heart

Come and listen to the hô-bá-lá-lá

Hô-bá-lá-lá...

"'That was a dead end, Watson.'

'I know. It's just not that simple.

João is a master of disappearance.
Don't forget that.'

'We need better informers, Watson.
João-witnesses.

We have to meet all of them.
Approach him circularly.

We need people who are,
or were, even closer to him, '

I say to Watson,

while she's having her fifth espresso.

'We need the whole damned Boss a Nova
crew, every witness we can get.'

'Okay, ' Watson says.

'Let's visit them all,
and have them tell us their stories.'"

"An airplane on the horizon, coming from
the direction of Sugarloaf Mountain.

'It's crazy that airplanes fly, isn't it?'

Don a to says.

What does a friendship need
so make it last forever?

Should it be not too close?

Should it be especially close?

Does it need two equally strong egos,
or a weaker one and a stronger one?

Is it a deal? A contract?

A love that could vanish
as quickly as it appeared?

Goddamned longing.

'Are you alright?' Don a to asked.

Right now I'm not sure."

Here is the photo of you with João?

Miucha said to me,

"You're meeting Don a to. Talk to him
about the song he composed with João."

- "Min ha Saudade"?
- Yes.

Well, that was right at the beginning,
when we were still very young.

18, 19...

18, 19...

20...

Young guys.

He said, "I wrote lyrics
to your melody." "What melody?"

"You only have one."
So I said, "Which one?"

My longing is the longing for you

And I didn't want anyone
to take my longing for you away

I said, "What?"

My longing is the longing for you

And I didn't want anyone
to take my longing for you away

I said, "Isn't that too complicated?"
"No, it isn't. It's simple.

One day they'll understand."

That's the way he's always been.

We went out arm in arm.

We went through thick and thin,
spoke good or bad about others,

offered our criticism or admiration,
always alike.

Until we lost sight of each other,
15 years ago.

Up till that time
we were the closest of buddies.

- So you feel a longing for him?
- Yes, I do.

But one day we'll bump into each other
again and say, "Goodness me,

How much time have we lost? 15 years!"

Well, it's all a matter of...

perspective. 15 years...

He probably feels the same longing I do.

We're the same like that.
Very alike. So...

Neither of us
can criticize the other person.

The other person probably feels
exactly the same way you do.

So instead of saying,
"This guy ...," you say,

"He's a lot like me. He feels the lack
of what unknowingly existed between us

just as much as I do."
That's normal. Perfectly normal.

"Three o'clock in the afternoon.

Pianist João Don a to
is standing in the study of his house

in Urca, the part of town
where Sugarloaf Mountain is.

He's smoking a cigarette
and wearing an over sized orange T-shirt

and pyjama bottoms
with cartoon carrots on it.

Don a to just got up."

My goodness!

Here he says, "You're the last
Brazilian who still smokes, right?"

I say, "Yes. And I'm probably
the last one who's alive too. Coffee?"

I don't smoke anymore.

Two years ago?

Can you see anything?
It's getting dark, right?

You in pyjamas?

I'm wearing pyjamas.

- You're right.
- Pyjamas?

Pyjamas and my red shirt.

Here he is in the bathroom,

where João apparently
came up with Boss a Nova.

What does Boss a Nova
have to do with a bathroom?

João liked to practice in the bathroom
because of the acoustics.

He told me
he liked to practice in the bathroom.

He used to go into the bathroom,
lock the door and go...

It sounds bigger...

because of the echo. That's why
he liked to practice in the bathroom.

Marc seems to have found
a bathroom in Diamantina,

where he may well
have practised quite a lot.

He loved to practice in the bathroom.

"Maybe João isn't a real person.

Maybe he's simply a musical instrument.

It doesn't have to talk, just sing.

Valle, Don a to,

Lyra...

I'm starting to get the feeling João
Gilberto's the most boring one of them.

Maybe you have to be,
as a great artist.

Maybe that's the way it is.

You have to adopt his time,

his system, his world,
if you want to be one with him.

You have to become like him.
I'm starting to become like him too.

João,

where are you? What are you doing?

Are you watching soccer this minute?
Are you having breakfast this minute?

Are you playing the guitar this minute?

João creates a world

in which everything seems to be about
music, which only consists of music.

Everything resounds, everything swings.

Women like that... at first.

Then... they hate it.

Hegel says, 'Longing
is unhappy divided consciousness.'

And it always, always hurts.

My longing is a person in Berlin.

And João, of course."

I'm going to lose myself

In the city

Until one day

Until maybe

Until who knows when.

Until one day

Until maybe

Until who knows when

Until you came

Without fantasy

No more longing

Now we

So suddenly

No longer understand each other

No longer intend

To keep on fleeing

To keep on keeping on

Now I'll go

Wherever I go

Without you

Without loving myself

Without being myself

Without understanding myself

I'm going to get drunk

I'm going to lose myself

In the city

Until one day

Until maybe

Until who knows when

Until one day

Until maybe

Until who knows when

Some kind of guy, this João!

- What a guy.
- What a guy.

What a friend!

- But he's disappeared.
- Totally.- Totally.

He's simply vanished.

- Maybe he's simply on the road.
- I haven't spoken to him in 15 years.

Bebel's been here for a week
and she hasn't seen him.

Just to give you an idea.
Consolation prize.

- Consolation prize.
- She's been here for five days.

That's true.

João never goes out. He phones at times.
Watches TV with the sound switched off.

But your conversations
used to be very funny, I hear.

- True.
- João's a very funny guy.

Very funny.

I'm sure.

I asked you to bring him along,
so he could play with us.

He's a bit late, but he's coming.
I asked Bebel to bring him here.

- Whom?
- João Gilberto, right? - Yes? - Yes.

- He's coming now?
- He should've been here already.

Better have a sense of humour,
if you talk about that.

A great sense of humour!

The Dictaphone I discovered

in the photographs,
was then sent to me by Marc's parents.

There was 20 hours of material on it,

and I discovered that Marc had
met people I'd met myself at the time.

The first recording I heard was made at
an exhibition where he met Cesar Villela,

the graphic artist who designed
João Gilberto's most famous album covers.

I like harmony.

A beautiful cemetery, the João Batista.

It's practically a city.

A city of the dead, but unbelievably
dignified. Many of the numbers

are no longer correct.
Vinicius doesn't have a number,

and that man over there asked me
if I wanted to buy him one for 40 reals.

And...

that was very moving. The sun's
really hot and there's hardly any shade,

even though it's already four.

It's a very special place.

Marc's story takes me to places
I'd never have visited myself.

Like this cemetery
for Boss a Nova artists.

Lying here for instance,

practically side by side,
are Tom Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes,

who composed the world-famous hit
"The Girl from Ipanema."

Unhoped-for,
I found among the audio recordings

the book's key moment
in which Fischer describes

how the composer
Roberto Menescal warned him

about the possible João Gilberto curse.

The chapter's called
"The Boatswain's Dark Foreboding."

"Today is Menescal's 73rd birthday.

I've brought him a small wooden boat.

'Happy Menescal, ' it says on the bow.

The grand old Roberto Menescal
is sitting at his desk,

playing the guitar when I arrive.

His army jacket and white beard

make him look
like a nice Ernest Hemingway.

Goes his guitar,

while he whispers...

It sounds like a ship's engine
that won't start.

Menescal plays his most famous hit,

'O Barquinho.'"

"'So, you want to meet
João Gilberto, do you?'

'Yes.'

'Be careful, ' Menescal says.

'Why?'

'João is dangerous.

There's something dark about him.

He changes people he has anything
to do with. He could change you, too.'

'How so?'

'You may be damned
for the rest of your life.'

Menescal doesn't smile when he says this."

- Can I keep this?
- Okay. - That's nice. I like it a lot.

- Cool.
- Yes.

I remember saying
one time when we met,

"Beware!"
"Why? Of whom?"

"I don't know. Just beware.

Don't be too sure
you will get to know João Gilberto."

I said, "It's difficult
to get to know João Gilberto.

And beware especially
of João Gilberto's surroundings.

You're looking for something
that you won't find,

because he's disappeared
and no longer exists."

Marc was a very obsessive person
and he had a mission.

That was wonderful
because I didn't know anybody in Brazil

to whom it was so important

to write a story
about João Gilberto the way he did.

- It's that feeling in Marc's heart...
- Yes,

like the music by João and Don a to:My longing is the longing for you

And no one
should take my longing for you away

That's a song by
João Gilberto and João Don a to.

Captain Menescal.

While fishing.

- You know what? This photo here...
- This one? - Yes, the one of João.

He said, "I need to have
my photo taken for the album cover."

"Cool."
"But I don't have a shirt."

"We'll get you one."

"Will you lend me one?"
"Alright."

"Can I go to your house and pick one?"
"You can."

I had two drawers filled with shirts.

I must've been 20 or 19.20, I think.

I owned many shirts, Copacabana Boy.

João said, "Ah, this one's nice.
Maybe the photographer will like it.

Can I take all of these?"
"Yes, you can, João."

He never gave them back.

All I had left was my T-shirt.

In 1962 I spoke
to João Gilberto for the last time.

That was in the States.
We were in New York.

I said, "João, I need to put
some distance between us.

You rob me of all my time.
You make me worry about you.

You ask me for things ..."

"Tell me, how do I change
my guitar strings?"

So I changed his strings for him.

He has this ability
to turn his problems into yours.

So in 1962 I said to him,
"I have to free myself of you

and take care
of my own life for a while."

That was the last time we...

Some time later we met
in passing at Galeão airport.

He said,
"You have a house and a garden.

How a about a table-tennis table?"
But I said, "Not in my home!

It'd be the end of my life again."

Go, my sadness

And tell her

Without her it cannot be

Tell her in a prayer

To come back

Because I can't suffer any more

Enough longing

The reality is

without her there is no peace
There is no beauty

Just sadness and melancholy

That doesn't leave me,
doesn't leave me, doesn't leave

"For the first time since I started
my search I actually get scared.

Scared of João.
Scared of what might happen,

if I actually manage to flush him out.

Insecurity creeps up in me.

My hands are getting cold,
they start trembling slightly.

I shove them into the front pocket
of my Mexican Baja-surfer."

How often must Marc have looked out
over the city, desperately asking himself

where this João Gilberto
could possibly be hiding?

Is he in Rio at all? Is he still alive?

Since 1980, after living
in New York and Mexico with Miucha,

he has been in hiding.

He recorded the top-selling jazz album
ever with Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto.

But there, behind one of those
many windows, he must still be living,

laughing, talking, making music...

In my arms

The embraces
have to be thousands of embraces

Tight like this,
close like this, silent like this

Hugs and kisses and caresses without end

To stop this business

of living far away from me

"I've delegated the further
investigations in Rio to Watson.

She does a pretty decent job.

I buy myself

a chicken turnover, two sodas

and a bottle of mineral water
and get onto the bus.

Beside the guitar, all I took

was a small backpack
with a clean shirt and a toothbrush.

I listen to João Gilberto on my iPod.

The so-called White Album
that he recorded in 1973,

in just a few nights in the basement

of a house
on West 86th Street in Manhattan.

It sounds as if
ghosts had been present in the studio."

- Hello?
- Hello?

- Georges, how are you?
- Miucha! Fine.

- I'm on my way to Diamantina.- Diamantina. That'll be good.

I don't know.
Maybe I'm on the same bus Marc took.

In any case I'll re-read
the chapter "Don't take a bath."

In Portuguese it's called,
"Please don't bathe."

Super.

You'll experience things you have
no clue about yet. - I believe you.

Yes, it's going to be an experience
you can't foresee. - Yes.

I hope things are always going to turn
out better for you then you'd imagined.

This chapter seems to have been
of special importance to Marc.

It reminded him of his youth.

My bus halts
at the same stops as his did,

and it was important to me
to speak with Miucha.

Maybe she'll tell João Gilberto about it
and read him the chapter.

It's been five years since Marc took
his trip to Diamantina. I ask myself

what's left to find there.

What am I looking for anyway?

The famous bathroom?

Marc, João, or myself?

I'd like to ask you something.

A few years ago a man came here

and met some people.

Do you know any
of the people in these photographs?

Have a look.

I think this man's called Péricles.
Could that be?

No.

I know this guy here.

What's his name?

I don't know his name.
I've just seen him around.

What about this woman, maybe?

- She may be called Lourdes.
- Lourdes.

Do you know anyone called Lourdes?

No. To be honest, I don't.

Amigo, five years ago
a man came here and took this photo.

- Do you know him?
- She works in a store near here.

They moved away. I don't think
they still live in Diamantina.

They were students.
I don't know this woman.

Her name's Lourdes.

Do you know anyone called Lourdes?

- I know lots of people in Diamantina.
- Is it Dona Lourdes?

This man works at...

- Is his name Péricles?
- He's a lawyer.

- A lawyer?
- Yes. He works near here.

Do you know this man?

- Yes, I know him.
- He's dead.

- Dead?
- Yes.

Wander.
- Conçeição.

- No.
- It's Fausto.

He has lots of problems.

- Show me that.
- Is that Fausto?

- Geraldo Miranda.
- No, he's still alive.

- Show me that one again.
- Wander.

- This one?
- Yes.

- It's that one.
- I know. - They're close friends.

What are their names?
Could you write them down?

If you talk to Geraldo Miranda,

Ecerildo and Wander, you'll know
all there is to know about Diamantina.

Its whole history.

You were a friend
of João Gilberto's, right?

Yes. For many months. - I'd like to know,
if you feel a longing to see him.

I do, but he's disappeared.

He can't be seen. Who sees him?

I saw him on and off
when he played a concert on TV.

That German who came here,

he looked all over Rio for him,
but he never found him.

You know?

You were at his home.
Did you ever hear him play

- in the bathroom?
- In the bathroom? Not once.

I never saw that.
But the private part of the house,

the innermost part...
I never went there.

Ever. Whenever
I visited him, I rang the doorbell,

and his sister Maria
opened the door saying, "Geraldo,

João's in the bathroom.
Would you like to wait?

It takes ages when he's in the bathroom.

He can stay in the bath for an hour."
"No, I'll wait." So I went in,

sat down, and waited
for him to come and play.

One day he played a serenade
outside a house where some girls lived.

Serenade singers usually sing
very loud to wake their beloved.

- They have to be loud.
- Yes. - But with his soft voice...

he didn't wake anyone. Not a soul.

We told him, "João, you're not
going to wake anyone with that voice!"

He handed over
his guitar to one of us,

picked up a big rock from the street

and threw it down the road
that went steeply downhill.

He made a huge racket with the stone

to see if the girls'd wake up. Nothing.

So he took back the guitar
and continued singing his serenade,

but still he woke no one.

And the very first time

I saw him play on TV,

this little man
with a guitar in his hand appeared,

came on stage,

sat down on a little bench
and started playing.

That was João Gilberto. I said,

"Man, that guy's a friend of mine!"
I was getting very loud.

"That guy over there is my friend!

He lived in Diamantina until last year."

He was there on TV,

looking just like he was talking to us.

He sang "Chega de Saudade."

I said,
"That's João. People, it's João!"

People started asking,
"Who is this João?"

"A friend of mine from Diamantina."

In Brazil time is different from ours.

It's like the rhythm
of Boss a Nova. A little

before the beat, a little after the beat.
Never on it. Very hard to plan.

Did Fischer see it the same way?

Did he feel

disturbed by the longing that seeps
through every note of this music?

I walk through the streets of this town

just like Marc did five years ago
and like João did fifty years ago,

just to try out
the Boss a Nova acoustics of a bathroom.

I can easily picture
Marc writing his book in Berlin.

He carried the beauty
of this music in his heart.

And time and again
text passages come to mind.

"The famous bathroom
is a perfectly normal bathroom.

I've finally found something.
How small it is!

Five square yards, at most.

How did he manage
to get the guitar in here at all?

He must've sat on the toilet.

Boss a Nova was created on the can!

This is where he sat, hour after hour,
day after day, week after week,

month after month,
until he found what he was looking for."

I can hear

my heart beating.
Did Marc hear his too, when he was here?

"I can hear my heart beating.

Can you hear it too? Could João

hear his too,
when he was here for the first time?

It really is a very small world here,

far away from the others.

Come on. We close our eyes.

João,

his back bent over the guitar,

his head to one side,
can only hear these sounds.

It's uncomfortable on the toilet.
After a while

every muscle starts to tense up.
But he won't notice.

He keeps playing these notes.
Now quicker, then slower...

He sings, he hums...

At some point
the harmony and rhythm of his guitar

unite with his voice so completely
that they can no longer be separated.

Together they
merge into something new.

What do you think?

Was it like that?

Is that how art works?

Is it the place that creates the artist,

or the artist who creates the place?

Does the spirit of a person remain
in the place where he worked, or ..."

"First cigarette.

Second cigarette
and the third one right after that.

Have I solved the riddle?

What have I found?

I've got the scene of the crime
and a few witnesses.

But do I have the corpse?
Things have happened really fast

since I came back
from Diamantina yesterday.

Without great deliberation
I decided to leave the Ipanema penthouse

and check in here for a few days,
in this legendary, old hotel.

The "Copacabana Palace" even offers
their guests a "Boss a Nova massage."

After 11 hours

on the bus yesterday,
this may be just what I need.

The telephone rings. It's Watson.

'I got through
to the composer Marcos Valle.

We're meeting him at his home.
Tomorrow. Bring your guitar.'"

Very good!

What a surprise!

- Sensational!
- It's your music, right? - My music.

Where did you get this?

Where? You
just found it, right?

Just found it.
- Incredible.

I didn't know about it. It must be
in the "Copacabana Palace,"

in the room there.

Fantastic.

Very emotional.

The... the connection
he had with my music.

Beautiful. Marvellous.

"We're sitting by the pool at his house

in 'Recreio dos Banderantes' in the
western part of Rio. The sun's just set.

Valle's cats are roaming around.

The composer Valle,
whose biggest hit, 'Samba de Verão'

is one
of the most-played songs on earth,

is a relaxed hippie
with blond surfer hair.

He married four times, has three kids
and says he's 67 years old,

which, as youthful as he looks,
must be a lie.

'That's why you brought your guitar?'

'Yes. It's completely out of tune.
Very 'desafinado.'

It has to be brazillified,

to drive out the evil Nazi ghosts.

You'll have to do it, Marcos.'"

This story of Marc's is incredible.

It has a lot in common
with João Gilberto's story.

Because João Gilberto was also a...

a very special person.

I have my very own perception,

my own view of João,
because as far as I know João...

I never met him in person.
I don't know if you knew that.

The only time... I was at
João Bosco's place once. Also present

was Almir Chediak. He and João Gilberto
used to communicate quite a lot.

A lot. And João Gilberto
loved to talk on the phone.

One time João Gilberto
called Almir Chediak

and asked, "Where are you?"
"At a party at João Bosco's."

"Really? Who else is there?"

"Who else is here?
I don't know. Marcos Valle ..."

João Gilberto said, "Marcos Valle
is there? I want to speak to him."

So Almir Chediak came up to me with
the phone in the middle of this party

and said, "João Gilberto wants to talks
to you." I said, "João Gilberto?

Man, that's unbelievable,
in the middle of a party!"

So I picked up the phone: "João!"
"Marquinhos, Marquinhos,

Man, I like you so much!

I'm always rooting for you.
I'm always by your side."

I said, "João, you have no idea
how pleased I am to talk to you.

After all, 30 years have gone by

without ever having met you.
I worship you!"

He went, "No, man, I...

May I sing your song over the phone?"

"Sure!"
And he sang "Samba de Verão."

"May I sing another one?"

And he sang a few more.

"I'm at a party,
but I don't care about that any more.

I'm going to stay on the phone."
And then I also said to him,

"João, I'll write a song for you."
"You don't have to.

You've already done all you need to.
Don't do anything more.

I'll record some of these."
I never spoke to João again.

Where are you?
Where are you, João Gilberto?

Why are you hiding?

I surprise myself when I call him "João,"

just as Marc did in his book.

Has he read the book?

Miucha still hasn't
answered that question.

I must ask her again.

Garrincha and Valle
never met João Gilberto.

Menescal hasn't seen him
for 45 years. Don a to

hasn't for 15 years. And I've
been trying to see him for 10 years.

Does anyone have any
actual contact with him nowadays?

Now I will meet João Gilberto.

You once told me you cut
João Gilberto's hair. Is that right?

- Yes, I did.
- And how was that?

It was fun,
but he didn't want me to talk about it.

We made an agreement.

- An agreement?
- Nobody was supposed to know.

That first time
I asked him if he was satisfied.

He was.
"Well, now you know the address.

You can come any time."

I'm sure João Gilberto will meet me
with my new haircut.

- What do you think?
- Let's wait and see.

- Did he open the door for you?
- Yes. Well, it was well organized.

It's complicated.

There's a concierge there too.

Were you there
at night or during the day?

- During the day.
- During the day?

I was at the "Copacabana Palace" at night
once, but at his home always by day.

- Did he sing?
- Many nights.

I live in Rio, but I was born
in Bahia. So he used to sing

"When I Come From Bahia." For me.
He said, "I'll sing for you."

So when will you
be going to his house again?

I don't know.

Bebel wanted me to phone now.

- Phone Bebel?
- No, João.

When she left she said, "Call Dad."

But I don't know
whether or not he'll answer.

Done.

Thank you.

- Now it's parted on the right side again.
- Is this João Gilberto's haircut?

When it was parted on the other side
it was more like his.

- Great.
- But it was parted on the other side.

I thought it was this side,
but it's interesting.

You improvised.

Right.

When you speak to him on the phone
let me know. - Will do.

Hello?

- Hello, Georges. It's Miucha.
- Miucha! How are you?

I can hardly hear you.
The signal's very poor.

"A last coup.

Drive up there
and deliver a message in a toiletry bag

and a bag of wild animals,

including:

an elephant, a cheetah,
a lion and an antelope,

as food for the cheetah or the lion.

Maybe he likes one of them.

And a palm tree is included too.

For the ambience."

When I got there I suggested to Marc

to write João a message.
I said to him,

"I can't take you to João.
How am I supposed to do that?

But one time it worked out
with a message for the Japan tour.

I'll give you his address.
You go up there

and deliver your letter.
That way you're sure he gets it."

Much later this is what happened.

One day I went to see João,
and I noticed something.

There were lots of papers lying around.

Underneath a green envelope.

I went towards it,
picked up the green envelope

and saw that it was unopened.
"João, what's this?"

Marc Fischer's name was on the back.
"My God,

I told him to write to you.

João, he's the guy I told you about.

The one who wrote the book and stuff."

I opened the letter,

and out fell some animal magnets
and a figure of Christ the Redeemer.

There was a short letter in which
he introduced himself and wrote

that he'd be overjoyed,
if João were to play "Hobalálá" for him.

And João was of course very moved
by everything that had happened...

Hey!

Hello?

I need to talk to you,
I have lots of news.

But I can't right now.

Not right now.
No, I'm doing an interview.

Are you going to sleep?
What are you doing?

Right now? You know what...

No, calm down.

Call me again in an hour or two, okay?

Or I'll call you.
Will you pick up the phone?

Alright. Kisses. Bye.

Quick.

That was quick, right?

That was João. He can sense it.

What?

João. João Gilberto.

He has the ability to sense it
when people talk about him,

or when someone
wants to record a song of his.

Marc should've experienced this moment.
Together with me. By my side.

"Hobalálá, he's alive, really!"

That could've been the chapter title.
A chapter about the two of us.

Incredible.
He was there. I heard his voice.

He was so close,
yet inaccessible at the same time.

Why didn't Miucha hand me the phone?

Who could hand me a phone
with João on the other end?

The number you have dialled
does not exist.

This number's wrong.

I'll preselect 21.

- He drove past?
- Yes, towards Ipanema.

It was him. I thought he was going
to the "Garota," but he walked past.

- Then what? - That's all I saw.
- Do you want to try and call him?

No, he said 8. it's only 7:15 now.
Maybe he's having dinner. - Maybe...

It's still early.

- But he is coming?
- Yes. He's already in Ipanema.

- He's coming.
- He confirmed.

"A taxi pulls up. A man gets out.

He's wearing a dark suit and red-tinted
glasses. He has gray, shaggy hair.

It comes down to his shoulders.

He's a cross between
Formula One manager Flavio Briatore

and an overblown opera conductor.
João Gilberto's manager

is in his mid-seventies, I'd say."

It's nearly 8.

"He comes through the door...

Octavio Terceiro, A Play in Three Acts."

Remember our talk with Marc?

- In the "Garota de Ipanema?"
- Vaguely. I vaguely remember

how you suddenly smiled...

music by Carlinhos Lyra.

Marc wrote the book because he wanted
João to play "Hobalálá" for him.

- A beautiful wish.
- It'd be fantastic.

- What do you think about that?
- Sure, it'd be the best.

It'd be natural, perfectly normal.

- I expected it to happen.
- Yes.

Unfortunately it didn't.

That's why this music is very important.

To gain an insight
into João Gilberto's soul.

Yes.

I had the idea to maybe call him

and ask him to sing it over
the phone. He loves to use the phone,

as I read in the book.

It may be a slightly crazy idea,
but what do you think?

We'd have to think about it.

Or maybe we can come up
with another idea.

The idea with the phone
isn't too complicated. Or maybe...

you could give me his telephone number?

Then I could call him. No problem.

My Portuguese isn't perfect but...

No, you express yourself
very clearly. That's not a problem.

I will see what I can do.

I don't have a ready solution,

off the cuff,

of how we could organize it,
but we'll keep in touch.

We'll keep in touch, sure.

"I went for walks a lot.

I tried to keep my mind off João.

I needed to.

Only now did I feel how exhausting
it was to try and get close to someone

who refuses to with all his might.

So it was liberating not to think
about him incessantly for a while."

I order a beer
and call Watson. "Watson?

I'm desperate."
"I know," Watson says.

"Why don't we go to the Vista Chinese,
where João sometimes goes at night?"

"Yes."

Twenty minutes later Watson arrives.

"'I'd love to know
what he's doing right now, ' Watson says.

'According to our calculations
he's been playing the guitar, ' I say,

for about exactly ten hours.

Or he's ordering some food,
and looking out the window.

Or he's setting up
the jungle animals we sent him.'

'In all probability there are
only two ways to see the world:

Everything is either crazy or
everything's normal, ' Watson explains,

suddenly feeling very philosophical
at this early hour.

'Why couldn't we get hold of him, Watson?

We tried everything.'

'Because you can't get hold of longing.
Nobody can, Sherlock.

And João is longing personified.'

I stare at Watson."

"No one who has ever met João
will ever be able to forget him.

Because he is, as my clever Watson says,
'Longing personified.'

He always has been. Right from the start.

He is as intangible as longing,
as bodiless as longing.

Just as longing,
he is most active at night.

He is as dissatisfied, as capricious,
as beautiful and as hurtful as longing.

He is forever looking and never finding,

because true longing always
echoes within an endless room.

Within us.

There it remains an unanswered question.

Forever.

That's his curse.

That's Boss a Nova.

'All the best, João.
Thank you for the music, ' I say to him.

Then, 'Let's get out of here, Watson.'

Two days later I fly back to Germany.

When I get back there
nothing is as it used to be.

Longing, always longing. Everywhere."

Hello? - Good day, Octavio.
It's Georges Gachot.

- Gachot, everything alright?
- Fine. And you?

- I'm fine.
- I'm on the beach.

That's good. That's very good.

I spoke on the phone
with João for a bit yesterday.

- Yes?- We've set up a meeting.

He wanted to call me back yesterday.

- Yes?- But he didn't. You understand?

I hope he'll call back today,

so you can find a way to get in touch
this evening or tomorrow at the latest.

I'm expecting a message any minute.
I'll let you know if I hear anything...

He didn't like the idea
with the telephone very much.

But the idea of hearing him play
through a closed door

would be easier to realize.

And as soon as we know
how we are going to realize it,

I'll talk to him immediately.

It'd be easier if he were in a hotel.

Much easier.

We're preparing a trip to the States.
He's looking forward to that.

But this thing
would've been really great for him.

A new vibe in a different place.

It's like going on a tour.

It's in our best interest
for him to travel to the States

and accept
the invitations as they come in.

So, lets do this scene together.

We'll have to see how
we'll go about it, but let's do this.

I don't really know what you...
How did you plan to do this?

If he's in the hotel, it's easy.
We could go together.

We go up to his door.
You go in, I stay outside.

And then I'll hear him play. Right?

Yes, but... I don't know...

Okay, basically that's all. Sure.

Right. I'd like to...
We'll sort out something,

I'm sure of it.

I'm pretty nervous anyway.

- Who is?
- I am. - You're nervous? - Yes.

Me too.

You too? - To me being nervous
is a pleasant feeling.

If you do a gig,
it increases creativity, am I right?

You'll have more energy than usual.

That's true.

And you're taking me...

We'll go there now.

Thank you.

Whoever hears the hô-bá-lá-lá

Will be happy in their heart

Will find love

Listening to this song

Someone will understand

your heart