Little Ashes Page #4

- Federico!

Are you alright?

- I'm fine.

- What happened?

- Nothing, nothing.

I just... I 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?

- It's a great spectacle, isn't it?

Everyone's here.

- How was Paris?

I didn't know when you were coming back.

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.

- You have 20 minutes to deliver an oral

critique of Raphael.

You may begin.

Mr. Dal?

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And I've been insulting myself by letting your shruddy practices, your pathetic, outdated theories...

... and questionable characters - sh*t on my genious.

I hope with all my heart that you'll

realize I'm right and...

Give up this foolishness and go back to the pigsties

and the 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 idiots drink tea.

I'm surprised we don't drown in the sh*t.

- 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 lover...

- 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 introduced me to Picasso and there was

this extraordinary man...

Who gave me a photograph of his wife...

... and, she's naked.

You won't believe this.

Gala. Galushka.

She's Russian.

She's my twin soul.

I've dreamt of this woman my whole life.

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

I'll bring Paris to its knees.

King... King Salvador!

You should've seen Louie, he's

asking me to make his first film with him...

- Salvador!

- ...and the 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 f*** 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?

Your 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 f***in' 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 in the palm of my hand

But, the weeping is an enormous dog

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 for

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...

In 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'd rather be with.

- If we had a choice in these things, which we don't.

- Don't we?

- I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but I don't

think you can 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've wrap 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 its 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 reaffirm 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.

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