I will speak in Spanish.
I've got two mixed feelings about receiving
the Nobel Prize in Literature.
On one hand, I m flattered.
Really flattered.
But on the other hand...
and this is the bitter feeling prevailing within me,
I'm convinced that this type of unanimous recognition
is directly and unmistakably related
to the decline of an artist.
This prize proves...
that my work agrees with the tastes and needs
of judges, specialists,
academics
and kings.
Obviously,
I'm the most comfortable artist for you.
And that comfort...
has very little to do with the spirit that every artistic work should have.
Artists are supposed to question,
to shock.
That's why I feel regret
about my final canonization as an artist.
However, the most persistent feeling,
mere pride,
hypocritically drives me
to thank you for deciding the end of my creative adventure.
But please...
Don't think I'm blaming you by saying this.
Nothing further from the truth.
There's only one to blame here.
And that's me.
Thank you very much.
FIVE YEARS LATER
Presentation of The Order of the Aztec Eagle in Mexico.
Order of Merit of the Italian Republic.
Signature of Letter for Peace with other artists and world leaders in Israel.
Medal of honor by the German Academy of Letters in Berlin.
Appointment to the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire in London.
Opening of the Daniel Mantovani Public Library in Barcelona.
THE DISTINGUISHED CITIZEN Lecture and book signing at the 11th Writers Conference in Vienna, cancelled.
Launching of the Daniel Mantovani Award for Best Novel in Mexico.
Meeting with Italian Prime Minister in Milan.
Gala for civilian casualties in Iraq with the Kings of Sweden
at the Stockholm Palace, cancelled.
Order of Merit of the Italian Republic, cancelled.
Interview and photo shoot for Argentine newspaper, cancelled.
Cocktail in his honor at the Netherlands Embassy, cancelled.
Conference, lecture and book signing in Istanbul, cancelled.
Opening of auditorium with his name
at the Fine Arts Academy in Spain, cancelled.
Distinction as knight of the Order des Arts et Lettres in France, cancelled.
Fund-raising dinner in honor of victims of terrorism in Spain, cancelled.
Conference and book signing
at the Guadalajara Book Fair, cancelled.
Charity event in Johannesburg with South Africa k president, cancelled.
Doctor Honoris Causa distinction at Yale University, cancelled.
Order of Arts and Letters recognition in Lisbon, cancelled.
Medal of Honor by the Brazilian Academy of Letters, cancelled. CHAPTER I THE INVITATION
- Sorry I'm late, Nuria. - OK.
Tea for me, please, Aida.
Launch of your collected works in Mandarin, in Peking.
- Conference and book signing. - No.
Zagreb. Lecture at Saint Stephen's orphanage.
No. What else?
Ahmed Elkos, the Pakistani director. He won every single award.
He wants the rights of "The Missing Face" to make a film.
- What should I tell him? - No.
Are there no stories in Pakistan? He should try writing.
That story has already been told. What else?
This is from the Osaka University. You should attend.
It's the third time you've cancelled.
They reschedule according to your agenda.
We'll see that later.
We still have the BBC interview pending.
No, not for now.
This came from Argentina. From Salas, your hometown.
From Salas? Are you sure?
They'd like you to give a lecture, give you a distinction.
No lectures. Especially not in Argentina.
This is from the Academy of Language in Warsaw.
- When is it? - What?
- The event in Argentina. When is it? - Let's see.
Let me see.
The invitation...
- It's for next week.- Next week?
April 11th to the 15th. Four days.
They want to appoint you Distinguished Citizen of Salas.
And they'd like you to give a lecture during the town's anniversary.
Salas...
Let me see that, please.
You haven't been there in a very long time, right?
Is it a long time since you've been there?
Yes, almost forty years. I left when I was twenty
and I never came back.
I guess all I did my entire life was trying to escape from that place.
My characters were never able to leave. I was never able to come back.
Are you planning to go?
No!
No way!
Let's go on.
I've received a lot of emails and calls from your publisher.
Vicente. What does he say?
The usual. He beats around the bush,
but he discreetly wants to know whether you're writing.
Tell him I'm always writing.
Letters, lectures, prologues, recommendations, obituaries.
If he wants, I can put it all together and send it to him.
Tell him when I have something, he'll be the first one to know.
- Okay? - Will do.
Your accountant called several times.
He wants to meet with you before the end of the month.
He's settled everything in the US and in Canada. He needs to close Spain.
He's having some issues with the German brokers...
He needs to talk to you...
ifs Richard Anvil, from Anvil Books, New York.
No.
- Are we done here? - Okay.
Hello, Nuria.
I'm sorry. No, no, ifs nothing. Could you come by?
No, no, nothing happened.
Right now, yes.
AS SOON as YOU can.
Fine.
Thank you.
I'm going.
Where are you going?
To Salas.
To that event in Argentina?
- But that's next week. - Yes.
All of your engagements are confirmed.
Clear my agenda for those days.
- Are you sure you're going? - Yes, I'm sure.
Sure?
- Yes. - Yes. Fine. Okay.
I'll cancel everything, get the tickets and we're off.
I'm going on my own.
Wouldn't it be better if I went with you as always?
- In case you need anything. - This time, I'd rather go alone.
- Wouldn't it be better if I went? - Alone.
And no one has to know.
Neither here nor in Argentina. No reporters.
Are you sure?
Alone.
That's the end of the matter.
Dear passengers, this is Captain Caporozzi speaking.
I wanted to inform you that flying with us today
is the Argentinean writer Daniel Mantovani,
Nobel laureate in Literature.
Mr. Mantovani, on behalf of the company and the crew,
ifs an honor to have you on board. Thank you very much.
MR. DANIEL M.
Hey, here.
Sit in the front, please. I don't have a taxi permit.
I have to ask you not to smoke in the car, please.
Alright.
It's a seven-hour drive to Salas, right?
No, six. I know a shortcut.
Flat tire.
- Will you replace it? - No.
I haven't had a spare tire in a long time.
How can you drive around without one?
Can you call someone? Do you have a cell phone?
No, I don't have one. Do you?
No, I don't either.
How far are we?
A hundred kilometers, I guess.
- What are you planning to do? - Nothing.
When they see we're not there, they'll come for us.
Right.
That's if they look for us in this shortcut no one knows about.
Damn it!
Here.
Maybe you can start it with paper.
Did you write that book?
Yes, but use it. I have plenty to give away.
That's it.
Oh please! What a corny image!
Burning up my own books for survival.
- What's that? - Nothing, never mind.
Tell me a story, Daniel.
Do you want me to tell you a story?
One of yours.
Two identical twins lived in the same town,
and since they were at loggerheads for a long time,
and didn't want to be confused for one another,
one of them always grew a beard and the other didn't.
The one with the beard lived a very modest life.
Whereas the other one was wealthy,
and lived in a beautiful house
just opposite a huge foundry which he owned.
Now and then, he received the dubious visit
of fancy black cars from the city.
Both brothers
would often go to the only cabaret in town.
Actually, during their last year,
the only thing they shared was their obsession for the same woman,
a red-haired prostitute from Paraguay.
To share this relationship was a torment, for both of them.
The wealthy brother convinced the Paraguayan woman to marry him
and they moved in together.
The other brother was immersed in an unbearable pain.
So one night, unexpectedly,
he went to the happy couple's house
claiming that he wanted to settle their differences.
They went for a walk in the property and they started to talk,
but out of the blue, the one with the beard
took a piece of iron that was lying around and delivered him...
a terrible, quick blow on the head.
His brother just dropped dead.
After that, he carried his body
and burnt it
in one of the ovens in the foundry.
Finally.
He shaved his beard very carefully
and got dressed in his brother's clothes.
Half an hour later,
he opened the door of the house where the Paraguayan woman
was expecting him for dinner.
The red-haired didn't notice any difference.
Or who knows?
Maybe she pretended not to notice out of convenience.
The fact is
that he spent the best months of his life,
the happiest ones, with this woman.
Until one day, the men from the city showed up
in their black cars,
and mistaking him for his brother... boom!
They finished him off.
Apparently, to settle old scores with him.
Of course, he knew nothing about that.
Just like his brother's, his body
was never, ever found.
- The end.- That's it?
The red-haired kept everything.
Those were the Remoneda twins, right?
It's a story.
And the cabaret was "The Volcano".
Sir...
Sir!
Please wake up.
Let's go. I can't take it anymore.
I'll be right back.
Hey! Here!
Come on.
No, they were walking down the road to Los Patos.
Near the Ostrosky's property.
Don't worry, he's fine.
Yes. I'll tell him right now.
Bye, Cache...
The Mayor wants to apologize and welcome you to Salas.
He'll come to see you in a bit.
No, no. I'll go see him at the Town House later.
Excellent.
Bye, Daniel!
- Thank you very much. - Thank you.
CHAPTER II SALAS
Hello.
Well, this is it.
- Thank you for your company. - Thank you, Daniel!
- See you later. - See you later.
He's here.
Daniel!
- I'm so sorry about the driver! - Don't worry. It's fine.
I don't know why we sent Ramon Poor guy, he's...
It was quite an experience.
Thank you so much! What an honor!
How nice!
Your first lecture is in the afternoon. Then you have a TV interview.
At night, dinner and dance at the Agricultural Association.
On Thursday morning, you'll be judge at the painting contest,
here at the Municipality. Then, your second lecture.
I'm already lost.
Don't worry. We'll let you know.
From the list your assistant sent, I couldn't get the latex mattress.
It's impossible to get those here.
I ordered one in Santa Rosa, but it hasn't arrived yet.
What did she ask for?
"The hotel mattress must be made of latex foam.
Never polyurethane or springs."
What else is on that list?
"Mr. Mantovani's diet must include steamed or grilled fish,
seasonal vegetables, nothing fried or canned."
Perfect, all taken care of.
"Any religious meetings or ceremonies shall be avoided,
no matter the creed. As for social gatherings,
Mr. Mantovani prefers to give a handshake instead of hugs and kisses.
He doesn't like to be photographed, to sign books,
and it's best to avoid questions about his private life."
Everybody has been notified, so don't worry.
- They're here. - Who?
The firemen. They're taking us to the Community Club
-for your first lecture. - No, no, no.
I'm not a football star. Let's walk there.
Daniel...
The firemen had prepared something nice for last night, you know?
With the beauty queen and such.
They couldn't do it, so they insisted on doing it now.
The firemen are here.
- The place is packed! - Let's do it!
Let's begin!
The whale world Knows this man,
but only a few know how it all started
on February 5th, 1954.
In Argentina,
in a small town, 734 kilometers from Buenos Aires,
called Salas, a boy named Daniel
who was meant to transcend, was bum.
As a young man, Titi, as his friends called him,
risked it all
and set off with nothing but his clothes on to the Old World
to fulfill his dream: to become a writer.
Book by book, he made his way and eventually became
a renowned man of letters of worldwide fame.
But there was more to come. The summit of his career.
The Nobel Prize in Literature.
With this, our dear Daniel
is now among the greatest figures
of worldwide literature of all times.
His work has brought to tight the people and the culture
of our town everywhere in the world.
But these outstanding achievements have not changed his personality.
His sense of humility and respect absorbed during his childhood
in our beloved town are still intact.
His mother, dear Mrs. Clara,
who departed this Hie 40 years ago,
and his father, the memorable Mr. Victor,
who met up with her in Heaven almost a decade later,
wherever they are,
they are surely proud and praising
their beloved only child.
Our child. Salas's child.
You're great, Daniel, a master!
No crying, Daniel. No crying. With joy.
I had a dream.
A crazy idea that I wanted to realize.
Everybody said I was insane, that there was no way
an outstanding figure like him would listen to me and so on.
But this shows you that with tenacity, with effort
and with imagination,
sometimes dreams come true.
All of us, common people, working people,
we did it!
I'm thinking...
The people of Argentina should be really proud!
Maradona, the Pope,
the Queen of the Netherlands, Messi.
And now you, dear Daniel.
It's a pleasure for me to present him
with the highest honor
given by the community of Salas:
The Distinguished Citizen medal
by the hand of our beauty queen!
And now, I give you
the Nobel laureate in Literature
and newly appointed Distinguished Citizen of Salas,
Daniel Mantovani!
Oh, well...
My dear friends...
- Lucia? Are you Lucia? - Yes.
She was my sixth grade teacher, Lucia De Agostini.
We'll talk in a minute.
Hello everybody.
And thank you.
Yes, I'm the one who made Salas famous.
I admit it. It was my fault.
Now seriously...
It's really moving for me
to be back in my town, our town.
To live it...
Because although
I've been living in Europe for almost four decades,
I'm still from Salas.
Even if I didn't want to.
That's why this award is different and unique.
And, in a way, it's a lot more significant
than the Nobel Prize, because the Nobel
was denied to incredible writers, like Borges.
And between us, the people from the Swedish Academy
wanted me to wear a pretty ridiculous tuxedo to receive the prize,
and expected me to make a bow to a king and a queen
in the 21st century.
Of course I refused. I have no respect for monarchies.
However, this time I'll make an exception
with our wonderful beauty queen joining us this evening.
It is a huge honor to be appointed Distinguished Citizen of Salas.
And I hope to represent this award with dignity.
Greetings to everyone and thank you very much.
- No! No pictures, no pictures. - Yes. Let them snap a few.
Yes to pictures?
Let's take one then.
Listen, everyone. On the count of three, we say cheese.
- One, two, three! - Cheese!
One more, please!
Come closer.
That's it.
- Bravo! - Good, very good!
I could use the most profound reasoning.
However, I can only write when I have something to say.
And that's exactly why I haven't written for almost five years.
Are there any questions?
Yes?
Is it true that unhappiness is the best state for artistic creation?
No, no. I don't think pain can guarantee
great artistic creation. No.
I mean, Rimbaud and van Gogh had tortuous lives,
and yet they were incredibly creative, but I could mention
magnificent artists who had quiet and peaceful lives.
For example, Jorge Luis Borges.
Anyone else?
I read an article in which you said the opposite.
You said something like: "The most prosperous countries
have a less interesting artistic production."
No, I don't think I've ever said that.
I don't believe in the myth of the tortured artist.
Thank you anyway.
Thank you because it's a very good question.
If you all agree, we're done for today.
Thank you very much for coming. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow
and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I did.
Thank you.
- Thank you. - Thank you, Mr. Requina.
He's a great local sculptor. He has a stand in the market.
- José, why don't you...? - Ovidio, you brought it!
Oh... Salas Sports Club. Thank you very much.
Watch out!
Look, look, look.
Hello? One, two, three. Your attention, please.
Mr. Daniel Mantovani, be very careful.
Don't let yourself be fooled by politicians who only want
a picture with you. They're a fraud!
- Who's that? - I'll take your stuff to the hotel.
- Titi! - Antonio!
- Titi! Nice to see you! - I can't believe this!
- Titi! - No one has called me Titi for ages.
- How are you? - Fine! Here in the countryside.
Working. Doing errands...
And you? Look at you!
You look great! You haven't changed!
- Please, I've changed a lot. - I swear!
Did you get married? Did you have kids?
No, no. I never got married. I've had some loves...
No kids. How about you?
I married Irene.
-Irene? - Would you believe it?
- You don't say! - You left and I kept your girlfriend.
We've been married for twenty five years.
- I beat you. - Irene... Good for you!
- Is she here now? - No, no, Irene...
Irene is in the countryside. She has a workshop
for poor children in the middle of nowhere.
She comes and goes. That's what she does.
Good.
How about dinner tonight?
Tonight I have a barbecue at the Agricultural Association.
- I'm free tomorrow. - Good, great, great.
- I'll make you a premium barbeque. - Alright.
Susana, all yours. Attack.
- It will be a pleasure. - Bye.
- I just need a few minutes. - Sure. -Okay...
Good morning, Daniel. From the local TV channel.
But... Good afternoon, I'm sorry.
Isn't it close? Before Sarmiento St?
- Yes. - I'll walk then.
I know exactly where it is. Go ahead. Thank you.
- Good afternoon! - Goodbye.
Hi.
Name and occupation?
Excuse me?
- Name and occupation? - Daniel Mantovani.
Writer.
For the video graph.
I was the narrator on the video you saw today.
It was really good. Thank you!
Daniel, I have a simple yet interesting question for you.
Why are you a writer?
Well, it's not that simple. It's hard to answer to that. I guess...
writers, or artists in general,
don't accept the world as it is.
They feel reality is not enough
or it's not satisfying,
so they need to create, to invent new things
to incorporate into the world.
Common, regular people
don't need that, they're happy in the world as it is.
I don't know what's best.
Besides, I'm a writer because I had no other choice.
I failed at everything else.
Daniel, how come in forty years you never wanted to come back,
at least for a weekend?
I wanted to comeback, but...
with my eyes, not with my body.
Like someone watching a film.
Only with my eyes, my ears.
Beyond all possible pain.
To see the town as from a movie theatre.
But, regardless of any metaphors,
what matters is I'm here.
What does the Nobel laureate, Daniel Mantovani,
drink when he's thirsty?
He drinks juice San Miguel! Made by Ricardo and Felipe Vicentini.
Orange, grapefruit and peach.
If it tastes good to the last drop, it's juice San Miguel.
The juice that should be present in every family table.
Well, Daniel, that's all. Thank you for being here with us.
It was a huge honor and a privilege
to have you here. Thank you.
Alright.
Next up, we're on the phone with the coordinator
of third-year students at Don Bosco's School,
who travelled to Bahia Blanca...
- Sir, some juice? - No, thank you.
Master! Do you know who I am? I'm Renato Privitello.
- Aurelio Privitello's son. - Nice to meet you.
Dad was Tomasito, the kid on the bike...
who used to deliver orders.
- Who? I'm sorry. - In your novel, "The Sand Giant",
there's a kid who delivers things in his bicycle.
He's in several chapters. That kid was my old man.
I'm glad. Anyway, I remember the character, but...
Dad used to work with Mr. Gregorio. He kept him really busy.
I wanted to tell you that I admire you and I'm very proud that my dad
-is in one of your books. - Thank you.
Dad is no longer with us,
but I'm sure it'd be an honor for him.
In a way, you've made him immortal.
Well... Thank you.
- Would you sign this for me? - Sure, of course.
Allow me...
Thank you so much. Would you mind giving me a hug?
Sure, of course.
- Actually, Daniel... - I have to go.
I wanted to invite you to have lunch at my place.
Mom makes these ravioli that are unique.
We'd like to honor you. For us ifs a privilege.
You can imagine... Let's make it Friday.
That's my free day at work.
I'll give you the address.
I live on Castelli... Castelli 111.
Here. It's next to the police station. There's a vacant lot on the other side.
This piece of paper is for you. Keep it.
I'll see you Friday at half past twelve or one.
Actually, I think it will be hard. I'd say impossible,
because I have a really busy schedule here.
I really appreciate it though, Renato.
It was a pleasure meeting you.
I have to go.
Nuria from Barcelona called.
Also a radio station and a newspaper in Buenos Aires.
But don't worry. I did what you asked.
- I said I didn't know who you were. - Good.
You got some presents and I took them to your room.
Thank you very much.
Okay, thank you.
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CHAPTER III IRENE
Yes?
Tell her I'll be right down.
Irene.
We have a daughter.
- We live in a very pretty house. - That's great!
I'm not saying Salas has become a cool town. Not at all.
But Antonio and I have a pleasant life and...
Oops. Pleasant?
You've picked a horrible adjective.
Why didn't you come to my lectures?
You're not interested in hearing what I have to say, right?
Why would I go to your show?
Besides, I'm busy teaching at a small school in Colonia Rawson.
- It's thirty kilometers from here. - Don't treat me like a gringo.
I know Colonia Rawson better than you do.
My mom and my aunts were from there.
I used to go all the time as a kid.
I teach Geography.
I also read them books
and I'm a counselor, a psychologist, a cook.
These kids are isolated.
Their fathers work in farms, so they need...
- Motivation. - Right.
Yes, service.
Sorry?
I mean you provide a service.
It's really nice. You help people.
Don't be cynical. I know you.
- Did you bring your car? - Yes.
I'd like to go to the lagoon.
A lagoon with no water is pretty unique.
It's somehow charming.
Hello. I need roadside assistance.
I don't know. It won't start.
I was never able to write anything about my life in Europe.
Nothing seemed inspiring to me.
The source of my stories stayed in this town.
My childhood, my adolescence, my youth.
The people. This landscape.
You.
You'll make me cry.
What's taking these guys so long?
Oh, Cache.
- Who's Cacho? - The Mayor.
Now, Irene, try.
That's it.
Good job!
Excuse me, Daniel, I wanted to give you this folder.
They're stories written by me. Short stories.
If you could read them...
Or read one of them, I'd be honored.
So you're a writer? I'll be pleased to read something local.
- I really appreciate it and I'm sorry. - No reason to be sorry.
- What's your name? - Ramiro.
Ramiro... Thank you for trusting me with your work.
Yes?
"Democracy and happiness
bring about a mediocre and prosaic literature.
Great literature comes from unfair and violent communities,
where existential emptiness is filled up with creativity."
Signed by Daniel Mantovani.
Berlin, May 1991.
I give up.
What's the matter with you?
I think you're a bit confused.
Do I need to tell you I could be your father?
No, I'm feeling really bad.
I have a terrible headache.
I think I need some rest.
Yes, I know, I understand.
But it's impossible. I really...
I won't be able to go.
What a shame! That sounds great!
I'll have to miss it. What can I do?
I do want to ask you...
to please apologize to them on my behalf.
Thank you, Cacho.
Thanks. And please excuse me, but I need to rest.
Hello?
Nine already?
Thank you. Thank you very much.
Hey...
Hey, girl.
I'm sorry but you have to go.
Long live our country, Daniel!
Okay, people, can we hurry up a little?
What about this one?
Méndez, the next one!
ACCEPTED/REJECTED
-<;Daniel? - No.
Méndez??
No.
Rejected then.
-<;This one? - No. No.
But it was painted by the wife of Rivoli, the accountant.
It's a tie. Méndez, your call.
Out. Next.
- Rejected. - Rejected.
- But it's the Pope. - Well...
Well, Méndez...
Yes, the technique is pretty lame. Yes.
Okay, if we all agree, ifs rejected.
Next one. Oh no. That was the last one.
Wait, wait, wait. Turn it around again.
See that?
Some people here paint on whatever they have on hand.
Poor things. I tell them to get canvases and frames, but...
Exactly. Whoever painted this,
intentionally or not, is hitting the nail on the head,
because with the poster in the back,
he manages to make this painting,
with a trivial and poorly captured image,
to gain a different meaning.
Involuntarily, he's suggesting a critical point of view.
I'm sorry, Daniel,
but I know this boy, I know his parents,
and his work is just the painting in the front,
-not in the back - I know.
But it doesn't matter what the artist wanted to do.
This painting should not be hanged against a wall,
but in the middle of the room.
So that people can appreciate both sides.
In my opinion, it should definitely get the first prize.
It's a breath of fresh air.
He's right.
I totally agree with Mantovani.
First prize.
Okay, I have to go get the minutes ready.
I'll be a while.
I'll be back.
No one shows any interest. Nobody does anything.
That's not only the case in Salas. You see people like that everywhere.
In New York, in Amsterdam, in Berlin...
Dr. Florencio Romero, president of SVAA.
SVAA, what's that?
Salas Visual Arts Association.
- That's great. Congratulations. - Thank you.
Is it true that according to you
my painting is not good enough?
I see it's among the rejected ones
and maybe it was a mistake or something...
Let me get this straight. You're taking part in the contest,
and at the same time
you want to give your opinion about what we choose?
No. Excuse me for having the audacity to express my opinion.
Obviously I'm in no position to say absolutely anything.
This is just what I imagined.
Because clearly, your pictorial taste
is completely subjected to customs and traditions from abroad.
And that's what you're trying to impose here,
along with your literature,
which is plagued by resentment and hate
towards your own town, your origins. You're a mediocre.
I'm sorry, but I will have to ask you to leave
before I run out of patience. That's enough.
- Enough! - Okay, I'm leaving.
We'll see who has the final say.
What...?
I can't leave you alone. Where are you going?
- To the hotel. - I'll give you a ride.
Those are Romero's thugs. They know they can't fuck with me.
Romero... Yes, I had the pleasure to meet them.
Where did you come from?
Titi, let me know if these guys give you a hard time, ok?
Thank you. See you.
Have you seen Irene?
Yesterday. Yes, we met. We talked for a while, we caught up.
Good.
- And how did you find her? - Fine, fine.
How did you find her?
She seemed really well Irene is a very valuable woman.
It was really hard, you know?
Really, really hard.
You had been gone for three years
and she was still hung up on you.
I remember one day... We were already married...
I got home and I found her crying...
Really sad.
She was reading your book.
She tried to hide it, but I saw it.
She read all of your books.
She'd go to Buenos Aires to get them or had them brought here.
She's followed you as she could...
all of her life.
Why am I telling you this?
Because you're my brother, my friend...
and I want you to know that all of this...
is now over. It's in the past.
Forgotten, buried.
- Sure. - Do you know what I mean?
- Absolutely. - Do you follow me?
- We're really happy, Titi. - You look happy.
I'll see you tonight. Don't be late.
45 Belgrano St.
See you.
- Thank you. - Excuse me, Daniel.
This wheelchair I'm talking about is battery operated,
which would allow him to fend for himself.
Do you know what that means for a boy in his situation?
Let's get to the point, please.
We need 9800 dollars to buy that wheelchair.
It's imported.
As you can imagine, there's no way
we could collect that amount of money.
I'm unemployed. My wife is a teacher.
We did everything to get that wheelchair.
We went to every organization you could think of and even more,
but to no avail, sir. That's why I dared...
We dared to come to see you.
What for us is impossible might be easy for you.
And to Julian it would be everything.
It would be 9800 dollars, sir.
Let me tell you a little bit about Julian.
He's a fan of San Lorenzo Football Club like his father, obviously.
He's loving, sensitive, he has an iron will.
He really enjoys being outdoors, he likes sunny days,
but his favorite hobby is to listen to music in his computer.
For hours!
Whats the name of that singer so popular that you like so much?
What's her name? Tell him.
- Taylor Swift. - That one. Taylor Swift.
He's always in a good mood, like you see him now. Always.
In spite of everything. He's a role model.
Sheer willpower, all heart.
A fighter.
Believe it or not, he's the one who sustains us.
Let me give you my card with my contact information, Mr. Daniel.
And thank you very much in advance.
- Here. - I'm sorry about your son's condition,
but I can't help you.
It's not about the amount of money, but I'm not an NGO.
You should expect help from state agencies.
I'm not indifferent to your situation.
I'm a very committed person,
but my commitment as a writer is something different.
And as I said, whether you needed one dollar or one hundred thousand,
there'd be no difference. Let's suppose I say yes.
I won't do it, it's just an assumption.
Suppose I give you ten thousand dollars.
What you say is true. It would be easy for me.
But it would be a perverse attitude and it would go against my principles.
What about the rest of the people
who are in the same situation as your son?
It'd be absolutely unfair. I'm sorry, but no.
Sir, helping one person is something.
At least you'd be helping one.
I know a lot of people around the world are in need.
But isn't it better to have one million people
instead of one million and one?
We're all from Salas. It's no big deal to you.
If I helped you, I'd be like a kind of deity.
A savior, who miraculously decides
the faith of those who cross his path.
The problem is I'm not a religious person.
And I don't want to be in that position...
with anyone. My answer is no.
And besides...
The way you're asking me this feels like extortion.
Good afternoon.
Excuse me.
Artistic creation does not rely on ethics or morals.
For instance, the great painters of the Renaissance,
such as Raphael or Michelangelo,
created incredible works of art on behalf...
of religious propaganda.
A good portion of Leni Riefenstahl's magnificent cinematographic work
was meant as Nazi propaganda.
There are hundreds of other examples.
- Good afternoon! - Oh well...
- Oh, Romero... - Hello everyone.
I'm Dr. Florencio Romero.
I'm sure you all know exactly who I am.
Let me interrupt you briefly.
They'll be handing out copies
with fragments of one of this guy's books.
- I can't believe this! - It's called "The Sand Giant".
By reading this, you'll be able to confirm
how he definitely tarnishes our community.
He treats us like ignorant and pervert people.
But not just in this book. Every book by this buffoon.
Does nothing but treat us like crap.
Yes, stop pretending. You are a piece of crap.
You try to attribute to us
the worst of human behavior.
My esteemed defender of good manners,
if you're not interested in listening, which is a huge honor for me,
I invite you to leave the room.
These people are interested in listening, so please show some respect.
- Not for me, but from them. - You're such a demagogue!
Stop pretending! These people don't know who you are!
They don't know your work. Stop underestimating them!
There's a reason why he never came back to his hometown.
This millionaire's whole work
is based on slandering his own community.
If you don't think he's a rat, I don't know anymore.
You're nothing but a luxury servant in Europe, a clown!
You have no sense of belonging.
You're a declassed person!
"Really? yes!
That's why Dante Alighieri
sends traitors to the lowest circle of hell.
He considers treason the most loathsome of all sins.
And that's simply because in order to betray,
you first have to win your victim's trust and affection.
- This guy is Judas. - Bravo, bravo!
- If you want...
or I can read this out loud.
Story: "Railroad Crossing", page 120.
"Apart from the creole horses,
the engineer, the giant of the ring road,
as the creoles called him, had another hobby.
In a warehouse in his ranch,
he enslaved poor and illiterate people to serve him.
Whole families packed together under his yoke..."
I don't think I need to tell you who he means.
Engineer Gagliardi, Tulio Gagliardi. A dear resident of Salas.
"Towering" Gagliardi, he was like seven feet tall.
He owned the warehouses just outside town.
Unfortunately, as we all know, he's not alive to defend himself
against this man's insults. If he were here,
I'm sure he'd put him in his place.
- Okay... - And that's not all.
There's plenty more! You are a rat!
You ran away when things got tricky!
- Really? - Yes, sir!
And now you come here to lecture!
You found the perfect formula!
You denigrate your hometown and get paid back in Euros for it!
You kiss Europeans ass! They should give you awards,
-because you work for them! - Very good! Very good!
A great performance. Very convincing.
Even better than the one you did this morning.
Great acting. Congratulations.
And thank you for your idea. I might use it in my next novel.
Although, I don't think it'll work,
because it's too stupid and ridiculous.
Now, please, get out of here.
These people are here to listen to me, not you.
Don't worry, I'm done here.
We're leaving. What? Are you scared?
We won't hurt you.
What can you expect from a guy who didn't even have the decency
to come back to bury his own father?
Am I lying?
Let's go.
Once again, truth surpasses fiction.
Let's suppose what they say is true.
Suppose they're right, I'm that monster they say I am.
Would that invalidate me as an artist?
I write literature, novels, fiction.
I don't write leaflets about ethical behavior.
Many despicable actions
of some of my characters...
are unfortunately part of this world we live in.
The fact that my characters do whatever it is they do
doesn't mean that I approve or disapprove such actions.
Do crime writers approve of homicides?
But why don't you write about nice things?
I give up.
Your point calls my whole life as a writer into question.
WE'VE BEEN ROBBED ASK IF YOU WANT To KNOW ABOUT IT
The hotel looks like a set from a Rumanian film.
They also got me on a fire truck to wave at people.
Yes, along with the beauty queen. I'll tell you later.
Nuria...
The reason why I'm calling you...
is because I want to buy a wheelchair for a boy who needs it.
It's a special wheelchair. You can't find it here.
I'll put you in touch with his father
so you can send him either the wheelchair or the money.
I don't know. Whatever is easier.
Take note of his phone number.
CHAPTER IV THE VOLCANO
Your home is beautiful.
Beautiful?
You picked a horrible adjective.
Kiss.
Look at this!
Lamb heads.
His favorite dish.
Once you overcome the initial shock, I swear they're delicious.
One for each.
What really surprises me is that you are either very naive...
or very narcissistic, I'm not sure which,
to ignore the fact that some people here in Salas could feel offended
by what you write, you know?
Even if Romero is the most disgusting person in town.
We all know that but...
What is it?
You'd never eat something like this in Europe.
Amazing!
By the way, Argentinean barbecue is not an Argentinean invention.
- Really? -Long ago the Chinese were making barbecues.
If one of our gauchos knows that, he'd commit hara-kiri
That's a Japanese thing, right? He'd chop his dick off with a knife.
Cows are not originally from Argentina. They were brought by Columbus.
The ostrich, the partridge, those are from Argentina.
Amazing. You have the same rhetoric you had a thousand years ago.
You haven't changed either.
- So... - So what?
No, a toast.
First a toast.
You know I'm not a sentimental person.
I don't give a damn about solemnity and such,
but I'd like to make a toast to you, Daniel.
I want to toast to you because...
Look where you came from.
Look where you came from and what you've achieved.
You worked your ass off to get where you are.
I'm very proud of you, Daniel. Very proud.
You're an honorable...
decent person.
Well done, Daniel!
And what about Irene?
The woman I hope to spend the rest of my life with.
We raised a family together.
Based on respect.
We share...
the same bed every night.
What else could I want?
Cheers.
I'm such a jerk...
Kiss your daddy.
So beautiful!
Shall we eat?
Stunning!
And you haven't seen those lamb heads yet!
Why are you washing the dishes, Daniel? I'll do it later.
- No, let me help. - He likes it. Let him do it.
- So what happened? - Well...
So I opened the door and there she was.
A beautiful, beautiful girl. Almost a kid.
But with a slutty attitude, very determined.
She rushed into the room. A professional groupie.
No inhibitions, totally naughty, ready for everything.
- That chick was determined. .-The kids are here!
Hi!
Hi.
- She's Julia, our daughter. - Yes, we've met. I was at his lecture.
She loves your work, read all your books.
Kiss, kiss.
And he's Roque, her boyfriend.
- Why don't you pour us some drinks? - Sure.
Come.
Whiskey, Roque.
So? Did you fuck her?
- No! - Dude!
Gringos come to hunt wild hogs.
So we take them in Roque's pickup truck
which is equipped with roof lights and all.
We supply them with guns,
ammunition, food, you name it.
And we go wild hog hunting.
Sometimes hogs come, sometimes they don't.
So Roque, he...
so we give them domestic pigs,
those you can hand feed.
So the gringos shoot and miss,
because they're dumb, you know.
Then Roque, from the truck bed,
with his rifle with telescopic sight,
shoots at the same time as the gringos do.
You know what I mean? Like this. He shoots like this.
So when they miss, he hits.
And they think they hit, you know?
Satisfaction guaranteed.
Happy ending for everybody.
They leave thrilled. Make your pig impersonation.
- Dad! - Just once!
-Imitate a wild hog. - No, Antonio! Antonio!
- Do it. - Stop it, dad.
Alright, if you don't want to...
- When are you leaving? - In two days.
Would you like to come wild hog hunting with us tomorrow night?
Even if you're a gringo, we won't charge you anything.
See? More rural and rustic stories
for your European readers. It's good.
- Okay, let's do it. - Great!
Did you hear? He said yes.
Get everything ready because tomorrow night...
we'll go wild hog hunting with my friend.
Okay? And now...
let's go for a drink somewhere.
Just so we...
No, I'm too tired.
I hardly slept since I left Barcelona.
Come on, my friend!
Hi!
How are you? Give my friend a kiss.
- Give my friend a kiss. - Hi.
That's it. Very good.
I must have fucked these girls
twenty or thirty times each.
I fucked them all.
My theory is that...
you can have an affair
with a girl or a woman who's not your wife.
You can have a fling...
but always come back home to your wife...
who belongs to you.
The one you have a family with, the one you respect.
The same goes for women. I can take it.
Your wife may also have an affair with some guy.
What can you do?
Go Antonio!
Hey Roque!
Roque...
Now that the witch's not here, do your wild hog impersonation.
Listen, listen.
Do it again! With enthusiasm! Come on!
- Son of a bitch! He's a hog! - Yes.
You'll have to excuse me, guys, but I have to go. I'm really tired.
I haven't slept in three days, really.
Roque, give him a ride. I'll stay here chatting with my shrink.
No, it's fine. Roque just got here.
I can walk or grab a cab.
Are you dumb or what? There are no taxis here!
The hotel's too far away.
Take him, Roque!
Roque!!
What are you looking at, Vasco? What's that silly giggle?
What are you looking at? Do you have any problem?
What are you doing here? How did you get in?
- Hi. Get out of here now, please!
You knew about my friendship with your parents!
Stop this!
- Come on, don't reject me. - I want you to leave.
There's your father and your boyfriend too.
He's not my boyfriend anymore. We broke up. He's rude and idiot.
I don't care. Get dressed and get out.
I want to leave this town. I don't want to stay here
and have a shitty life like my mom.
Get dressed and get out!
You won't talk to me?
Hello?
Hello!
Fag!
Stop m.
Get out of here! Stop it!
Enough!
Antonio...
Do you want us to talk?
Antonio.
Or swear to die gloriously
Alright. We're ready.
Let's see what do we have here.
A few words from our Distinguished Citizen?
Well...
I'm very honored for this gesture that perpetuates my image...
or at least something slightly similar to it.
I must admit ifs a very personal portrait.
A friend of mine, a writer who also won a Nobel Prize, once told me...
"Being a Nobel laureate turns you into a statue."
Apparently, that wasn't just a metaphor.
Thank you very much.
Very good!
Great! You did a great job! Congratulations!
You won't have any problems during your last lecture.
I can assure you, trust me. Just go. No fear.
Yes, I was going to go anyway... No fear.
There are resentful people everywhere, Daniel.
They can't stand your success, your achievements, your Nobel Prize.
And ifs also a way to harm me.
Local issues, an indirect shot. I know them.
Daniel...
One last thing, about the contest. Look...
I think you're right about everything. I have no doubts, but...
I'll have to ask you to accept
some of the paintings that were rejected.
I heard you've rejected all the local painters.
Don't get me wrong but...
I don't know a thing about art...
but you're leaving this town tomorrow and won't come back.
I'll have to put up with them here, you know?
They'll ask me why their paintings were rejected and things like that.
Daniel, I'm just asking you as a favor.
Accept a few paintings, please.
So that tonight we can have a peaceful event.
Do whatever you want. If ifs such a world-shaking matter.
Daniel!
See you at seven!
Don't let us down this time!
Daniel!
You bailed on us! You never showed up!
What about tonight?
- What was your name? - Renato.
- Yes.
Look, I didn't and I won't go to your house,
because I don't know you, I don't know who you are.
Is that clear? And you don't know me either.
You have absolutely no idea who I am or how I think.
The characters in my books are exactly that: characters.
They're fictional. They don't exist.
If you were thrilled to think your father was one of those characters
- I'm sorry. - But...
You and I have nothing in common,
except for the fact that we were both born here. Nothing else.
I didn't bail on you.
I'm not obliged to go to your house just because you invite me.
I'm not an object. I'm not at your disposal.
Is that clear?
You should invite people who are really interested in your invitation.
- Yes, but... - It doesn't work like this.
- Listen. I'm talking to you. - Yes.
It doesn't work like this.
It has to be something mutual, reciprocal.
Understand? - Yes.
I wouldn't normally bother to give any explanations,
but today, I don't know why
but I feel like saying what I truly think,
-as if we really knew each other. - But it's about my father, please!
Have a nice day.
What the fuck are you doing?
I didn't know you had become a dirty old man!
I didn't know who she was. If I had known, I wouldn't have...
Am I interrupting something?
- What happened to your face? - Whose face?
Oh! Nevermind. Vasco said something stupid...
so I sent him to the infirmary.
Where did you sleep last night?
I was with him all night. We've been talking about...
life.
About life.
It's alright. Go home, come on.
Come on, go home.
Come on.
Do you need a ride? Are you going somewhere?
No, I'm going to the Community Club. Today's my last lecture.
Okay, I'll take you.
No, no, no.
No...
I'd rather walk. I need some air.
- Don't forget our hunting date. - Yes.
Today I'm a distinguished figure.
Although a lot of people don't really know why.
A kind of national hero
you recover from the cabinet and dust if off...
so that he's present at some cultural event
and makes a little speech.
And then put back in the closet.
A definitely small-town fate for someone
who, for over thirty years,
has been trying to escape precisely from that.
But, to be a national hero, I still need the most important thing.
My own death.
Lastly...
You deserve an applause...
Because you kept coming.
For you.
Daniel, we'll take you.
No, thank you.
Excuse me. Good afternoon. I was just looking.
This used to be my parent's house.
My home. I lived my whole childhood here.
- It's closed. - This was the garage...
- Traitor! - Son of a bitch!
Good luck.
Well, my friends...
It's a pleasure to me to celebrate this painting contest.
And an honor to have as president of the jury
none other than Daniel Mantovani,
this artist from Salas who has conquered the world...
and who was appointed Distinguished Citizen
of our beloved town just two days ago.
Emilee, our Culture Secretary, was also one of the judges.
And Méndez, who, for personal reasons,
is no longer working here with us.
I'm convinced that culture plays an essential role
in the development of a society...
and that the government
is obliged to promote it.
I'd like to thank you all
for helping us defend our culture.
The best cultural politics...
The best cultural politics is not having one.
To defend our culture?
Culture is always considered as something weak, fragile,
as something feeble
that needs to be guarded, protected, promoted
and subsidized.
Culture is indestructible.
It's capable of surviving the worst catastrophes.
There was a wild tribe in Africa.
The word "freedom" didn't exist in their language.
Do you know why?
Because they were free.
I think the word "culture" always comes from the lips
of the most ignorant, stupid and dangerous people.
I personally never use it.
People...
These are not the paintings we thought should win a prize.
They're not even the ones we had chosen.
Neither had we chosen, let alone awarded,
this painting by the doctor here.
- Shut up, outcast! Piece of shit! - Hey, no, no, wait!
- No, no! Stop! - You pussy!
- Come here you pussy!!! - Come on!
Stop m.
- Pussy! - Stop! Stop!
- No, no! - Let's take this outside like men!
Mantovani! Distinguished Citizen my ass!
- Hey! Please!! - I'll be waiting outside!
Let's settle this outside if you're a man, motherfucker!
Distinguished Citizen my ass!
Come fight me if you dare! You piece of shit!
Fucking traitor! Sun of a bitch!
Don't touch me! Come outside! I'll be waiting!
- I'll show you, Distinguished Citizen! - Traitor!
I'm leaving, but I want to say one more thing.
I admit that it doesn't bother me that much to have detractors
who repudiate me with such vehemence.
And despite the tremendous brutality of these actions,
I feel a personal satisfaction
from the way people express themselves against whats established.
That is: Me.
But let's get to the point.
As a frequent observer of the human comedy,
I feel the responsibility to try to make this world
a less horrible place.
I know it's a lost battle,
but that doesn't mean I will give up the fight.
Go on like this.
Stay as you are. Don't let anything change here.
Keep on being a hypocrite society...
and stupidly take pride...
in your own ignorance and brutality.
I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble.
Go on with your peaceful lives. Keep making Salas
such a beloved paradise.
That's all.
No, Daniel. Go through the back door.
Come. Come.
Don't even think about going hunting with Antonio.
You have to leave Salas right now.
What happened?
Daniel, for the first time in your life, please listen to me.
Let's go to the hotel to get your things.
I have to get you out of here now.
It won't go.
I'll go get the truck. Pack your things.
I'll pick you up at the hotel.
Okay.
Daniel, we received the latex mattress. I'll replace it in a minute.
And this is from school 39.
A reporter from Buenos Aires came asking for you. He's staying here.
You also got a call from the President's office.
They asked if it's true that you're staying in this hotel.
GENIUS
I thought you were leaving tomorrow.
Change of plans.
Ramiro, I really liked your stories.
The one I liked better is the one about the couple waiting at the hospital.
It's very well written.
Your style is polished, fluent, subtle,
without tricky resources. A simple and clear prose.
Too simple.
No. What's simple and clear might be subversive and disturbing.
Kafka is an example.
His prose is the most obvious and simple,
and yet the most disturbing.
Making things simple is an act of artistic kindness.
How about we publish it in a collection of texts we're putting together?
Yes, of course!
Thank you. I never thought you...
- I'll keep it. - Yes.
I'll give it to my editor. Take mine in exchange.
"To Ramiro. United by Salas and literature.
Daniel Mantovani."
- Thank you so much, master. - Thank you for everything.
I'll write to you as soon as I arrive in Barcelona.
If you ever go there, you'll be my guest.
- No, no need to... - Take it as an advance...
for the publishing of your story.
That's a lot of luggage to go hunting.
Come on, buddy. Let's go.
Irene couldn't come.
But she sends her regards.
Good evening everyone.
I had a dream, CHAPTER V THE HUNT
a crazy idea that! wanted to bring to life. CHAPTER V THE HUNT
Everybody said X was insane...
But why don't you write about nice things?
...to conquer the trust and affection oi the victim...
This guy is a traitor.
Long live our country, Daniel!
I married Irene. You left and I kept your girlfriend.
More rural and rustic stories for your European readers.
We're at! from Salas, sir.
I'm very proud that my dad is in one of your books.
In a way, you've made him immortal.
K don't want to stay here and have a shitty fife like my mom.
We need 9800 dollars.
As you can imagine, there's no way we could collect that amount of money.
This miliionaire's whole work.“...
is based on slandering his own community.
You have to leave Salas right now.
Come on, buddy.
- Roque, give him his things. - Listen, Antonio...
Shut up. Don't say a word. It's all very clear.
Get your things and get out of town.
Alright?
Goodbye, scumbag, goodbye.
Run, damn it!
Real close to your feet
so that you shit your pants, motherfucker!
Run!
What did you do, asshole?
Death...
Everything becomes lethargic and in order.
My name in the crystal of eternity.
The end.
Hello everybody. Good afternoon.
I'm Vicente Aristizébal, Daniel Mantovani's publisher.
Thank you for coming to the press conference
for his new novel, "The Distinguished Citizen".
Daniel will read a brief fragment of his book to us
and then he will answer some of your questions.
"The Distinguished Citizen, Chapter 1: The Invitation."
"Leaving doesn't mean not being there anymore.
For years, when winter arrived here,
I could feel the summer of my hometown in my body.
Now § don't anymore.
This story begins with a letter.
a letter printed in paper
sent from my home town.
Salas.
1 guess ah I did my entire fife
was trying to escape from that place.
My characters were never able to leave
and I was never able to come back.“
Last two questions?
Over there.
I'm Alex Bussard from Channel Plus.
First, I want to congratulate you for your novel.
And my question is:
Although "The Distinguished Citizen" takes place in Salas
like your previous novels,
what's new now is that you're the protagonist.
Don't you think that decision is too egocentric?
We writers are all egocentric, self-referential,
narcissistic and vain.
I believe that is a fundamental tool for writing.
Pen, paper and vanity.
Without that, you cannot write anything.
Last question, please.
Caries Ramirez, from La Vanguardia.
In your novel, how much is literary creation and how much is reality?
Does that matter, my friend?
Reality doesn't exist.
There are no facts, there are interpretations.
The truth, or what we call the truth,
is an interpretation which prevails over another one.
You're not giving me an answer. Just avoiding...
This is for you. Regarding interpretation.
What is this scar?
Do you see it? What is it?
An old surgery,
a scar from a bicycle accident,
or a bullet wound?
Homework.
Thank you very much.
Now you can take photos.