All language subtitles for Medianeras.2011.DVDRip.XviD.AC3.HORiZON-ArtSubs

Buenos Aires is growing
uncontrollably and imperfectly.

An overpopulated city
in a deserted country.

A city in which thousands
of buildings rise into the sky.

Arbitrarily.

Next to a tall one, a small one.

Next to a rational one,
an irrational one.

Next to a French one,
one with no style at all.

These irregularities
probably reflect us perfectly.

A esthetic and ethical
irregularities.

These buildings,
which adhere to no logic,

represent bad planning.

Just like our lives:

We have no idea how
we want them to be.

We live as if Buenos Aires
were a stopover.

We've created
a "culture of tenants".

The buildings are becoming smaller
to make space for even smaller ones.

Apartments are measured
by their number of rooms

and range from five rooms
with balconies,

playrooms, servants' quarters
and storerooms

to one-room apartments
also known as "shoeboxes".

Just like almost
all man-made objects,

buildings are made
to differentiate between us.

There's a front and a back side.
High and low apartments.

Privileged people have the letter A
or sometimes B.

The farther back in the alphabet,
the worse the apartment.

The promised view and brightness
rarely coincide with reality.

What can be expected of a city
that turns its back on its river?

I'm convinced that separations,
divorces

domestic violence,
the excess of cable TV stations,

the lack of communication,
listlessness,

apathy, depression, suicide,

neuroses, panic attacks,

obesity, tenseness,

insecurity, hypochondria,

stress and a sedentary lifestyle

are attributable to architects
and builders.

I suffer from all of these illnesses
except suicide.

This is my one-room apartment.
400 square feet

and one miserable window
for one breathless lung.

Santa F�, 1105.

Fourth floor. H.

I sat down at my computer
ten years ago

and feel like
I've never got up again.

I don't know if the Internet is
the future, but it was mine:

I design websites
and this is my cyberspace.

I don't know if I'm good
or just got into it early,

but I'm very busy.

I began with my psychiatrist's
website for phobics:

His speciality and the reason
why I visit him twice a week.

This game is a hit.

It's for insomniacs
fighting pill addiction.

My psychiatrist calls me
a phobic on my way to recovery.

Due to repeated, violent panic attacks,
I locked myself in my apartment

for years.

I won 17 championships
at expert level.

Four times undefeated,
nine times top scorer.

I beat Federer four times
at Wimbledon.

I became Godfather
of the Corleone family.

I was totally isolated. Scared.

My psychiatrist developed
a strategy to help me overcome

my fear of the city:
Photography.

A way to rediscover
the city and people.

A search for beauty where
it's not apparent.

Observing is being and not being.

Or being in another way.

I distracted myself.

I don't take the bus or taxis.
Much less the subway,

and I'd never take a plane.
I only go by foot

and always have
my survival backpack.

Contents: A Leica D-Lux 3
with 10 megapixels.

Rivotril drops, 2.5 mg.
Amoxicillin 500.

Ibuprofen. Sunglasses.
A plastic rain coat.

A Victorinox with 21 tools.

Flashlight with batteries.
Condoms, three units.

400 pesos cash in small bills.
An iPod with 60 GB

and more than 8,000 songs.

Three Tati films. A notebook.
And a plastic card

about how to proceed
in case of an accident

or panic attack.

The backpack weighs 5.8 kg.
7% of my body weight.

I've been an architect for two years,
but still haven't built anything.

Neither a building, nor a house,
nor a bathroom. Nothing.

Only models that are uninhabitable,
and not only because of their scale...

I didn't fare well
with other constructions either:

My four-year relationship collapsed

despite my efforts to shore it up.

If my life were a game of life,

I'd have to move back five spaces.

That's why I'm here:

With my disorderly life in 27 boxes,

I sit on twelve metres
of bubble wrap, popping bubbles

so that I myself don't pop.

This is my new old shoebox

that these ridiculous five steps
make into a "duplex".

And this is the freakish thing,
half window, half balcony,

that the sun shuns all year long.

Avenida Santa Fe, 1183.
Eighth floor. G

as in gastritis.

This is my favourite building
in Buenos Aires.

It's the best location
and the most fun.

It's built with
my favourite materials:

Concrete, steel and glass.

One of the world's few buildings

with an equilateral
triangular base,

it was inspired
by Saturn and its rings.

Even if most people
see a flying saucer.

I enter it expecting
to take off and leave this world.

But in reality,
the planetarium puts me in my place,

reminding me that
the world doesn't revolve around me.

I'm a very small
part of a planet

that's part of a system
that's part of a galaxy

that, like hundreds of thousands
of galaxies, forms part of the universe.

It reminds me that I'm part of
an infinite and eternal whole.

A SHORT AUTUMN

The dog committed suicide.

Apparently it was a 40-year-old
prostitute's only companion

and was locked out on the balcony
so it wouldn't bother her customers.

The dog went mad when
they touched her.

No wonder it jumped.

Alone,
on such a small balcony.

STRANGE ACCIDENT
IN BUENOS AIRES:

A DEAD DOG
AND TWO INJURED PEOPLE

Signature.

Thanks.

DISCARTHROSIS

You look terrible,
but you're perfectly healthy.

The only strange things are the fifth and
sixth vertebrae, which you've had since birth.

Otherwise, you'd be screaming
in pain, so it's not that.

Are you dizzy?
No.

Just do some fitness training
and lighten up your backpack.

There's nothing serious,
nothing at all.

You see...

Those reports are written by kids

in laboratories or hospitals
who write

down everything to protect
themselves.

They're not perfect.
What can you do?

If you want to worry, go ahead,
but not about that.

You're the same.

Until I can work as an architect,
I'm designing shop windows.

It distracts me
from other thoughts.

I think of the windows
as lost places.

They're neither inside
nor outside.

An abstract and magic space.

They reflect a part of me.

At the same time,
the anonymity calms me.

Maybe it's stupid, but I think:

If someone stops to look,

they're somehow interested in me.

I've had this book since I was 14.

And forgive me, great writers,

but it's a key book in my life.

It's the origin of
my fear of crowds,

which has become existential.

It dramatically represents

the fear of knowing
I'm one lost person among millions.

Years have passed and I still can't
solve one of the puzzles:

"Wally in the City".

I found him shopping,
at the airport and the beach,

but not in the city.

Perhaps my nerves
have blinded me.

So I'm wondering:

If I can't find a person
when I know who I'm looking for,

how can I find a person when
I don't know who I'm looking for?

"Hi, I'm Sus�,
part stuffed animal and part dog."

Seven years ago, my girlfriend
visited her parents

in New Jersey, USA.
She wanted to stay for a few weeks.

As painful as it was for her,
she called me collect to say

she wasn't coming back.

It was her new home and she'd
realised she was very American.

Ingenious! She felt very American
when Argentina was devalued.

The truth is, there wasn't much
to keep her here: Me and her dog.

She left her with the best
of intentions too.

She claimed the change in language

would be too difficult for her.

You know planes make me nervous.

Please take the rock I travel with.

- You've only travelled once.
- Well, it worked.

It's my kabbalah. Do it for me.

Alright.

All at once,
I lost the woman I loved

and my ability to fly.

Hello, this is Mariana.
Leave a message after the beep.

Hello, hello. Are you there?

Alright. I just wanted
to tell you that tonight

a great film will be on TV

with Bill Murray
and the groundhog.

And because you took the TV,
I thought we could watch it together.

Pick up.
I know you're there.

Are you with a guy?
You screwed me!

How can you be close
to someone so different?

That's the stupid conclusion
after a four-year relationship.

Four years are 48 months.

1460 days.

35,040 hours
with the wrong person.

I watched him one night
and realised everything:

For the first time, he was distant,

as if he were completely unfamiliar.

I suddenly feared
being alone with a stranger.

And here I am:

In the same apartment
that I abandoned to live with him.

In front of the same mirror.
Four years later.

A LONG WINTER

Thanks.

The Internet brings me closer to
the world, but further from life.

I do banking and read magazines
on the Internet,

download music and listen to
the radio on the Internet,

order food on the Internet,
watch films on the Internet,

chat on the Internet,
study on the Internet,

play on the Internet, have sex
on the Internet and search for...

DOG SITTER

Come here, Sus�.

Come here, Sus�.
Come.

- This is Sus�.
- Alright.

She's not used to
being with other animals.

- Then you'd better come with us.
- Alright, I'll take her.

- Can you get me a fag from my pocket?
- Here?

- Got a light?
- No.

- Get it from my pocket.
- Here?

- How long?
- Are you gay?

- Because of the dog.
- Oh, right.

It's not mine. It belongs to a friend
who went to the USA.

She asked me to take care of it.

She had a problem
and couldn't come back,

so I kept it.

And since she left,
it's... it's more depressed,

it doesn't bark,
it's insecure

and doesn't want to leave the house.
So I thought it'd be good

for it to meet other dogs and people.

I think she's adapting.
What do you think?

I thought you were gay.

I can't concentrate.

Maybe another time.

Alright.

- Alright, bye.
- And what do we do? Should I call you?

- I'll be back tomorrow.
- Alright. Everything okay?

More or less.
Bye.

Want to eat dinner?
Or should I wait until spring?

- Now?
- Do you have time?

I wanted to start swimming.
I'm tense.

- It's not time to start swimming.
- No, it's never time to swim.

Then let's eat.

Here it is.

Have you been here?

I've seen the building
but didn't know it has a restaurant.

I thought they were offices.

I thought it might be interesting
for an architect.

Shall we go up?

I'll take the stairs.

It's on the 20th floor.

Well...

You'll probably think I'm crazy,
but...

I have a phobia of them.
I don't use lifts.

Especially when
they're hermetically sealed.

I get claustrophobia.

Do you live on the ground floor?

- On the eighth.
- Seriously?

I think twice before leaving
the flat.

I go up at least three times a day.

Want to try it with me?

What?

No, I mean take the lift.

I know a good
ground floor restaurant.

I'm curious to see the city
from so high up.

I'll walk.

- I'll join you.
- That's not necessary. Really.

You wouldn't make it anyway.

- Of course I will.
- But...

Now that you've finally said "yes".

When did you last use a lift?

- Two or three years ago.
- Did something bad happen?

Don't speak.
You'll be out of breath.

Administer it.

- Have you tried closing your eyes?
- If that would only work.

The last time I climbed so many steps
was at Teotihuacan's Pyramid

of the Sun. 40 degrees

and not one miserable cloud
in the middle of the desert.

And 260 awkward steps.

They say the top of the pyramid
is a point

of cosmic energy
that fulfils your wishes.

My wish was not to fall
on my way back down.

Some people go back down on
their arses so they don't fall.

That's typical of religions:
They promise the improbable

so you don't regret
the sacrifices they demand.

I hope I won't regret
climbing these stairs.

Everything alright?

Don't you want to take the lift?

- Yes. That'd be better.
- See you at the top.

Smoking is killing me.

- Should I order a water for you?
- Go ahead.

- Sparkling or still?
- Still!

My relationship with Pablo
corresponded with the digital age.

At the beginning,

I bought a camera
that documented those four years.

380 photographs the first year.

176 in the second.
97 in the third.

And four in the last year.

In a simple, irreversible act,

I'm doing away
with 38.9 megabytes of history.

If only my head worked as well
as my Mac

and I could forget everything
with a click.

Is there anything more discouraging
in the 21st century as an empty inbox?

Luckily, a friend wrote to me
from Oman.

He happens to be visiting Yemen

and needs my help with drawing
9.5 million dollars

from a local bank.
He hasn't written for a while.

It's an imprudent,
one-sided friendship.

Please give us some space.

Before I had my lift phobia,

I gave tours
in the Kavanagh building.

I had no problem taking
the 15 lifts

through 31 floors of
the city's most beautiful skyscraper:

The world's largest concrete
construction at the end of the 1930s.

A building as striking
as the history that it conceals.

Corina Kavanagh
was a beautiful woman

from a wealthy,
but plebeian family

who fell in love
with a young man of nobility.

The Anchorenas opposed
the relationship and broke it up.

Their most important possession

was the Basilica Sant�simo Sacramento,

a temple they built
which later became the family tomb.

The Anchorenas' palace
was on the other side of the park

and they wanted a new one
next to the basilica.

Corina Kavanagh sold three farms

and had a skyscraper built
for one reason:

To hide the basilica's facade

and prevent the Anchorenas
from seeing it.

It's only visible
from "Corina Kavanagh" alley.

When I have a daughter,
I'll name her Corina.

HOW WAS YOUR DAY?

Great, thanks. Here!

WHERE ARE YOU?

I'M AT THE CINEMA

- Can I put some music on?
- Of course.

WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME.
WHAT MOVIE?

You have thousands.
How am I supposed to choose?

- I don't like them.
- Let me choose one.

I WANT TO SEE YOU.
WILL MEET YOU AT THE EXIT.

IT'S TERRIBLY LONG.
I'M TURNING MY MOBILE OFF.

SENDING TO MARIELA

- You hardly ate anything.
- I don't eat much in the evening.

Did I tell you I'm writing a play?

You've hardly said anything all night.

Really? I'm in a weird mood,
I don't know why.

I didn't know you write.

Me neither.

Until now.

I've studied theatre for a while.

Should I tell you about it?

It's called "Cruel Woman".

There's a swing on stage,

the protagonist
and seven Dalmatians.

So the audience listens to
a monologue with headphones,

and what they hear are
herthoughts.

She's planning

to kill the dogs' owners
so she can keep them for herself.

You like it?

It sounds good.
I'd have to read it.

I act in it.

You're the one who
walks the drugs?

- "Walks the drugs"?
- Did I say "drugs"?

Good one!

11 MESSAGES

I'M GOING HOME.

Don't get any false hopes.
It was just sex.

They sprout out of the cement,
growing where they shouldn't.

Rising up patiently
with exemplary will and dignity.

Without lineage,
wild, unclassifiable by botanists.

A strange, rampant,
absurd beauty.

They adorn the greyest of corners,

don't own anything
and nothing can stop them.

A metaphor for uncontrollable life

that paradoxically forces me
to face my weakness.

I'm Marcella, a psychologist,
and my job is my passion.

Calm down, I won't analyse you.

As a rule,
I don't analyse friends.

To be honest, I'm very selective
regarding friendships.

I write a lot
and love self-help books.

Gender: Female. Age: 31.

Marital status: Single.
Children: None. Religion: Buddhist.

Not a drinker. Occasional smoker.
University degree.

Languages: French, English,
German, Italian,

Portuguese, Greek,
Spanish, of course,

and a bit of Russian.

Hobbies: Alternative music,
jazz, blues, Latin American,

disco, 80's, electronic,

pop, rhythm and blues,
rock, classical,

theatre, ballet, travelling,
yoga, meditation,

movies, shoes, cars, motorcycles,
working out,

writing, cooking, Internet,
water sports,

nature, politics, charity,
wine tasting,

mountaineering, shopping,
tarot, art,

martial arts, tai chi chuan,
I Ching,

feng shui, astrology, New Age.

No, I'll listen, but I don't speak it.
I understand everything, but...

I don't speak it.

No, seriously, I speak it poorly.
I don't like hearing myself.

I have no control.

I say what I can instead of what
I want to.

Well, you speak it.

Your French sounds French.

These dates are like
McDonalds combos.

They look larger and more delicious
in the photographs.

Every time I go on a date,

I suffer from the same deception
as with a Big Mac.

No, nothing at all.

No more, thank you.

What were you doing alone in Paris?

Oh no, that's a long story.

But I can tell you how it ends.

We separated at De Gaulle.

Yes, a 13-hourflight
is too much for a couple in crisis.

Luckily, we both had
our own luggage.

We divided up our goods
in the airport.

He kept the shampoo,
I kept the conditioner...

We split up the few things
we had in common.

He went to Berlin,
I stayed in Paris.

I cried for 24 hours
and that was it.

Everything alright?

Should I buy you a water?

Nervousness.

I'm nervous.

I need movement.

Want to dance?

I have a great need to communicate.

For example,
if we'd met here by chance

and you only spoke
Italian...

But let's say
I didn't understand it.

I would have lost the opportunity
to meet a very beautiful person.

What did you say?

Look it up.

Bloody bastard!

How can you be so stupid?

Bye, Sus�. Come here,
I'm late. Bye.

This is the 15th time
I've signed up for swimming

and the 15th time I won't go.

I love swimming, but I hate
everything before and after it.

I hate showering before
and after.

I hate getting undressed
and dressed,

drying my hair in the winter,

a wet towel in my bag,

a wet swimsuit, wet flip-flops...

I hate the smell of chlorine.

I hate the membership card
and the medical examination:

Having to show someone
what's between my toes.

I hate that people
piss in the water.

I hate caps and the amazed
expression goggles give you.

And what I hate most is the fact that
it's the most complete sport there is.

Tired?

Are you tired?

You have to kick less.

Legs consume more oxygen
than arms.

Kicking is more for stabilisation
than for propulsion.

Stretch out and relax your legs.

When your hand goes
into the water,

stretch it out, feel the impulse
and the other arm follows.

Your hands under your body.

And lower your head. The water
should be up to your forehead.

You're doing 32 strokes.
Try what I'm saying.

You'll do fewer strokes
and tire less.

You'll swim in a more relaxed way.

And try breathing every third stroke.
Go ahead, I'll count.

- May I?
- Yes.

- And?
- You were right, I'm not as tired.

30 strokes. Two fewer per lap
and you can get even lower.

- Are you a teacher?
- I'm a compulsive swimmer.

I can't sleep if
I don't swim an hour a day.

Really? Exhaustion from swimming
is unrivalled.

Yes, nothing else tires me out.

- What's your name?
- Rafa. And you?

Mariana.

What's it, asshole?

- Let me past!
- Go ahead!

- You're a clown!
- What the hell are you doing?

Idiot!

Always the same!
Screw you!

Don't touch me!
Don't touch me!

I still have 30 laps!
I'm a member and I paid my fee!

- This is supposed to relax you.
- Living healthily is stressful.

Being conscious of everything
only to live a bit longer

is the worst thing we can do.

None of us come here for fun.
We come to count laps.

- Why can't you sleep?
- I thought you'd know already.

There's no switch
to turn off my head.

- Have you seen a psychologist?
- Yes, I am a psychologist.

So swimming is the only thing
that works?

If I could,
I'd swim to my bedside.

- 28!
- Very good!

Tomorrow I can't swim.

I've got patients until 10 p.m.,
so I won't be able to sleep.

We could go and eat
or drink something.

- Shall I put you to sleep?
- On the contrary.

What a relief.
Then yes.

Let's take off our caps and goggles
so we'll recognise each other.

No, I'll come like this.

It doesn't matter, I don't care.

Everything's alright.

The brilliant morning light

let me see the reflection clearly.

Late, as always,
I realised it was me in the window.

Like a mannequin.

Motionless, silent
and cold.

SPRING AT LAST

Absolutely all of the buildings
have a useless, purposeless side.

It's neither the front nor the back:

The "medianera" or "side wall".

Enormous surfaces that divide us,
reminding us of passing time,

smog and filth.

"Medianeras"
show our worst attributes.

They reflect inconstancy, cracks,

provisional solutions,

and the dirt we sweep under
the carpet.

We only remember
them in exceptional cases

when, during bad weather,

its ads filter through.

"Medianeras" have changed
into another medium for ads

that are seldom beautiful.

Generally,
they indicate how far we are

from supermarkets and fast food.

Lottery ads that promise a lot
for little.

AVAILABLE

Recently, they've reminded us of
the economic crisis that left us

unemployed.

There's one way out of the oppression
that results from living in a shoebox.

An escape route:

Illegal, like all escape routes.

In clear violation
of urban planning norms,

there are a few tiny,
irregular, irresponsible windows

that let a few miraculous
rays of light

into our darkness.

May I?

When will we be a wireless city?

What geniuses blocked the river
with buildings and the sky with wires?

Are all those kilometres
of wire there to unite us

or to divide us?
Everyone in his own place.

Cellular telephony invaded the world
promising to always keep us connected.

Text messaging:

A new ten-key system

that reduces one of the most
beautiful languages

to a primitive,
limited and guttural vocabulary.

The future is in fibre optics,
say the visionaries.

They've announced that we'll be able
to heat our homes from our workplaces.

Right! And no one will be waiting
for us when we get home.

Welcome to the era
of virtual relationships.

Is this your first time chatting?

Yes. Did you notice?

Very much so.
You have to begin with M or W.

What's that?

Man or woman.

Woman.
A broad term, isn't it?

- And you?
- Man.

- Do I have to believe you?
- It's easy to verify.

I write like a man,
think like a man,

and act like a man.

And?

What?

Your turn.
In the arse.

I don't know what to say.

It's strange talking to someone
I don't know.

What do you want to know?

I don't even know where to begin.

I'm taking off. Bye.

Don't leave! Wait!
Are you still there?

I'll give you a list of questions:

How old are you?
What sign are you?

What music do you listen to?
Do you believe in God?

What did you do today?

That's cheating.

It's a question.

Okay. I woke up at twelve
because I went to bed at five.

I should start swimming.
I ate breakfast at one.

I took an ibuprofen.

At two I started work.
I do web design.

At five I ate lunch.
At eight I went to therapy.

I took my second ibuprofen.

Then the telephone rang,
which made me happy.

Wrong number.
Now I'm eating dinner.

After chatting, I'll whack myself on
the head so I can fall asleep

and start swimming tomorrow.

DID YOU TAKE OFF?

YES!

Good.
What did you do today?

Adaptation.
Getting used to being single again.

I'm an expert.
I could write a book.

I'm a kind of depressed
Paulo Coelho.

I didn't have a good day.

I'M SO SAD.

I have a method.
Absolutely involuntary.

A kind of Buddhist gene that makes
my happy days not so happy

and my sad days not so sad.

A spiritual thermostat.

And if it fails?

I down a Rivotril.

I didn't think I'd laugh today.

In return, do me a favour.
When do you wake up?

Nine.

I'll give you my number. Call me
at nine and motivate me to swim.

Why not now?

No, that won't do. It's a deal.

Give me your number.

Bloody bastard! Fucking hell!

Bloody bastard!

Why do I keep all this shit?

Wait Sus�, I'll be right back.

- Do you have any candles?
- Yes, wait a minute...

I'll be right with you.

Four pesos.

- Any candles left?
- I think so. Let me look...

- I got a shock.
- Yeah, me too.

- Probably the flashlight.
- I don't know, but it was heavy.

Here they are, the last ones.
Your lucky day!

Right, good to know.

- How much?
- Four pesos.

- My luck's a bit expensive.
- Yeah.

- How much for this?
- Nine.

Thanks. Bye.

Something else?

What do you have for a peso
so we can round it up?