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I want to welcome the biggest protector of the Soviet Union... BBM: 2C09385E LINE: SOLAIRE99
But I want to know who Mr. Neruda really is. Wechat: CS1_SOLAIRE99 Whatsapp: +66634622578
Because the mouth is always saying peace words...
... but he supports the rebels who attacked our forces.
I also do not know what rights he has to be brave insult our president before foreign journalists.
I talk to you...
I talk to you! / I heard it, Senator.
Are you Neruda or not? / Of course.
But two months ago he called himself Ricardo Reyes.
Why did you change your name? Did you steal something?
Shut up!
You're so presumptuous, sir! / It's just a question.
Honor the senator!
Please calm down, allow Senator Neruda honored to speak.
Thank the President of the Senate and the lord of his members who are bastards.
First of all, I say thank you to all Russians...
... who has defeated fascism and brought world peace.
Second, I say thank you to the Communist Party...
... who always defends the rights of workers and society.
Rights that are currently under threat because they arrest trade union leaders and members of the Communist Party.
And this is done by the president himself, namely...
... the Traitor Gonzales Videla, who sold himself to the Northern Empire.
You first chose it, right?
We all choose it, unfortunately. All idiots present here, first choose it.
Excuse me.
It has been three years since the end of World War II and here...
... from this cheerful home, it will start a great pursuit.
I always thought that was the way the left wing of Chile celebrated something.
Not complaining about something.
Deep down, they are happy, they are in love.
They like to mingle with the pain and sweat of others.
In this place, none of the intellectuals, artists...
... and those who have traveled in the world, back with a happy heart.
Advisers and lawyers. The criminals surround academics...
... to learn art deceives the bureaucracy.
This is Don Pablo.
He is not ready yet because he hasn't worn Lawrence of Arabia's costume, desert guerrillas.
And this is his wife...
I don't understand it.
He was an Argentine aristocrat who studied in Paris then married the son of a railroad worker.
Now what? How do I look?
Difficult to recognize.
Please calm down...
Please calm down! thanks.
We will continue the event with surprises from the host.
Here it is, the poet Pablo Neruda.
All eyes are on him.
All the petals are open...
I was able to write down the poems of poetry tonight...
Many people want to kiss it.
Touch it...
They want to sleep in their beds...
... which is said to smell of seaweed.
The night wind swirls in the sky and sings...
Embarrassing. He continued to repeat the village poetry he had written more than 20 years ago.
I love him, and sometimes he loves me too...
Women imagine him making love with ros flowers in his mouth...
And after kissing, he will write poems that are inspired by them.
He is the king of love.
I want...
I was able to write down the poems of poetry tonight...
In the head, he is no longer reached...
They don't know how it feels sleep on the floor. They only just blushed.
The night's voice is so gripping, plus is tense without his presence.
If we hold a Bolshevik revolution, these people will run away first.
... dew on the grass.
It is said, Neruda is the most important communist in the world.
He strongly believes in the trade unions and peasants, in the clarity of history and dignity of the Chilean Bolshevik Party.
We will not drink. / These gentlemen are working. Bring the drink back in.
Thank you.
We came because there were emergency problems at the party commission...
Shut up!
I was asked to tell you that the government was imprisoning our union leaders.
I was told to tell you that...
... that... That we must hide.
Including me?
Yes, including you.
I am very sure that sooner or later, is faster than we expected...
Please calm down, Senator all!
This political process will be carefully reviewed.
And the perpetrators of crime will get a reward that is worth it.
Thank you very much.
Please calm down, please, calm everything down!
In Chile there will be no freedom of expression. Our lives are never free from fear.
On January 6, 1948, I was prosecuted because was loyal to the highest aspirations of mankind.
And I had to sit in a court seat for the first time because I complained about this violation of freedom for America.
The violation that happened in the last place I imagined: here, in Chile.
Why do they do this?
Communists are reluctant to work.
They prefer to burn churches and reason it makes them feel more alive.
Chilean nobles like to show off their wealth. The Poet should not be impressed with this.
He had a luxurious life in Paris.
And this kind of lifestyle imitation should make him laugh. But he was impressed.
Alessandri was twice elected President of the Republic of Chile. Now he is the President of the Senate.
In his office, he has the key to enter Chile. We all, Chileans, are their servants.
I met the President. He is sad.
Really? Why?
The president said you insulted him with baseless accusations.
My goal is to hurt the president as deeply as possible.
Write a book after you get out of prison later. "Prison Poems," or something.
Bad title, Alessandri. Don't talk about what you don't understand.
In politics, humiliation is a form of admiration.
I ask you to open Pisagua prison and free my friends.
Why do you ask me to do things I don't want to do?
I thought you didn't take orders from anyone. It turns out you're a traitor traitor Gonzales Videla.
Your language is very polite, Senator. That is why the President hates you.
No. He hates me because I'm a communist. / Yes, and also because you caused chaos.
About the trade unions... / I don't regret it.
What do you regret? Overthrow the bourgeoisie?
I'm sorry about the betrayal campaign... / You've written poetry for the president!
That was first, during the campaign period.
But these traitors are indeed have an attraction too. / I don't agree with that.
You and your friends are very thirsty for power. You are fooled by Araque.
What demon is present behind this power ambition?
Now it's our turn. We have the right to occupy La Moneda.
How will you rule?
With Soviet democracy for soldiers, workers and farmers.
Goddamn it!
Our mouth will smell by nuts and wine. And the law will be written with bad spelling.
Could be.
But the funeral will not be full by political prisoners...
Senator, please!
They think they can defeat communism by alienating us.
Or put us in jail. I give you one suggestion...
The solution is to kill all of us. Kill us.
That way the problem is finished.
Don't repeat those words. Maybe someone wants to try it.
Who will try it? You?
I will consider.
Pablo, the Supreme Court will grant your case. You must leave this country as soon as possible.
Please, hear me. If you leave the country without the power of the constitution, your situation will be even more difficult.
But I will definitely not be permitted abroad.
Don Pablo, this is the Party's decision.
I think Pablo should give himself up. / Do not let. Do not. Do not.
Which one is more dangerous? I as a prisoner or as a fugitive? / What are you talking about?
As a fugitive.
Are you serious? / Of course.
So we will run away.
You can't imagine Pablo as a political leader.
He is the author, the obligation is to write...
If you are arrested or die, you will not be able to write.
Who will kill me?
Do you want to be recorded in history, Pablo?
He wants to be recorded in history.
Say "cheese!" Look here. One, two, three...
RESERVATION
Perfect. / You are ready.
What do you think? / Pablo, give up.
They will catch you. / No.
Disappear.
I will disappear. But I won't hide under the mattress.
This will be a great chase !
In this section I enter...
I have to enter.
I am an empty page. I entered to get black ink.
Then the police filled with passion, with chest bloated.
Please, come here.
My president has a boss, that is the president of the United States.
When the president orders local communists to be killed, these trained monkeys must obey.
Good afternoon, Mr. President. / A good afternoon.
Are you the Chief Commissioner? / Yes sir.
Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you, Mr. President.
The Director General is present here too...
He is angry because I want to talk to you.
I can't believe you can be so angry...
He is upset.
Do you think he is upset or not?
Yeah, I thought he looked a little annoyed.
Do you know Neruda? / Yes sir.
Do you read poetry?
A little.
This country is full of intelligent communists. They speak French and love to build distance.
We talk about people who have shoes when they are 12 years old.
During my campaign, he pulled a small piece of paper...
... and 10 thousand proletarians are silent when hears him read poetry with his voice.
But Chileans won't forgive criminals who are arrested.
Good, sir.
Can I calm down now?
Of course, sir.
You have to catch and embarrass him. Then we will have a party.
After this, the president will waltz or spend the night playing the piano...
Excuse me.
... while shouting angrily.
Thank you, Mr. President.
I'm a great cop.
But I can also be a great artist.
You decide. Excuse me.
Is that me? / No.
That must be me.
This is a horse.
Why don't we buy two horses and run away?
Sure. Can you ride a horse?
Yeah. Did you forget that I was from the south? / I also. Let's go.
Are you brave?
Together.
Of course.
Let's go together.
Then you follow me. As usual.
Let's go.
Come on.
They say Chile is an island, and this mountain range is the second sea...
A large wave which never breaks.
On the other hand there is a foreign world plate.
His name is Argentina.
It is a green country that is rich with agricultural land and warfare.
Good afternoon. / A good afternoon.
Please passport. . / Good.
Here it is.
Here it is written that your name is Ricardo Reyes Basoalto.
In the passport it is written my name is Pablo Neruda.
But here is written "Reyes".
Because "Neruda" is the artistic name.
That was the name in the era of war.
If you have two names, you can't leave the country.
They are waiting for me on the other side. I can walk.
I'm sorry. It's the rule.
Turn around. A good afternoon.
The first house is the main house.
Neruda is a man who comes from from a mountainous region.
He is not created to sweep the floor or clean the bathroom.
Enter.
Perfect.
Amazing house... / This is normal, thank you.
At least we don't need to eat while lying down like Nero. / Right.
Here we store a grand piano.
Under the window, pool table.
Here is the dance room.
You know the only problem in this place, Victor?
What?
They won't find me here.
Do you want them to find you? / No.
But I want to feel them coming up.
Don't touch anything.
Clever Commissioner Peluchonneau led this operation as if he was leading the Egyptian conquest operation.
This house is full of valuables, that is loved by Neruda.
There is no one here.
There is no one.
Of course, the order comes late.
At this hour, the poet must be peeling onions to burn with the rest of the food which is disgusting.
"THE WOMAN IN THE ZOOL GOSPEL"
Come and get up with me, Brother Polisiku.
Nothing special.
I've seen this kind of thing in a brothel in Callao.
This house is beautiful.
This house is terrible!
A beautiful house.
A woman goes to the zoo and never returns.
A gray man investigates.
Dirty man, like me.
Why do I read this?
These writers never became steel-hearted police officers like me.
They don't know what it's like to beat people up in the name of law.
They don't know how extraordinary imagination of criminals.
But that's not a problem.
I am here, Neruda too ever been here.
He once wrote words with unexpected sequences.
Cheap poems.
Write it between four walls and a roof. Like me.
Pablo... / I want to find fresh air.
You can't be here!
Pablo, they issued your arrest warrant!
Not now, Delia... / Really? / Read it.
Come on, Pablo. / Read! This is very good.
Indeed. / Read out.
They are looking for Neruda in all parts of the country.
Minister Miguel Gonzales Castillo, who ordered the arrest of Pablo Neruda...
... states that the poet has escaped from his house.
That's a fact. / Correct.
Commissioner Oscar Peluchonneau mobilizes 300 police to look for the poet...
... which faces a prison sentence of 541 days.
300 police!
They look for Neruda at the homes of their friends...
Just barely... / 300 police!
A large number, right? / That's a lot, Pablo.
Then why did those bastards not catch me?
Don't talk haphazardly, don't need to shout.
Why did they come to the homes of my friends? Why didn't you come here catch me?
You're my friend, right? / Pablo, you already drank half a bottle.
I want to know, so ask...
If they search at my friends' houses, shouldn't they be here now?
So, are you my friend or not? / Nobody knows I live here!
So, never come!
If nobody knows, they won't come here...
They won't find me. Or are you not my friend?
Take care of your manners and don't shout.
Olivier, Pioneer of Police...
Main protector.
The best of the best.
My father.
He doesn't admit me, but I will prove that I am his child.
That I am also a Peluchonneau.
Olivier, Olivier Peluchonneau.
Thank you, Dad.
HELL CULTURE.
COMMUNIST HERB.
Keur: Lugiena De nu nanagih wae: D
Why? Waiters don't come?
The soap is damaging my hand.
Look at my hand...
Delia...
Hygienic is bourgeois values. / We don't clean the house for political reasons.
Senator.
Do they put it everywhere?
Yeah. Don't worry, we've ripped it off.
Don't...
We have to save it. This poster is rich in historical values, right?
It's up to you, Senator.
Jara...
Who are you? Jara is Neruda's new protector.
His name is Alvaro.
Alvaro Jara. A sad young man, like me.
You who will take care of my security? / Yes sir.
He also represents the Party.
Another futile youth.
I will give you a mission, Jara. Go to the library and bring me a Quechua Dictionary...
... and the book "Fauna of the Americas." / Ready Sir.
For new book projects that are still confidential. / Do you have the manuscript? / New draft.
Want to see?
Not many, but...
Here it is. The title is "General Corner".
Thirty copies containing 30 poems. / In 30 envelopes? / Hmmm.
Do you work?
No, just write.
Oh look! Thank you!
Publisher Seventh Cycle.
Neruda likes sex, crime, and violence. / The detective story made me forget that I was being chased by the police.
This can't be forgotten.
I go... / Wait a minute.
For Picasso. / The blind painter.
Good. See you later.
Thirty poems fly...
If I intercept and burn one, the other 29 will reach 29 other hands.
There is nothing I can do face these cunning people.
Good morning. / Can I help you?
We have made an appointment with the president... / Has Neruda been arrested?
Not yet.
So what are you doing here?
Have you searched for his house?
Yes, of course. / Is he there?
No. / Where is he?
We don't know yet. / There must be somewhere.
You're right.
Find his first wife.
It seems like a great plan.
Good, let's do it.
But please tell the president... We are still looking for it.
No, don't want to. / Why not? / Because I'm not your employee, Kampret!
I am a superior civilian and I ordered you to capture this communist.
What if I succeed?
What? / What if I catch it?
Excuse me.
Superior civilians?
For me there is no superior civilian .
Why aren't you dressed?
Use what? / I have no idea. There are clothes there.
There is a dress draped on the chair.
I'm a respectable woman, Pablo...
I can't wake up without clean clothes. / I don't have clean clothes either.
Then release...
Come here...
Give me a boy.
The poet struggles to say something romantic.
Delia, please. / What kind of help do you want?
Why are you?
It's okay. I want fresh air but it's stuck here.
Then, go.
But they will kill you.
May the Duke of Braganza die...
Who fell from his horse, the Emperor.
I fish too. I live in the Pacific Ocean.
Max Havelaar, thank you.
They chased me.
A wet-haired Chinese girl, I know her.
There is a place where we suck pio. We lie down...
Keleketek, keleketek...
Hidden, warm here...
They hunt me!
Elegant Commissioner Peluchonneau is doing a secret mission.
The president plans to embarrass Neruda.
So I went to the station to meet the Dutchman.
What?
Are you Neruda's wife? / Yes.
Join us.
Every good police officer knows how and when must sacrifice himself.
This blonde woman has a passion in her blood.
I will never leave it.
Can you speak Spanish? / A little.
Are you treated well? / More or less.
You will be very helpful if you are willing answer some of our questions.
I know that you are abandoned...
Pablo leaves you together a sick daughter, right?
I want Pablo to pay for one million pesos.
Pablo has a lot of money because he wrote a very long poem.
Of course, it's worth it.
The important thing is, when you talk to reporters...
... you have to say the right words.
Bigamo. / Bigamo?
bigamo.
It means marrying someone when they are still married to others... / Right, right, bigamo. Pablo does like women.
This woman will destroy Neruda.
Don't disappoint me.
Many women like the police.
They dream of cleaning the house and changing the clothes of the police who were shot.
Wolf wolf predator...
First he preys on lions, then the dog.
It doesn't matter if this woman smells of the poet.
I'm used to with the smell of rotten sweat.
I love you.
Don't imagine how I love you.
I walk: not just crossing the desert where rock is like a rose...
Those who were from there watched a zoo in the desert...
No one can escape...
Because the prison captain is a blue-eyed fox. His name is Augusto Pinochet.
Are you coming?
No.
I don't know why I have to help you.
See you later.
We are here now, for the greatness of God, with Mrs. Maria Hagenaar, wife of Pablo Neruda...
... who will tell the story.
Mrs. Maria, is it true Pablo Neruda is a dangerous person?
These are posters that show people's opinions about him...
For example: "Neruda Traitor", "Communist Neruda", and so on.
Who is a traitor? / Madame...
This is a lie.
He's a great person.
He has a lot of debt to me, but... He is very beautiful.
I like to see Neruda when I fall asleep...
He is not a traitor...
He is handsome, Neruda. He is not a traitor.
He's a great person.
Then the strategy of genius intrigue has failed.
Mrs. Maria has left the studio in a hurry...
Helo. Helo Chile.
The poet is dangerous to public security.
As well as unforgettable lovers.
Information about its existence will get rewards.
My name is Oscar Peluchonneau,
Chilean National Police Investigator.
Let's listen to the music of the pause. We will return after this.
World F from the Intellectuals for Peace community proudly presents antifasis artists... Pablo Picasso!
This is a letter sent by my best friend, Pablo Neruda.
At this time, he might stay under a bridge or on the edge of a railroad track.
Even so, quietly...
The poet organizes resistance against Chilean fascism.
This is the work of a leading Latin American artist who will illuminate peace steps for workers around the world.
My girl, if I die.
Don't cry in my grave.
Sing a song.
The song contained "La Sandunga".
Don't cry me, don't.
Because if you cry, I will really die.
But if you sing a song.
I will continue to live.
But if you sing a song.
I will continue to live. I won't die...
Helo.
Stop fighting, right now!
Calm, calm...
Let's sing, fat! / I want to sing for the senator!
Keep on singing, Fat!
It's up to me! / Come back and have fun!
But if you sing a song.
I will continue to live. I won't die.
Welcome the poet! / Come on...
Here it is Pablo Neruda! / Thank you.
I'm sorry for what happened...
Read a poem. Please.
This poem: "I can make poetry..."
Come on, read...
I can create poems of sad poetry tonight...
Because I no longer have it.
I lost him.
"The night's voice was so gripping, added tense without his presence."
And the arrays fall into the soul...
Applause!
The poet sent me a detective novel.
Why?
Good night! Police!
Good night!
How can he know that I used to play and go to school here?
My mother works in a place like this for 30 years.
Where is he? That damn Communist?
Do you want to wait for your turn?
You want one of these girls, Don Oscar?
Every woman in this place is my mother...
I am a child of a prostitute who has a venereal disease.
Turn right! Come on!
My mother never knew my father's real name.
When he is drunk, he calls my father Martinez, Mardones...
But when he closes his eyes...
He is sure my father is Commissioner Peluchonneau.
Quiet authorities, Police Chief.
Does he pay? / No. No.
Do you know who he is? / No.
He is a politician. / Oh.
A communist.
I don't know he's a communist.
How long will you hold me here? I still have a lot of work.
I tell you one thing...
Not every day we meet with poets as great as himself, in our home.
For me, he is a miracle.
He sat with me, I sat with him...
He said we were equal.
He asks what I feel when singing...
Imagine. I share things I usually don't share with others.
I said I like jazz and classic songs. Then I sing...
A minuet that I like, from Johann Sebastian Bach...
I sang and he was fascinated. He said I was an art worker...
Artists are like themselves, we are equal.
Then suddenly... he read a beautiful poem. Long pusion.
He put his hand on my knee, his warm hand.
And he whispers here...
Slowly...
From artists to artists. You understand?
From men to men.
Respectfully.
But rotten dogs like you certainly won't understand.
Which is Victor? / I do not know.
How could you not know? / Don Pablo...
Did you walk out last night?
No.
Did you go out last night? / No.
Will your problem be finished with whiskey?
Who do you think you are?
Keep quiet here and don't leave the house.
If you leave, you will be caught.
They will strip you, take pictures in front and back, and then send the photo to France.
Your photos will be posted everywhere, even on kites. Will be embarrassing.
A good idea.
Red people know well language of cruelty.
I won't get caught!
All Chileans can hunt me down, but I won't get caught!
Learn to behave like an adult man, you were a kid yesterday afternoon!
Wear adult male clothes, maintain mustaches, or buy weapons!
You must learn to respect me!
Who does he think he is?
Calm down, honey...
Here they find the people who sing...
Gathering in the name of obligation and love...
Then a slender girl droops with her flag...
A young man falls beside him, smiles and is hurt...
Their death is our death.
Add "I demand punishment!" at the end of each sentence.
"GENERAL CORNER"
Their death is our death...
I demand punishment!
For those whose blood wet the country...
I demand punishment!
For policy makers who ordered this death...
I demand punishment!
For traitors who benefit from crime...
I demand punishment!
For those who give commands of suffering...
I demand punishment!
For those who defend this crime, I demand punishment!
I don't want you to give me more blood .
I demand punishment!
I don't want ambassadors sitting peacefully in their homes.
I want them to try to be in this place, in this place.
I demand punishment!
Thank you, thank you...
Here it is, Friend. / Thank you, Comrade.
You're welcome. / Excuse me...
Sorry, I don't want to bother you...
What is your name? / Silvia.
Can I kiss you?
Yes, of course, Silvia.
Mistress...
Sorry...
Don't tell anyone that my husband signed at this party.
We are not here.
I'm a trustworthy person.
I've been militant since I was 14 years old.
But Senator Neruda doesn't need to worry...
No need? Why?
Sorry...
If you are still here, at this party, and still read the pusi...
"This land, blah blah blah..."
"Love, blah blah blah..."
"Punishment, blah blah blah..."
Then that means the government doesn't really want to arrest you.
If you are arrested, will arise an international problem...
Enough, Madame... / Because this is political.
The government wants to chase you, but doesn't catch you.
Never.
Senators are communists, like you and me.
Yes, but he has special protection. And I toast to that...
Because we all need senatoric poems...
Keep writing about people's suffering.
Mistress, she is protected by the Party.
Do you know what I think? Listen huh...
If communism triumphs, will all people be equal to him?
Or is it equivalent to me?
If it's equal to me... I cleanse the house of the bourgeoisie since I was 11 years old.
You will all be equal to me.
Eating in bed and gituan in the kitchen.
That's what we stand for, Comrade!
In Bogota we met Morinigo, Trujillo...
... Gonzales Videla, Somoza, Dutra, and got a big welcome.
You young Americans, don't know them...
Wait, ermmmm...
What if you read it with your other voice?
Which sound? / The voice of your poet, Pablo.
You young Americans, don't know them...
They are blood-sucking in our sky.
Dark is really the shadow of their wings...
Prison, self-sacrifice, death, hatred...
Are you ready? / Yes, yes. / Ready.
Where do we go? / Valparaiso.
Thank you.
Senator will ride a merchant ship from China. But...
Delia, they don't allow women to board their ships.
My dear...
It's okay, honey...
Excuse me.
Alright... We will talk later.
Good luck. / Thank you, Victor.
My dear...
I won't cry.
Free translation: EDJenura
A good police officer will follow to a hiding house....
But I'm a bad cop.
I prefer the suspect to admit his mistake through whispers or shouts.
Come and join, Brother...
Extend your hand from the abyss in pain.
You won't go back to the base of the rocks...
You won't go back under the earth...
Your anger will not repeat...
They will no longer wash your eyes...
Here I am punished...
Because jewelry no longer shines...
And the earth's season no longer grows gems and wheat.
I came to talk through your dead mouth...
... like a buried tiger river.
And let me cry for hours, for days, years...
... blind times, centuries of stars...
Strangely... I believe in you. I trust you.
I'm relieved. I am the first person who told him:
"Pablo, if you go to court, you will win."
So let's catch him together.
Yes, but I don't know where they are. They don't tell me.
Why?
They don't trust me because I'm not Chilean. / I understand.
Keep in touch, who knows if I get news.
Good. But wait...
We know that Neruda has gone from Chile.
Really? / Yeah, he left.
Extraordinary.
Why?
Because you've been watching the border.
Do you think he is still in Chile?
No. He must have been outside.
I will leave to Valparaiso.
Jajaja... Don't. Why go there?
To investigate whether or not yang anyone saw Neruda passing by.
I thought he was still in Chile.
But before you said he was outside.
No. You're the one who said he left on board...
This is what I mean by recognition by whisper.
Shrewdness of the Police defeats the Spanish's stupidity.
Why do you often look out the window?
People.
Is this silk? / Yes. / No. / What is this cloth?
A sailor exchanges these clothes with 12 bottles of wine.
Good transaction.
The poet is happy with unfair exchanges.
So I have to pretend to be a sailor?
No. As an eccentric man, a rich man from Central America who goes to Ecuador or Mexico.
Can't pretend to be a Chilean? / With that clothes? I doubt.
Don't deflate your stomach. Let it go.
How? / Exhale.
I see.
Don't tell others about this stomach... / Don't worry. No one cares.
He danced in Vin del Mar, surrounded by trophies and jewelry.
His black eyes stared through the dark sky...
But the man he touched stopped in a desert...
... near the coast, in a world that is desperate by death...
Everyone wrestles with his grief.
Don Pablo?
Sir!
Sorry, I don't have any for you.
Police who are good at kissing fragrant Asian smell.
He is close here.
Where are you from?
They find us. Come on!
Not yet. We are lost. Where are you?
I told you not to walk. / But my trip was interesting.
To be able to write well, you must know how to delete.
There is no terror in this pursuit.
Why do I read it?
I want to know.
What is this novel about?
The poet has an artistic fever, thinking that the world is what he imagined.
Flies...
Again, crowds of flies.
What is this?
The last line of the Red Army?
This is his house.
Simple little man.
Almost every night, the president sleeps well.
However, every time he eats his escargot before going to bed, he thinks of Neruda.
Already, Senator, Senator!
Let's spin again!
Enough, Senator! / Damn.
We are here, Gabriel Gonzales is ugly!
Pablo... / Jorge, how are you? / Hello...
We have plans to get you out of Chile...
What does the Party know? / Of course they know. / Secretary General has agreed.
I leave.
Drink something...
No thanks. / Don't you want anything?
We meet again tomorrow? / Does not seem. / Why?
I will ask the Party to stop me.
Don't be stupid, Jara. / Please...
This flight to the south is very risky...
You're not a village person. / That was the Party's decision.
But the decision depends on you. You accept or not. / I have received.
Why don't you listen explanation?
I know what I want in life.
They have all been caught, but I haven't.
Like me king? What are they waiting for?
Then, stay. / I can not.
I can't stay, I have to run away.
You want to run away which is great, right?
Yes, right?
I don't want to be trapped in the fascist's play.
I want to be their worst nightmare.
That's why I have to become a popular giant.
You can't do it.
Has happened. / You can't do it.
You will make this chase as a reason to become a savior saint.
That we can't be muted.
That we are willing to live suffering.
But they killed us.
I ask you to be a little humble.
Hope you congratulations on the way.
Why are you? / So what?
Do you know what you want in life?
Delia, please.
People will realize it. / Realizing what?
That the artist here is me! / No! I'm an artist! / Me!
The artist here is me! / You're nothing, Pablo.
What is your story about being a giant?
I was born for that. Don't you know? / Please, Pablo.
If you don't like it, come out through that door.
There won't be anyone chasing you.
Why are you?
You seem to strangle me.
Look at me...
I used to be a prince, and see who I am now.
Of course I will go.
You already know that I will go.
If they arrest me, I will say that you want to be president.
They will hunt and kill you. And I will be happy.
Then I will throw myself into the river...
You allow suicide. You can kill yourself if you want.
That's what I wrote about you for more than 20 years.
Antonio Ruiz Lagorreta. / A bird observer.
Ant, I thought I would die together...
You gave me everything.
Without you, I'm nothing. Even not communists.
Then?
If everything goes well, if I manage to survive...
Let's separate well...
I'm not afraid of separation, but I definitely think of you.
Writing makes you sad. You buried your head in your hand...
Fun living with you.
As life drifts among the leaves...
Ant...
Little Ant doesn't know what to do.
He thinks about body strength and clarity of his head...
And realizing he can live 40 more years.
But for a moment, he just saw red horses...
Excuse me?
Enter it. / Thank you.
Do you come on foot?
No. / What is that?
This is a detention letter from the Chilean National Police.
No, no, no but... / No. No.
No. / No.
I'm not afraid to die but I don't want to be arrested.
Where is he?
Not here. / So where?
You don't understand, huh?
You don't understand anything. / What do you mean?
In this fiction, we all round around the protagonist.
What do you mean? / Book, for example.
This one...
The novel you read...
"THE ANGEL DARK"
Here are pursuers and fugitives, main characters and extras.
No, but I...
I'm not an extras...
Why do you think he doesn't kill you?
Because he can't?
He is capable. He practices shooting every day.
Not possible.
Is that what you think?
No, of course not. He wants you to chase him north. You want?
Are you okay?
Does he hurt you? Hit you?
No. He asked me to send this message to you.
If you want, I can kill you.
You can't do it.
Of course you can.
No. / Yes.
No! / Certainly can.
He has written it for a long time.
Have you ever seen a bored prisoner?
In his head, he wrote an interesting story.
He created you, that is a Trojan police officer.
He created me, absurd woman.
He created himself...
A depraved escape.
What you said just now is nonsense modernity.
Like the story of a golden cow.
You don't like his writings?
I like it.
Do you think he is just thinking about land and love?
No.
He thinks of naked women, detectives chasing...
He creates yourself who meditates alone.
You, in your room, read the poems.
You are sitting in front of the mirror.
He created yourself who stalked our parties.
Be fascinated by our music.
You sit in a closed car, with a blank stare.
Being a dog at night. Birds during the day.
He creates yourself spies on him, waits for him.
He creates yourself as a spy who is trapped in anger.
Listen to words that you don't understand.
You don't value ideas and words.
One hundred meters of our lives.
No power.
Fragile.
He created you as an imaginary border guard.
He thinks of your creation.
All detectives must fall in love.
In all detective novels, there is a bed.
Right.
He wrote brilliantly.
He created me.
But I...
I hold you back.
And by having you, I can evict him to jail.
I will make him sleep and see him dream.
Then I will sit on his chest... / So you will chase him, huh?
You will catch up and catch it. Or you won't be recorded by history.
So I'm a fictional character?
Yes.
And you, what are fictional characters too? / No. I'm real. And I am immortal.
Excuse me.
Extras?
me?
No. No, sir.
Because I will catch you.
Free translation: EDJenura.
Sorry, if the translation is not right, I don't really understand Spanish.
I hope you're fine.
Stop the car.
The protector comes. / Thank you, Manuel.
Do you know him? / Yes. He is my protector. Landowners here.
From here we have to walk.
Does he know about me? He can just call the police.
Are we going to ride a horse?
Not now.
I can eat one lump of pork.
Good afternoon, Don Ricardo. / Good afternoon, Madam.
This is Antonio.
How are you, sir?
Good afternoon.
Hello. / Hello.
What is needed, sir?
I want to know, do you want to allow me to stay at your house?
Don't tell me your protector, of course.
Are you a murderer? / No.
I'm a writer. My work is just writing.
Previously, Neruda lived in an area like that.
He definitely likes his bed now. He slept there, imagining hugging her.
Right now, what I want is just a hug.
Sir. / A good afternoon.
Are you lost? / No.
This vehicle can't... Do you know where I can...?
Look.
See this motorbike carefully.
New output motor. From Germany.
I can take you to the Protector, he has gasoline.
I don't need gasoline. I need a horse. Two horses.
I'm chasing a very dangerous criminal.
And then can your motorcycle sell? / Of course.
Of course. As long as you come with me. This pursuit will be very exciting.
Hello? President? Mr. President? Yes, this is Peluchonneau, huh. We arrested Senator Neruda.
Come on, hurry up!
The protector comes.
Dominguez.
A feudal landlord who created capitalism on the land of his power.
There are secret paths on this mountain to smuggle goods from Argentina.
Hello, sir.
This is Mr. Monsalve, Mapuche chief.
We are afraid of these people.
Are you tired, Mr. Ruiz? I will call him Mr. Ruiz.
I'm Pedro Dominguez, land voter here.
On behalf of the President in this Republic, I will arrest you on the grounds of treason.
You're the same as me. / I looks same as you? / Hmm.
Will you hold me back? / No. I will help.
Passing a ridge. Many people die there. I will help you.
He is not willing to pay taxes.
I am annoyed with the president you chose.
He argues that the state is the enemy of freedom.
So you want to help me?
Yes. It's more fun helping you rather than having to call the police.
More fun? / Yes, it's more fun.
On the shoulders and soul lies the future of this Republic.
The rich are always above the law.
Protector...
A police officer is here, is chasing the Senator.
He wants us to be guides. / What is he like?
Somewhat rude, seems stupid.
Araucania.
Land without temples.
Trees and cold weather.
It is said that the conquerors of the region cried every Mapuche patrol passed.
They are more afraid of Indian tribes than for the Moors.
Now this is a peaceful area.
Land that offers clay and work.
The Poet writes it down.
The suffering of the poor always inspires him.
Pablo!
Hide! Hide!
Pablo...
I see you.
I hear it holding my breath.
The one in the middle, the fat one.
I slipped from the left, you from the right.
I will shoot the horse's head to die, then you ambush it.
It will be very impressive.
Do you think they won't shoot? / No.
Because animals will run away scared hear gunfire.
It's a chain reaction.
Meanwhile...
I will go forward...
It's really good to be a cop, huh? / Indeed. Come on.
I'm sorry, sir.
Traitor's mole Gonzales Videla is actually me, who has traveled so far.
I am a thin, thin man.
On this white bed, I toast in my last months.
I only have one bullet, and wild game pig.
But don't worry. We won't feel death in the cold.
Pablo!
Why did he come to me?
Is he not afraid?
Pablo, where are you going?
He is curious.
Pablo, come on. Pablo!
He wants to see me.
How could he not see the end of his own story?
Pablo!
Where are you going, man?
He hugs me.
Talk to me.
He dances with me.
I drive out guides, but don't know how to go home.
I'm in the middle of nowhere.
I can only return to the bottom of the earth.
All my life, I believe that I am a Peluchonneau.
Son of a police figure.
But now...
Looks like I'm a Neruda.
Son of the people.
Maybe my father had knelt on his knees, with a face full of soot.
Maybe my father took four coins from my mother's lonte sweat.
Maybe I'm the son of wheat.
Only one black head among millions of other black heads.
But I will die white.
Because nobody chases the poet.
No one makes him cringe in a sea of snow.
Nobody makes him regret.
No one accompanied him on the way.
No matter what he writes about me. Makes me extras.
I also wrote.
Even though it is clumsy.
I created myself alive. Alone. Without love.
But the poet created me with anger, like a storm.
He created for me beautiful death.
Death of a police officer.
Slow and cold.
With red details.
With music.
Sounds true.
Trees.
With poetry.
Do you know him?
No.
Yes.
Yes, I know him.
This is my inspector.
The person who is chasing me.
Ghost in my uniform.
I dream about him, and he is about me. He is watching me, memorizing my back line.
See what you write, Officer.
You write about snow and horses.
You wrote me.
Now you no longer feel frozen.
We must bring it.
Tell the riders.
I can feel the heartbeat of this horse. I feel my own heartbeat.
They don't kill me.
They didn't kill me with one shot in the head.
Still alive? / No.
Mr. Picasso, please tell me what happened to him.
For almost two years, Neruda led secretly the Chilean rebellion.
Government police chase him up to the mountains.
But the Poet managed to cross the Andes, disappeared in a sea of snow and escaped the pursuit.
Mr. Neruda, did you write during hiding?
Sorry?
Are you not worried that your political career will cover your poems?
No.
I'm not worried about that.
Precisely the opposite happened...
Sometimes I feel as if I am frozen in snow.
I dream. I dreamed it.
Freezing off? / No. Die with one shot.
There is a man... who almost killed me.
Is he still chasing you? / Can be.
Who is he? / A policeman, miss.
Maybe he is now here, is watching us.
Nobody knows that I've lived.
Call my name. Call it
Call my name.
Call my name!
Oscar's name.
Oscar Peluchonneau.
He said it! / Pe-lu-chon-neau.
He calls my name!
Write: Peluchonneau.
I'm not an extras figure.
Many people in my country live in prison, are exiled and tortured.
I'm just one of them. With them, I'm just a prisoner.
Why does he do this? For his followers.
The Poet gives them the words as a friend to calculate age.
Because their lives are really hard.
In a frightening dream, the words sound reasonable.
That's why he does everything, so they survive.
Those who are trampled by history.
They will not remember love poems or fairy tales.
The poems are not recognized.
Future poetry.
I was able to write down the worst pieces tonight...
Incredible!
Neruda makes me immortal.
His work makes me live.
I come from paper...
Now I'm blood.
I was able to write down the worst pieces tonight...
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