All language subtitles for Strangers.In.The.Park.2026.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.BZ]

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THIS STORY COULD TAKE PLACE
IN THE YEAR 2030,

OR IN 1984,

IN THE YEAR 506, OR IN 2000 TOO.

MAYBE TEN YEARS AGO,
OR IN A COUPLE OF DAYS…

OR WHO KNOWS…

IT COULD BE HAPPENING NOW.

You sap, why wander in sorrow

with no real reason at all?

Who told you life is all heartache
Only deception, only the fall?

After the blackest night
the sun will always shine

And you should mock your fate
Just as I mock mine…

What a relief!

How wise of nature

to make something as mundane
as eliminating waste from our bodies

feel so pleasurable.

It almost makes me think
that the myth of God could be true.

Anyway…

Okay, where were we?

What were we talking about?

I was about to tell you
something very important.

What were we talking about?

We weren't talking!

You were talking. I wasn't talking.

- And what was I saying?
- I don't know, I wasn't listening.

You were doing it all by yourself.

Why weren't you listening?

Because you're a liar.

I'm not listening to you anymore.

For two days I haven’t been listening.

Stop pretending to read.
I know you can't see at all.

This is a big park, you know.

And it has it all.

Children, artisans, vendors…

Why don't you go bother them?

I'm not listening to you anymore.

You can talk to that tree for all I care.

That's a lamppost.

You're always lying.

You talk and talk, and it's all lies.

I demand you substantiate
that accusation, sir.

All right.

For example,

are you or are you not

a former officer
of the Army for the Liberation of Rwanda?

Of course not.

And your name is not Mobutu. Be honest.

Obviously not.

There it is. See? You lied.

It’s not a lie.

It's called a secret identity.

What? What does that mean?

That in my line of work

you need to have a secret identity.

I'm not at liberty to divulge
any more than that.

Are you saying you're a spy?

All I'm saying is that my name is Mobutu

from the Army
for the Liberation of Rwanda.

That's a bullshit identity
they stuck you with.

You think I didn't tell them?

I said, "How can an 86-year-old Pollack
be Mobutu from Rwanda?"

"Tough luck, man. You got Mobutu."

What can you do? It is what it is.

But it’s a living.

And I beg you not ask any more questions.

But let me ask you…

Why did they choose
an old man for that job?

Did they tell you?
They certainly didn’t tell me.

A year ago, I’m waiting
in line at the bank,

a fella comes up to me

and asks me if I want
to be a secret agent.

No!

It does make some sense.

They're thinking,

"He's an old man.
Nobody's going to notice him."

"He can move around like a ghost
and gather information unnoticed."

Well, that's true.

But they did screw up
on the secret identity.

- Well--
- But please,

no more questions.

Seriously. I'm not at liberty to answer.

They also gave me a code name.

"Abel."

- Abel?
- Abel Goldfarb.

And what's your real name?

Samuel Goldfarb.

Get out! The same last name.

Tell me about it, they're morons.

But what can we do?
A man has to make a living.

That's true, I always say that.

Tell me, did you ever gather
any information for them?

I spend all day sitting with a guy

who looks at a lamppost
and says it's a tree!

What information is that?
Are you kidding me? I got nothing.

I need to look into health
and pension plans for spies.

Because they told me…

- Son of a bitch.
- What?

Son of a bitch,
you're bullshitting me again!

I swore I wouldn't fall for it,
and you've done it again.

"Abel Goldfarb," he says.

"Health and pension plans for spies."
Give me a break.

Come on, it was a good one.

A nice long complicated story…

Nice my ass!

This conversation is over.

No more lies.
Move it, get out of here.

This is my spot, I got here first.

- Your spot?
- Yes.

How can it be yours?

Show me the deed.

Where does it say that?

You want to see the deed?

Here's the deed.
Can you read hands? Read them.

These hands wore Golden Gloves.

I found this spot three years ago, sir.

It's relaxing, nice and quiet…

But you show up a week ago
and start driving me crazy.

On the count of three,

you get lost or I'll knock you out.

Sir, I think this merits
a brief discussion.

At the sound of the bell,
the fighters enter the ring…

How will you hit me
if you can't even see me?

Your behavior is embarrassing.

Your face will be embarrassing
when I'm done with it.

Sir, with all due respect,

you have a depressing personality

and a terrible attitude.

Here comes the champ!

Hey, mister, don't move. Don't move.

Don't move.
Could be you broke something.

I've never fallen before.

Well, don't worry about that.

Oh, it’s nothing.
I fall down every morning.

I wake up, I have a coffee, I fall down.

It's the cycle of life.

Two years old,
you stand up and start to walk,

and boom, you turn 86
and you fall down again.

Can you lift your head? Show me.

There you go.
That's a good sign. Very good.

Now let's check the pelvic area.

Okay, let's see. Let's see here.

If you enjoy this massage,
you should know I'm single.

- Get your hands off me, damn it.
- Don't worry.

If you broke something, it's fine.

I've got a hip like a teacup.

Broke it twice last year.
I just got rid of my walker.

I was also dead for a while.

Six minutes!

Not long enough.

They were doing a bypass

and bam!

They had to jump-start me
with cables like I was a car.

Can you move your arms?
See if it's possible.

Excellent!

Everything is functional.

Now lie there for five minutes
and just get some rest.

The best thing for relaxing is a joke.

Verdaguer, he was the best.
You remember him?

Was that bullshit again?

- What?
- What do you mean?

The thing about being dead.

- That can't be true.
- It was.

- It was the absolute truth.
- Absolute truth? Please.

Here, I'll help you.

No, I can manage on my own!

Okay, fine. Here, come on.

There you go. Good thing you can manage.

- Where are you going?
- Far away from you.

I'm sick of all your lies.

They're not lies, they're…

alterations.

Sometimes the truth doesn't fit me,
it's too snug.

So I take in a little here,
let out a little there,

until it fits me like a glove.

The truth? Oh, please.

A triple bypass last year is the truth.

A pension they pay me on the 7th

and is gone on the 8th is the truth.

Going to the bakery
to buy day-old bread is the truth.

I tell them it's for the pigeons.

Look at the pigeons.

And dead for six minutes is true.

And ever since then, I have a new policy.

Alterations.

This morning, I told the greengrocer
that I am the last of the Comechingones.

He listens to me.

And then I start reminiscing
about the old days in La Pampa,

the malones,

my grandfather fighting
against General Roca.

And I love it.

If I was one person for 86 years,

why can't I be one hundred different ones
in the next five?

Tell me one thing.

The bakery thing…

- What time should I get there to--
- Forget the bakery.

You missed the point.

No, I got the point perfectly fine.

The only point here
is you're as crazy as an old goat.

Not just one screw loose,

your whole hardware store is loose.

Oh, how fortunate for me,
an expert on mental health!

Yes, sir.

I should introduce you
to my daughter Clarita,

another expert.

She wants to put me in a home for idiots.

Look what she writes.

"He has no sense of reality."
She means me.

"He needs supervision."

She sent this letter
to my therapist, Dr. Engels.

Trouble is, I don't have a therapist

and I am Dr. Engels.

I gave her the bakery’s address

and she thinks it's a hospital.

And she wants to lock me up!

You're accusing me of being crazy,

but what about yourself?

How long do you have left to live?

Five minutes? Five months? Five years?

Is this how you want to spend them?
Sitting and staring?

Getting a thrill once in a while
when you fall on the ground?

No, sir!

You have to shake things up,
you have to make things happen.

Wait, wait.

You’re telling me how to live?

- What?
- I have a job.

Unlike you!

I'm still part of the workforce.

No, you're talking to Antonio Cardozo,

superintendent in charge of San Juan 158.

In July, I will have been there
for 52 years.

The only thing that's been there
longer than me

is an 853-kilo boiler.

And who's the only one
who knows how to run it?

Yours truly.

"Shake things up," he says.
For God's sake.

I'm not shaking anything up.

I should have retired 20 years ago.

- So?
- But I didn't.

I'm still working.

It's true, yes…

They haven't given me
a raise in two years.

But I still get amazingly generous tips.

Yes, and now,

I work the night shift,
and nobody sees me.

I've seen a lot of doormen
come and go on the day shift.

And I saw them all get fired.

But not me, I'm still there.

I am the wise, old, invisible man.

No, you're a dead man, a ghost.

Two years without a raise.

- How can you let them rob you like that?
- No, sir. Nobody robs me.

Not at my work or anywhere else

because I'm protected, just so you know.

That's right.

Have you seen that boy
who picks me up every afternoon?

- Who?
- His name is Rodrigo. It doesn't matter.

I give him 1,000 pesos every day

and he walks me home.

So no one robs me. He protects me.

From who?

Well, mainly from himself.

But also from danger on the streets.

You're the first cowardly ghost
I've ever met.

Look who's talking, Mobutu. Come on!

I can't believe I have to hear this.

People still see me.

- I make them see me.
- Oh, please.

Look, when they took me to the hospital,

they hadn't even finished
putting me in the ambulance

when six neighbors from my building
called management

to ask if my apartment was for rent.

But I came back.

And you know what I do now?

Every day, at five in the morning,

I ring their doorbells, all six of them,

and yell, "Get up, vultures!"

"Apartment 4B
is neither for rent nor for sale!"

Then I sing "The Internationale"
and tell them to go fuck themselves.

What a crazy old man.

- Who?
- You! Thinking that they see you.

- They don't see you.
- No?

They might hear you, though.
But they don't see you.

Both of us are ghosts.

Nobody wants to see
your wrinkled old face.

Mine either.

But I help out.

You're a traitor to your people.

It’s people like you
that give being old a bad name.

Listen to me.

- I'll tell you one thing, and--
- Cardozo!

- Yes?
- Cardozo!

- Yes!
- Cardozo!

Yes, Antonio Cardozo! Who is it?

Menéndez Roberts.

Gonzalo Menéndez Roberts, 12H.
Hello there!

Right, Mr. Menéndez Roberts.

- I've been looking for you for days.
- Well, I didn't…

Raúl told me you were around here.

That son of a bitch.

Right, I'm always around here, yes.

Will you be here a while?
I'll finish my run and we'll talk.

Yes, of course. Sure.

- Don't leave on me!
- No, why would I?

I had actually planned to call you
because I…

Oh, goddammit, he found me.

Who is that?

I had been dodging him,
and now he found me. Damn.

- Who is that?
- Mr. Menéndez Roberts, from 12H.

He's the president
of the Tenants' Committee.

He's one of the new ones
who came in when they built the "loffs."

What's a "loff?"

They knock down a few walls,
and they call that a "loff."

You're completely behind with the times.

Now the building
is full of those guys and…

And they're looking
to reorganize God-knows-what,

and he wants to see me alone.

Okay, I understand everything now.

No. You know what it is?

The word started to spread
around the building

that I'm a bit near-sighted.

Just a bit?

Andrea Bocelli
has better eyesight than you.

I have that building memorized.

It will be 52 years in July.

But last week I ran smack
into the elevator door

and then Mrs. Carracedo, from 2A, saw me.

I don't know. I got distracted.

The door was…
The thing is, I walked straight into it.

And then I see that woman
standing there, looking at me.

And then I tried to save face

and I had the bright idea
to walk right into it again.

As if I'd been doing it on purpose.

Like it was some grand scheme of mine

to bash my head against the elevator door.

The worst part was

while I was doing it,
I realized it was a stupid thing to do.

But I couldn't stop.

I kept banging my head
on the door like an idiot.

And then I said to her,

"I'm fixing this door, Ms. Carracedo."

"It opens on its own. It's dangerous."

She fled in terror.

Not two days go by,

and now Menéndez Roberts
wants to talk to me alone.

Same thing happened when I was boxing.

I'm up against the ropes

and I get nervous.

I get nervous because…

Are the cataracts in both eyes?

- Correct.
- Yes.

Did you have surgery?

No, not yet.

Plus, four or five years ago,
the sides disappeared.

Doctor said I lost my peripheral vision.

Just like that. In an instant, gone.

Goodbye, peripheral vision.

I walk as if I'm looking
through a straw, you know?

And then, one morning,
I woke up with a spot in the middle.

Oh, that spot!

Yes, like the moon.

Like the moon, yes.

And then it starts growing.

Right in the middle of the straw.

Yeah. So you lose the peripheral,

the moon in the middle of the straw

and a ring between them
where people go in and out.

What can you do?

Do you see color or black and white?

Blue.

Well, it's like blue shadows, you know?

The problem is
that I still dream in color. Yes.

There I see everything
sharp and clear like when I was young.

And then I wake up

and it’s real life
that looks like a dream.

Yes. Exactly.

The same exact thing happens to me too.

Cardozo, we're connected.

Because we both have vision.

Why do we need sight if we have vision?

Yes, yes.

Look, no matter how low
and cowardly you are,

there's a connection.

Our meeting with this Menéndez Roberts
is going to go very well.

I am certain of it.

What do you mean, our meeting?

I've decided to handle this
Menéndez Roberts matter for you.

Don't worry about a thing.

The exploiters, the land barons,
the capitalist pigs,

those are my favorite meal.

I eat them for lunch.

- Yes.
- No.

I didn't ask for anything, so--

Don't thank me, Cardozo.

Thank Marx, Lenin, Gorky, Olgin.

Don't start to fill my park with strangers
I don't know, it's crowded already.

I’m not filling it with people,
I’m filling it with ideas.

People grow old,

but ideas are still young,
healthy, and beautiful.

Ideas are better
than the people who had them.

The fight is unstoppable,
like the turning of the stars,

and we will crush this Menéndez Roberts
before suppertime.

Bring on the pig!

That son of a bitch.

Where is he?

- Are you done with your nonsense?
- What?

I'll tell you what will happen.

You're going to keep your mouth shut.

And if you don't,

I'll give Rodrigo 10,000 pesos
to kick your ass.

You get it?

- I know exactly what I have to say.
- What?

I need to stay on until Christmas.

For the tips, you know?

- Just until Christmas. After that, I--
- Christmas?

No, you can't compromise.

That guy has no right to fire you

until you're the required age, mister.

Well, I'm already 85.

And when I'm done with him,
I'm going to get that criminal, Rodrigo.

Together we'll teach that kid a lesson.

Why?

Why, Lord?

I ask for your help

and you send me an old, blind commie
who is deaf and stupid.

- Why are you doing this to me?
- Who is this Lord you’re talking to?

I have more work here than I thought.

Damn, here he comes!

Don't say a word.
I didn't do anything to you--

Shut up, Cardozo.

I don't think that's him.

No, definitely not.

That's a girl. A pretty girl.

How do you know?

Because of the glow.

When I could still see,

all the pretty girls
had a kind of glow about them.

Now all I see is the glow.

Yes, definitely, a very pretty girl.

Maybe. It's possible.

But he's going to come by any minute now.

So do me a favor. Get lost.

I know what you can do.

Why don't you just go to the greengrocer

and tell him you're a Comanche
and all those stories?

Fine. You sort things out
with Menéndez Roberts.

I'll allow it.

Thank you so much.

But first you need to calm down.

If you leave, I will calm down.
It's instantaneous.

In your present state,

the land baron will run you over
with his tractor.

Do you understand? Come on.

Let's sit on the grass for a little while.

- On the grass?
- Yes.

Do you think I'm a hobo?

No, calm down.

There you go. Sit down. Good.

Okay, here we are. That's it. Good.

Good. There we go.

- The things you make me do.
- Here.

This will calm your nerves.

It's a joint, see?

A joint to relax you.

I get it from a doctor friend

to relieve my glaucoma.

He prescribes it through my insurance,
and everybody's happy.

It dilates the capillaries,
relieves the pressure.

What is that?

This? This is the key to happiness.

You'll laugh even when you watch the news.

Even your children
will seem like nice people to you.

Oh, so you're also a junkie.

I don't know what I've done to you,
but I ask for your forgiveness, Lord.

A thousand apologies. Damn.

One hit of this, and Menéndez Roberts
will be a piece of cake.

Get that crap away from me.

That's poison, you wicked old man.

I think that guy is coming.

Yes.

Look. Try it.

You have to hold the smoke in
as long as possible.

That heightens the effect, you know?

This is shit.

Give it another chance.

It's an acquired taste.

- You think?
- Sure.

Enjoy. Public healthcare is paying.

That girl

just went from "pretty girl"
to a goddess on fire.

She's turning into Ana Grimberg.

Ana Grimberg was a finisher.

She sewed on the labels and the feathers
onto the hats for Schiffman in Chacarita.

- No.
- Let's see.

No, that's not her.

That's Normita Rivera.

She was shy, Ana.

She would sit on her front stoop
all afternoon long.

She had a delicate face,

as if it had been painted by an artist.

Normita was my third wife.

- The best one I had.
- Really?

Normita gave me my first son, Juan Carlos.

And Juan Carlos gave me my first grandson.

Mario.

And Mario gave me
my first set of dentures.

I walked by that front stoop
a million times.

I couldn't even say hello to her.

Her fingers were an odd shape
from all the sewing.

She would sit on a tiny stool
and she would hide her hands like this,

because she was embarrassed,
the poor thing.

My eight grandchildren
are all professionals.

Mario is a dentist.

Look at this smile.

I put on my dentures, gave a big smile,

and goodbye, Normita.

She would work

so her husband could go to law school
to become someone.

When the guy graduates,
he realizes he's a lawyer

married to this tiny Jewish girl
who speaks Yiddish and sews on feathers.

He leaves her

for this skinny, posh girl
he met at university.

Four months later,

Ana sticks her head in the oven.

Oh, the way Normita cried when I left.

And I walked away
smiling with my new teeth.

She was about 60 years old, you know?

But every time I think of her,
the memory's as fresh as the first time.

A month before she committed suicide,

I saw her at the public library
in Villa Crespo.

I remember, I was reading Macbeth.

I look up, and there is Ana.

She doesn't see me,

because her head is buried
in a language book.

She was learning Spanish, the poor thing.

She looks up, recognizes me,
and smiles at me.

And my heart almost burst.

I couldn't get a single word out.

I froze.

And then she hides
her little hands under the table

and goes back to her book.

A while later, she left,

and I never talked to her.

Damn my teeth,
and damn my wandering ways!

I never talked to her.

What did they put on this?

Wasn't this shit supposed
to make me laugh?

No, stop. Stop.

I really hate nostalgia.

Listen, that's the worst disease.

Nostalgia kills more old people
than heart attacks.

When was the last time you made love?

More nostalgia!

Good grief.

The last time I made love

was on the 10th of July of 19…

of 2009.

Was your wife alive?

According to her.

Oh, come on.

No, I know what you meant.

But with Esther,
you could never really tell.

She was a good woman, an excellent woman.

What fault was it of hers

that I would always love Ana Grimberg?

Well, it's worth mentioning because…

the last time for me,
I was being unfaithful.

Goddamn it.

I cheated on all of them.

With Margarita, I was 76 years old,

and I was still having affairs.

Cardozo, you surprise me.
A sign of courage, finally!

No. It wasn't courage. It was a curse.

It's just that I kept telling myself,
"No, Antonio, don't do it."

"Don't do it."

And then I went and did it, goddammit.

No. That's good.

You dared. You yearned and you did it.

I yearned, but I didn't dare.

I envy you, you know?

You were always
what I have only recently become.

A dirty old man.

No, a romantic.

A man of hope.

Trust me. I was dead once,
so I know about these things.

What matters is not the sex,

it's the romance,

the adventure.

It's all in the head.

The body is a stowaway,
just along for the ride.

Do you get it, Cardozo?

Because right now, I have to confess

that I am in love with that girl.

Look at her.

To be honest, so am I.

I just hope Roberto doesn't get jealous.

Who is Roberto?

My partner.

What? You're joking.
You're fucking with me!

- Oh, I fell for it.
- You did.

- Don't tell me you didn't fall for it.
- I fell for it like a fool.

- Oh, I fell so bad.
- Don't tell me you didn't fall for it.

- Like a fool! You got me.
- Let's get up.

- There you go. That's it.
- That was good.

Up, up.

Hold on. Stand straight. There you go.

- That's it.
- Damn.

- What's wrong?
- I shat myself.

No!

Now you're the one who fell for it!

- You did that to me?
- I had you there.

You think you're the only one
who knows how to tell jokes?

- That's okay.
- Wait.

Listen. Look what I came up with.

If this is how I am

What can I do?

I was born handsome

And eager to love

Help me. A duet.

- Come here.
- Okay.

Help me.

If this is how I am

What can I do?

With women I can't hold back

That was so cute.

Thank you so much.

I think we have her smitten now.

Of course, two studs like us…
What do you expect?

Don't you have another joint
like the one you gave me?

No, no. Now let's do a comedy skit.

And after that, we'll have her hooked.

We'll do the skit later.
But first, I'll sing a tango.

"If This is How I Am,"
by Botta, Lomuto and Perroti.

If this is how I am

No, no. You already sang that.

- It's a great song.
- And a beautiful performance.

But now we're going
to do a comedy routine.

Whatever I say to you,

you reply, "I'm not Rappaport."

Did you get it?

Imagine that we just met.

"I'm not Rappaport."

No, not yet. Not yet.

Now I'll start. Hello, Rappaport!

Now.

I'm not Rappaport.

Hey, Rappaport, what happened to you?

You used to be tall and fat.
Now you're short and skinny.

I'm not Rappaport.

You used to be a young guy with a beard.

Now you're old and clean-shaven.

I'm not Rappaport.

You used to dress in the finest attire,
and now you're wearing dirty, old clothes.

I'm not Rappaport.

And on top of that, you changed your name!

I…

Of course! "You changed your name."

Oh, that was good.
"You changed your name."

Cardozo!

- Cardozo, I'll be right with you.
- Damn, here he is.

I need to get my head straight.
Come with me.

Don't worry. We'll take care of this man.

No, there's no "we."

You just stand there

and don't say a word.

Promise that if you need me,
you'll call me?

Yes, I swear on everything that's sacred.

I'm raring to go, okay?

For heaven's sake. Listen, do me a favor.

- Sit down right here.
- Yes.

- And remember Rodrigo, okay?
- Yes.

- And look the other way if you want.
- Okay.

Cardozo!

How is it going?

Oh… it's going.

We haven't been formally introduced.
Gonzalo Menéndez Roberts.

- Antonio Cardozo. A pleasure.
- Hi.

Sorry about the rush.

If I don't jog for an hour and a half,
my whole day runs late.

Being immortal takes up too much time.

The park is really nice, huh?

Not too crowded,
not a lot of vendor stalls.

I should teach a class here.

I teach Communications over at UCA.

Communications?

Yes. All types of it.

Public, interpersonal, and intrapersonal.

All kinds of…

Bullshit.

- More or less, yes.
- More or less.

I'll borrow that one.

Well…

You must have noticed
we've communicated quite a bit, right?

Yes.

You won't believe this,

but I just recently found out
that you work in the building.

I'm downstairs in the boiler room.

- I keep to myself.
- Right.

- That's great. Excellent.
- Yes.

- What I mean is… Come here.
- Yes.

I didn't deal with your situation sooner

because I didn't know you existed.

- I'm mostly in the boiler room.
- Right.

- I keep to myself.
- Right.

- Right.
- Yeah.

Go ahead, don't stop. You were doing well.

No, I…

As you know, we switched
management companies.

- Right.
- As president of the Tenants' Committee…

I mean, all of us, the whole building,

we follow the advice
of the new management company.

And they advised you to kick me out.

No.

No.

- I wouldn't put it that way.
- What way would you put it?

They advised us

that keeping you on staff
would no longer be an advantage.

I would still call that being kicked out.

No…

Look, we could force you into retirement
because of your age.

But people in the building like you a lot.

So they voted to give you
two months' severance.

Which is not bad.

In two months,
you might not even remember us.

Cardozo.

So?

I'm an idiot. Um…

Sorry. I'm an idiot. I apologize.

I hate having to play this part, Antonio.

You're pretty good at it, though.

Antonio.

It's best for everyone.

No more demands,

no more tenants complaining.

You won't have to keep doing a job

that, let's face it,
is not for someone your age.

We're not a committee
of heartless villains.

The only villain here

is time.

Time is the real enemy.

Look at me.

I'm running like a kid. Who am I fooling?

- You know what the thing is?
- What?

- You all need me.
- Uh-huh.

- Winter is around the corner.
- Yes.

And that boiler was installed in 1968.

Oh, 1968?

I assure you that there is no one on Earth
who knows that old girl's tricks

as well as I do.

I guarantee it. I do, I guarantee it.

Yes, yes.

- Give me until Christmas, please.
- What?

That's all I ask.

Just until Christmas.

It's for the tips, you know?

It's good money, and I… Well…

What do you think?

You give me until Christmas

and I'll train a new kid for you.

The thing is,
we're replacing the boiler too.

Yes.

We're bringing a computerized one

that's spectacular.

It's automated, intelligent.

You run it with an app, an application.

On your phone.

Via the internet. On a computer.

It's like magic.

You don't have to do anything.
It works on its own.

There's a group of engineers coming
who'll be making a radical change.

The pipes, the electrical system,
the front door. The whole thing.

I see. Then you’re really
going to need me.

I have 40 years of repairs in there.

- Right.
- No, listen.

I know what's behind

every little piece of plaster
on that building.

I can assure you.

I'm serious. So you can rest easy.

Hold on.

Okay, I got it.

- You got it?
- Don't worry.

The basement room.

If you let me stay there like I have been,

I work for free as a supervisor.

I won't charge you a penny.
I'll take that burden off your shoulders.

The thing is,
we're taking the basement room

and we're turning it
into a garden apartment.

It's like… It's a complete change.

You understand?

Forget about it.

Right. I withdraw my offer.

- Forget it.
- Cardozo, listen.

No. I have nothing to listen to.

If only I knew
I was living in a garden apartment,

I could have rented it out.

Cardozo, I know people
in the Ministry of Welfare.

I can get you a room in a home,
in a hotel in the city.

No, thank you.
I'm looking for a garden apartment.

- Cardozo, do you know what the problem is?
- Yes, I know.

The problem is
that you're the bad guy in the movie,

but you want to be seen as the hero.

You're right. Yes. You're right, I'm…

I'm an idiot.

I mishandled this. I apologize…

- It breaks my heart. I apologize.
- Don't worry about it.

In two months,
you won't even remember this.

You know what we'll do?
No, what I will do.

I'll get you four months' severance.
How about it?

If the others protest, then tough luck.
I'll get that for you.

- What do you say?
- Four months is better than two, right?

Excellent.

Well, no. Hold on.

So we have a deal?

Cardozo.

Unacceptable!

We find your proposal utterly disgraceful.

Listen, Menéndez Roberts.

I will ask you out of honest curiosity,

how did you get yourself
entangled in this predicament?

I didn't intervene sooner

because I couldn’t resist
watching you bury yourself.

It was absolutely gruesome,
like something out of a horror movie.

Little by little,
a man digs his own grave.

I was shocked, believe me.

- Ivan Rifkin, nice to meet you.
- How are you?

I'm with the law firm of
Weissman, Rifkin, and Rocatagliatta.

Our firm represents Mr. Cardozo.

Well, actually, we represent
the Doormen and Superintendents' Union.

- Mm-hmm.
- We're called ENOUGH.

Enforcement Agency
For the Neutralization of Oppression,

Unfairness, Greed, and Hypocrisy.

ENOUGH.

Do you know it?

Not really, no. I've never heard of it.

Get used to it, because, from now on,
you're going to be hearing it a lot.

Go away.

Mr. Cardozo is asking us to leave.

But it's not that easy,
because we act of our own accord.

He'll give me four months' severance.
We already agreed.

Yes, I heard.

What a hilarious joke.

Mr. Rifkin.

I'm listening.

I don't know if I understand
what's happening.

Everyone has a hard time at first.

- I will educate you.
- Okay.

The situation is simple,
but I'll simplify it even further.

We do not accept four months severance,
nor five, nor six.

What we do accept

is that Mr. Cardozo
be hired as a consultant

for the entire period
of the building's reconstruction,

which, to make a blind guess,
will take, let's say, two years.

No, the architect told me six months.

Okay. Then let's say three years.

When you get to that point,
we will resume negotiations.

I have no idea who this guy is.

That's true.

Mr. Cardozo is more familiar
with Weissman and Rocatagliatta,

who are the more easygoing partners
in the firm.

But, in this case, everyone decided
that it was better to send "The Boa,"

an affectionate nickname
they call me at the office.

- Mr. Rifkin.
- I'm listening.

Look, I've never even heard
of your organization.

- ENOUGH.
- Yes.

A building with a huge frontispiece.

I don't know it.

What I do know
is a lawyer from the Doormen's Union.

Does he know
that you want to fire Mr. Cardozo?

Not yet.

And do you know
that you have to get four tenants

to testify against him?

Find them, Menéndez Roberts.

Four human beings
who are willing to be publicly responsible

for putting an old man out of his home
and his job of 52 years,

one who was named
Superintendent of the Year

by the Di Tella Institute in 1978.

An activist who has fought
for human rights all of his life.

A worker who broke his back
raising three kids and eight grandkids.

Wait. Listen.

No, Cardozo, no.

Enough with the false modesty.

You are a hero

and people need to know that!

But I do have to warn you,

because forewarned is forearmed,

and I'm a man of values
even with men who are not.

During the whole trial,
which I'm afraid will be very long,

you won't be able
to renovate the building.

Forget your garden apartments,
your multipurpose room, your solarium…

Your property value will plummet,
and it will never rise again.

Time, my friend, will be your villain now.

Therefore, I urge you
to consider the legal fees,

regardless if you win or lose,

and compare the time, cost,
and social scorn you'll incur

to the ridiculously small sum
it will take to keep Mr. Cardozo on.

I'm telling you this for your sake.
What do I care?

All right.

- Mr. Rifkin.
- I'm listening.

I knew about the right to arbitration.

What I didn't know
is that Antonio wanted to participate--

Of course he wants to.
You don't know how much he wants to.

And ENOUGH is eager to, also.
They'll use it as a test case.

- What?
- It will be perfect for them.

- What do I have to do with that?
- Excuse me?

You have trampled on
every human right possible.

Old age, disability, racial segregation.

Racial segregation? What?

This man is a descendant
of the Comechingones.

Look at those features.

He's Indigenous, you understand?

Listen, the man walks into walls.
He's easily 80 years old.

What's easy about being 80 years old?
See? You're ignorant.

You can't hold me responsible.

Let's talk tomorrow,
when we take the picket line to…

What was it? The UCA.

They love picketing.

The name Menéndez Roberts
is going to become a verb.

"To Menéndez-Roberts."

"The act of persecuting the elderly,
the disabled, the Indigenous, the blind."

Please listen to me.

I'm listening.

This issue's gotten out of hand.

You can't hold me responsible.
I represent a committee.

But you agreed to be the face of them

because you're one of them.

You pay fortunes to buy old things.

Old furniture, old cars, old paintings.

Everything old, except old people.

Because you can't use them as decoration.

They talk too much.

Even if they're silent, they say too much.

They look like the future,
and that scares you.

Don't you realize, Mr. University,

that you too will get old?

The problem is not that life is short.

The problem is that it's very long.

And if you're scared now
and spend all your time jogging,

imagine what it'll feel like later,
when your legs give out.

Of course, you'd like Cardozo to be nice,

to stay quiet,
and move to that little hotel.

But he won't do it,

because I won't let him.

Because it's one thing to call
someone slow, blind, or stupid,

but to call them unnecessary

is unforgivable.

- Mr. Rifkin.
- I'm listening.

I'm really grateful that you shared
those thoughts with me, and--

Let's not talk anymore,
unless it's in front of a judge.

What do you say, Cardozo?

Shall we attack? Shall we?

Well… I think it's best
if we don't attack.

What, Cardozo? What about the fight?

Are you saying you'd pick a job
over fighting for a cause?

Exactly. I'm taking the job,
and to hell with the cause.

Mr. Menéndez Roberts,

my client has instructed me
to lengthen the fuse,

but the bomb is still there.

Go.

Do aerobics all the way to your building

and summon the committee.

Do not seduce or convince. Communicate.

Cardozo stays.

As a guide, spiritual advisor,
or superintendent emeritus.

Whatever you want.

But keep in mind that this
is an arrangement between us.

Don't talk to the union
or the new management.

Because if ENOUGH finds out,

we're done for.

Look, when you resolve the matter,

call this number,
and ask for attorney Clara Cohen.

Tell her to contact "Pop."

He's one of the leaders of ENOUGH.

And ask her to tell him
that the Cardozo issue has been resolved.

And from then on,

this Pop guy I told you about
will take care of it.

Got it.

Gorriti Real Estate?

Yes. It's an advisory group of ENOUGH.

They negotiate with buildings
and all that stuff.

Go. Hurry. There's a lot to be done.

Okay.

- Mr. Rifkin.
- I'm listening.

Antonio…

I want you to know
these are important issues to me.

- To everyone. Good night.
- These issues obsess me, you know?

This was remarkable brainstorming,
it makes me reconsider the generation gap…

One more word
and I'll report you for "linguicide."

I admit that, sometimes,
I have trouble explaining myself.

You have trouble leaving too.

- Understood. Bye.
- Go.

- Good night, Cardozo.
- Run fast!

Go. Very good.

You're welcome, Cardozo.

Oh, my ass is grass.

- What?
- I'm going to jail, for God's sake.

At 85 years old,
I'm going to be raped in a cell.

- Just what I needed.
- But you still have a job, right?

Why aren't you hugging me?

I was handling it perfectly.

I was going to get four months' salary.

Now I won't get a single penny.

What did I do to you?

What did I do to you, Rifkin,
to deserve this?

My name's not Rifkin.
Rifkin is my crook of a doctor.

Who the hell are you if you're not Rifkin,
Mobutu, nor Rappaport?

- Who the hell are you?
- Just now, I was Clara Lemlich.

A broad. Just what I needed.

You use who you need for the occasion.

Oh, the glow is gone.

The girl is gone.

Who is that?

- That's nobody.
- That's our kid, right?

Not "our" kid, no.

It's my kid, okay?

- I need to discuss something with him.
- No. You're not talking to him.

Listen carefully to me,
you don't mess with this guy.

He'll kill you,
and then he'll come and kill me.

So you keep quiet, you don't say a word.

- Just stay here.
- Okay.

See you tomorrow.

Let's go, Rodrigo.

Who is this old guy?

- I don't know, I don't know him.
- Move.

Where do you live, old man?

First, I'm going to tell you where I work.

At the 19th Precinct.

Captain Menéndez Roberts. Narcotics.

Really? I asked you where you live.

- Around here, more or less.
- Really? I'll go with you.

- No, no need.
- Come on, old man. It's just 1,000 pesos.

No, son. I don't need it. Thank you.

- You don't need it?
- No.

Now it's 2,000. Fee went up.

What a coincidence.

Just this morning I saw a guy
with four or five little dogs

walking them all together on a leash.

I'll do the same.

I'll get you, I'll get that old asshole,
and you'll both give me 2,000, got it?

No, we had a different arrangement.

Inflation, you know?

Go on, old man.
Move it, I don't have all day.

- And you too, go! Move your ass.
- Okay, let's go.

- Is this geezer deaf?
- He's coming.

- Move your ass.
- Stop!

I never argue with an angry person.

I learned that on these same streets
70 years ago.

I had just arrived here,
and I didn't even speak Spanish.

We were all on someone's menu.

The problem is, with us,
you picked the wrong dish.

With Antonio and me,
you're eating your own.

We also live on the street.

We also look Death in the eye every day,

just like you, Rodrigo.

You're angry, and you're right to be.

I'm furious too.

But the problem is at the top.

The ones who pull the strings.

Because you, me, and Antonio
have the same enemy,

and we have to stick together.

Shake my hand!

There you go.

- 5,000 pesos. Did you hear me?
- Ouch.

In advance, or I'll kill you,
you old piece of shit.

- No, I can't.
- You can.

- Give me all your money.
- I won't.

No. I have 40,000 pesos.

I would gladly share them with you,
but not like this.

Not like this?

Yes, like this. Give me the 40,000
or I'll stab you right here.

- Think about this.
- Stay out of this.

- No.
- Stay out of this! Stay there.

Stay there or I'll poke you full of holes.
You hear?

And you, old man,
give me the 40,000 pesos now.

- Give me your money or I'll kill you.
- No. Here.

What the hell, old man?

- Motherfucker!
- Take that!

What now?

What are you doing? Do you want to die?

No, Rodrigo!

Tell him how things are around here.

It's your fault, old man.

Mister.

Mister, get up.

Come on.

Don't joke around.

Get up, please.

Help!

Please help me! Over here!

Someone please help me!

Here!

Get up, mister.

Help, please!

We're here! Please help!

Somebody…

Help!

You sap, why wander in sorrow

With no real reason at all?

Who told you life is all heartache

Only deception, only the fall?

After the blackest night

the sun will always shine

So? What did you think?

That kid really was scared shitless, huh?

Yes, sir, that punk
won't bother us anymore.

Bam, I hit him with my stick!
Bam, another blow!

He had more than enough.

Tell me something, Rocky Balboa.

Are you going to stay here?

Because if you stay here,

no offense, but I'm getting
the hell out of here.

I knew you would worry about my health.

It's nothing, just a mild sprain.

I know how to fall.

And knowing how to fall
is half the battle.

The doctors in the ER liked me too.

They treated me almost like a human being

and I gave them the 40,000 pesos as a tip.

I ended up without the money anyway,

but I still had my principles.

Either you leave or I leave.

That kid won't come back, Antonio.

He's looking for easy money.

- He doesn't want any trouble.
- Well…

And if he comes back,
I'm going to explain to him, as a peer,

that we're in the same trap.

Since you get along so well,
I'll leave you alone to talk it out.

Wait. Don't leave.

A friendship like ours is a rarity.

- We have to protect it. Get it?
- What friendship?

There was never any friendship.

- Why not?
- I don't even know your name.

But you helped a fallen comrade.

I'd have done the same for any lame dog.

- Really?
- Let me tell you something.

When I saw you lying there, almost dead,

I said to myself,
"Antonio, that will never happen to you."

Oh, look!

- Look at this.
- Daddy!

That kid left his knife behind.

- You see that?
- Yes.

And he'll surely come looking for it.

And I'm going to give it to him.

That's negotiation.
That's how you win people over.

And I'll do it far away from you,

so he'll realize you and I
are not connected.

The Cossack loses his sword,
and you return it to him.

Knowing how to back down
is the other half of the battle.

You keep falling
and I'll keep backing down.

Let's see who finishes the game
with more bones in one piece.

You can't pay that little punk
for your right to exist, Cardozo.

The shop is closing for a siesta.
Come back at five, mister.

That's it, go to sleep.

Give the world what it wants, as always.

Daddy!

- What?
- Dad!

- My God.
- What happened to you?

- Nothing.
- What? Are you okay?

Yes, I'm fine.

Don't worry.

- But I--
- Just a sprain.

Was it your hip?

No, just a sprain.

What about your forehead?

- This?
- There, yes.

- Just a little scratch.
- A little scratch?

- Was it another fight?
- What fight? I never fight.

Oh, really?

What about last month,
when you attacked the butcher?

I didn't attack the butcher.

I attacked the meat.

At those prices,
it was practically begging for it.

But that's illegal.
You threw things around, you made a mess.

Now you're criminalizing social protest?

No. You're the criminal here.
You can't do that.

Sit down, Dad. Let's talk.
Can you tell me what happened?

- Nothing.
- Don't say that.

- Tell me.
- Nothing. A confused, oppressed kid.

Another victim of this perverse society.

- That's all.
- A mugger?

No. What?

You fought with a mugger?

I didn't fight. We were talking.

- I can't believe it.
- And we came to an impasse.

Don't tell me anymore.
It's my fault for leaving you alone.

I have to keep an eye on you.
Can't let you out of my sight, Dad.

- Look at the things you do.
- Stop, you're scaring me.

I'm scaring you?

That's great. Well, I live in terror.

Every time the phone rings, I jump.

It's the police. It's the hospital.
Dad, what happened to you?

You were doing fantastic a month ago.

But this morning a guy called me.
This man called…

Menéndez Roberts.

- He called you?
- Yes.

What did he say?

"Tell ENOUGH that the Cardozo issue
has been settled."

Amazing!

"Please pass this message on
to Mr. Rifkin."

I'm guessing that you are this Rifkin.

I was yesterday, at least.

And who will you be tomorrow?

Look, Dad.

I came here today to tell you

that this is the last time
I'm covering for you.

You didn't rat me out, did you?

No, I didn't rat you out. But that's it.

This year alone I've been
the Telefe news desk,

the 24th District Office,

the San Martín National Institute,

the Ombudsman's Office, and ENOUGH.

ENOUGH is a great name, right?

No, this is enough.

Stop. Look at you.

My own daughter has already forgotten
what a moral principle is.

Principle?

What principle?
There are no principles here. It's fraud.

This is a personal, daily fraud.

This is a one-man reign of terror.
And I'm the one who's terrified.

Three weeks ago, I got to my office

and I was told
a federal officer had called

to check if I was still on good behavior.

It was important you experienced firsthand

what it's like to be persecuted
and watched.

Persecuted?

You frighten me, Ms. Cohen.

I'm afraid of what you would do to me
out of what you think is love.

I'm afraid of your interrogations.
Torture sessions, frankly.

What interrogations, Daddy?

The questions you ask me
to check if I'm senile.

"What did you do yesterday, Dad?"

"What did you have for lunch today, Dad?"

One wrong answer, and you get me a nurse.

Two wrong answers,
and you send me to a home.

My biggest fear is that one day
I'm going to wake up groggy

and you're going to put me in a home.

Or even worse, make me to live with you.

Siberia, by way of La Horqueta.

There are very few things
that frighten me.

Well, just one, actually.

You!

When you come to my house,
I don't answer the doorbell.

Please, stop following me.

There aren't enough parks in Buenos Aires
to hide from you.

Daddy!

Don't call me Daddy.

I'm Dad, as always.

Would you rather I call you
Dr. Engels, then?

Ah!

Did you really think you fooled me?

Dr. Engels, the psychoanalyst.

Dr. Federico Engels,
of the Freudian Institute.

Come on!

Then why did you answer the letters?

Because having a normal conversation
with you is practically impossible.

It seemed like the best way
for you to listen.

I write to Dr. Engels
and I tell him what I think.

- That was clever.
- Thank you.

At least you're still smart.

You may have lost your passion,
your ideals--

Stop it, Daddy.

I remember as if it were yesterday

when you thought the world didn't belong
to the highest bidder.

Not today, Daddy. Not this tirade.

This was, of course,
before Gorriti Real Estate.

Before you traded Marx and Lenin
for Dolce & Gabbana.

At least come up with a new joke, okay?

The queen of condos.

With 300-dollar boots,

a traitor to your name.

A shitty name.

Clara is not a shitty name.

Clara Lemlich. She stood for something.

And I never have, right?

Clara Lemlich,
who stood up for her ideals.

Here we go.

November, 1948.

"I'm only nine years old."

I'm only nine years old.

Never before had so many people gathered.

- Thousands of shirtmakers.
- "I'm at the back…"

I'm at the back with my father.

He puts me on his shoulders so I can see.

A general assembly had been called.

The first speaker was Gompers,
then Monserrat Bengorea,

Palacios, and Benvenuto.

They all gave fine speeches.

They speak of bosses
who value property more than life,

and profit more than the people.

All beautiful speeches, beautiful words.

But the assembly was still a little cold.

"Until suddenly…"

Until suddenly, right next to me,

this skinny girl,
this teenager, stands up,

and she runs to the stage.

And she fearlessly
gets up among the greats.

And she starts shouting in Yiddish
to hundreds of people.

And very few people speak Yiddish,
as you can imagine.

But she had the power to make everyone
understand what she was saying.

That girl was Clara Lemlich.

"I am a worker,

one more of those who suffer
inhumane working conditions."

"I am fed up with words

that don't bring us warmth,
don't lessen our hunger,

nor calm our indignation."

"I propose that a general strike
be called immediately."

There is a moment of absolute silence.

And then this sort of roar
erupts from the crowd,

feet pounding the floor…

The delegate asks for approval.

And the thousands of people roar, "Yes!"

With one voice.

"Are you sure?"

"Are you willing
to give your lives for this?"

Three thousand hands go up.

And my father,
who was holding me, he says to me,

"Raise your hand, son.
Raise your hand, because I swear it."

And my little hand goes up.

And my nine-year-old heart
is beating like a drum

while my father
and thousands of others took the oath.

"If I become a traitor to the cause
I now join,

may this hand wither
on the arm that holds it."

- "And the delegate…"
- And the delegate shouts…

- "A general strike has been declared!"
- "A general strike has been declared!"

- And then everyone…
- And then everyone cheers, Clara!

Years later, you were born

with a powerful scream.

And I told your mother,

"Esther, that's the strength
of Clara Lemlich."

- "That's her name."
- "That's her name!"

- "That's the passion you were born with!"
- "That's the passion you were born with!"

My baby girl.

- Let's go over here.
- That's beautiful, Dad.

Yes.

Now, 60 years later,

I realize she'd given birth to the KGB.

Go to hell, Dad.

If you swear you won't
follow me there, I'll go.

Dad, Clara isn't just a name to me.

Clara, to me, is a curse.

Everyone at school, when they turned ten,

were given, I don't know, a bicycle.

You gave me a copy of Das Kapital.

I was ten years old, Dad.

Do you remember Patricia?
The one with the bangs?

Yes, of course I remember.

My only friend.

One day she said she believed in God.

I was completely confused.

"Dad, Patricia said she believes in God.
What do I say?"

"Tell her it will pass."

And I told her that,
and she told her mother.

Her mom told her dad.
And he told everyone.

The next day,
there was nobody on the whole block

who wanted to play with me.

I was alone.

My entire childhood was spent alone.

Injustice.

You held to your own ideals,
and I admired you.

You left the Party, I respected you.

You protested for human rights,
for Malvinas sovereignty, for democracy.

You protested, and it was your own voice,
not mine or anyone else's.

You wanted to change the world
and you loved it.

Yes, I loved it.

- And you changed.
- Dad, we all change.

What doesn't change is the world.

- What happened to you?
- What happened to me?

Dad, I got married,
I had two children, I lived my life.

I fight the battles I can win.
I'm smarter than before. That happened.

And now the whole block
wants to play with you.

You married Ricky, the smiling surgeon.

By overcharging and fixing rich people,

he bought a house in La Horqueta.

There, your children are firm believers
in television via Netflix.

And all the kids play with them.

That's the new utopia.

Everyone plays with everyone.

Not me.

I keep my enemies, I nourish them.

- I don't forget about them.
- And what do you do?

You picket at the butcher shop.

My God, everything is so easy for you
that I swear, I envy you.

You know which side you're on.
But why are you fighting old wars?

Your revolution does not exist.
It's old. It's over.

Have you seen the people,
the beloved masses, lately?

They don't give a fuck.

And I don't have the time
to go to your revolution.

I'm really busy, Dad.

I have to go to work.

I'll give where I get something in return.
Do you understand?

I was wrong.

You're not even smart anymore.

I know things haven't changed.

Do you think I'm an idiot?

All the more reason, then,

that the only response to the outrages

is still to be outraged, you got it?

To be outraged!

I can't take it anymore, Daddy. Stop.

Hello, Rappaport.

Stop, Dad.

Hello, Rappaport.

I'm not playing.

Come on, you loved it when you were a kid.

But now I don't remember it.

Rappaport, how's the family?

I'm not Rappaport.

How's the shoe store?

I'm not Rappaport.

Hi, Rappaport. How are you doing?

I'm not Rappaport.
And don't pat me on the back.

And who do you think you are

to tell me how I should greet Rappaport?

You're mad at Dad.

Forgive me.

Forgive me, Daddy.

I have to do something about you.

No, sweetie, you don't
have to do anything.

I want you
to move out of this neighborhood.

I want you to stop wandering the streets,
I want you safe.

And I'm quite determined.

- Excuse me, I have things to do.
- Where are you going, Daddy?

Dad, listen to me, please.
Let's sit down here, okay?

I want to tell you something
I've been thinking about.

Listen to me.

Look…

I’m going to give you three options, okay?
And you have to choose one.

First option, you come to live with me.

- Your own room, an en-suite bathroom--
- Rejected.

Second option,

Ricky, the smiling surgeon,
found a very nice place near our house.

I brought you this so you could see it.
The Larches Residence.

Rejected.

I only have the third option.

Not the one I'm happiest with,

but I'm willing to try it for a month
to see how it goes.

You stay at your house.

- Okay.
- But you don't hide from me.

You accept my visits,
at least once a week,

and you stop coming to the park.

I need you not be out on the streets, Dad.

Plus, you have to go every noon
to this other place.

I toured this one. Lovely.

They will give you lunch
and there are activities in the afternoon.

It's the Uspallata Senior Center.

The what center?

- The Uspallata Center.
- Oh.

They're going to give you… Look.

Activities. Read it.

"One o'clock."

"Dr. Alfredo Mantovani
will present an audiovisual guide

on hygiene and prophylaxis
during old age."

"We Love Hygiene."

Well…

"Two o'clock. We Love Folk Music.
A Gaucho guitar jam."

That's nice.

"And at 3:30 p.m.,
the We Love Arts and Crafts workshop,

supervised by Mrs. Graciela Raimúndez."

Okay. Let's recap, then.

We have an exile at La Horqueta,

we have the devil's island,
and we have an "oldergarten."

Rejected, rejected, and rejected.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm leaving.

Kiss for Daddy.

Lots and lots of kisses.
There we go, thank you.

I'm going to court, Dad.

I went to see a lawyer
after your takeover of the butcher shop.

I can get myself declared your guardian.

He says there's plenty of evidence

that proves you're physically
and mentally incapable

of managing on your own.

A whole history of attacks, threats,

and impersonating other people.

Daddy, I see you here like this,
with that walker.

I want to protect you.

I'm begging you,

don't make me call that lawyer.

If you run away, I will find you.

I'm prepared to have you hate me
if that's what it takes.

Are you being serious?

Yes.

Clarita, I have to tell you something.

I wrote a letter for you to read
after I'd died,

but I think it's better that you know now.

What's going on? You're scaring me.

Your mother and I,

we had a great fondness for each other.

I want you to always remember that.

New Year's, 1959.

We were celebrating
at the Young Workers Club,

and, in between glasses of cider,

a little "dialectical materialism" here,

a little "surplus value" there,

and we'd always manage
to pick up some girl.

And suddenly, we get the news from Cuba.

Fidel had entered Havana.

The revolution had triumphed.

There was a heated discussion
about what to do, what not to do,

as if we could have done something
from Villa Crespo, right?

People started debating strategies.

Everyone was fighting, arguing.

And then I see this woman sitting there

with tears falling from her face
and onto the radio.

It was Esther, your mother.

And I felt so much tenderness.

Years later, you were born,
my precious daughter.

It was good, everything was perfect.

Until the month of October 1992.

The 3rd of October.

What happened then?

I fell in love.

I fell in love, Clarita,
for the first and only time in my life.

My heart burst.

Dad, I don't know what to say.
But look, you're only human.

She was 20 years old, and I was 53.

- What?
- Yes.

- Where did you meet her?
- At the Israeli Association Library.

I'm at the main table,

and I see this lovely girl, Ana Grimberg,

who is studying.

She looks up and smiles at me.

I can't even speak.

She goes back to her book.

She has such a sad look.

You can tell she's alone.

She gets up to leave.

I should talk to her.

Will I have the courage?

And I talk to her.

I talk to her

and words spill out between us for hours,

and, days later, in her little apartment
on Finochietto Street.

It was the happiest time of my life.

She tells me that I saved
her from committing suicide.

I saved her just in time, Clarita.

Just in time.

Thanks to me, she didn't die.

- Ah.
- But I'm married to Esther.

And there's nothing that can be done.

She moved to Israel to start a new life.

Six months later, I receive a letter.

It said, "There's a baby."

A little girl.

And then, every year or two,

another letter, a short one.

And then, silence.

Never again.

Three months ago, I received a telegram
from the Israeli Embassy

saying that a Sergeant Grimberg
would be coming to see me

the following Friday
at five in the afternoon.

And at five o'clock on the dot,
Sergeant Grimberg shows up.

And it's a woman.

Anyway, Sergeant Grimberg

is my daughter.

Thirty-two years old.

Looks just like her mother. Beautiful.

She came to Buenos Aires
specifically to meet me.

And she's taking me to live with her.

That's why I had to tell you.

Next month, we're going to Israel.

And that's where I'll spend my final days.

So there you have it.

You don't have to worry about anything.

How can I not worry, Dad?
What you're telling me is…

It's not easy for me either, sweetheart.

But you can see why I had to tell you.

Do you get it?

Huh?

- I want to meet her.
- Of course.

She's your sister.

- When can I meet her?
- The day after tomorrow, on Friday.

For lunch. My treat.

No, let me pay for it, Daddy,
so we can go somewhere nice.

Okay.

Okay. Congratulations.

You finally have what you wanted,
a soldier daughter.

No, sit down.
Where are you going, sweetie?

I'm running late, Dad.

My sled is double-parked
and Siberia is far away.

- See you on Friday.
- Come, sit down.

See you Friday, Dad.

Come here, Clarita.
Wait a minute, Rappaport.

Hello, Rappaport!

Rappaport, what happened to you?

You used to be tall and blonde.

And now…

Rappaport…

Rappaport.

Rappaport.

You made it all up.

Obviously.

What a goddamn son of a bitch.

To your own daughter.

I did it to save a life.

My own.

What a son of a bitch, my God.

They wanted to send me to a nursing home.

It was no time for hesitation.

I've never met a bigger son of a bitch

in the history of sons and bitches.

You would've gone like a lamb
to the concentration camp

to be hung from the larches.

I would never have done that
to my own daughter. Never.

She's not my daughter anymore.
She's a collaborator.

Plus, you won't get away with it.
The day after tomorrow, on Friday…

On Friday, I'll be in Quemú Quemú,
or Hong Kong.

Quemú Quemú… Please.

You won't even make it downtown like that.

I'll go somewhere.
A place where they can't find me.

Really? What about your daughter?
She'll be left thinking you're dead.

What kind of a man are you?

You don't give a damn
about anyone, old man.

I'll leave her a letter. That's it.

I'll send her a letter
to explain the reasons for my behavior.

Done.

Rodrigo?

No, it can't be Rodrigo.
That guy's a lot bigger.

What a lovely drawing, Laurita.
It looks just like it.

How did you find me?

Seek and you shall find, gorgeous.

You owe me something, right?

Yes.

Here you go.

Wait. You owe me 500 grand.
This is not even 100.

Hey.

Hey, come here.

Come here. Come on.

- What is it?
- Come here.

- Let me explain.
- What?

That the park is full
of assholes and junkies?

I couldn't get the money, but I will.

You used to call me, desperate,
at 3:00 in the morning,

did I ever say,
"I can't get you any coke"?

- No.
- Did I ever fail you?

No. I know, I apologize.

Fuck! Folks with no morals
get on my nerves!

Come back here, bitch.

Come here!

Stay still!

Play it cool, damn it.

You need to take me seriously, Laurita.
Take me seriously.

Because if you don't,
I won't get my money back.

And if I don't get my money,
you won't live to see old age.

- Tomorrow, eight o'clock, at the gazebo.
- Give me more time, please. I can't--

Come here.

Hey, listen to me.

Don't ever say "I can't," Laurita.

You're the little engine that could, okay?

Go and ask your parents.

Sell something.

- Or go to a corner and sell yourself.
- No.

But I will get my money back.

- Tomorrow, eight o'clock, at the gazebo.
- No.

And don't you dare skip town, sweetie.

That would be a mistake.

Jesus, man.

What a shit city.

It makes you feel
like you're a piece of shit too.

Bye, gorgeous. See you tomorrow.

Miss!

Miss!

Are you okay, miss?

Oh, dear…

Oh, come on!

Here. Here you go.

Take this if you need it, sweet girl.

Thank you.

That's okay. Don't mention it.

Was that guy a loan shark?

No, he's a dealer.

He's a seller.

- He sells drugs.
- And you don't have the money to pay him?

Oh, God.

Look, take my advice,
and leave as soon as you can.

And as far away as possible too.

Leave the city, if you have to.

I don't know…

Take a train
without even knowing its destination.

- But leave, my dear. Listen to me.
- No.

Why? Why do I have to leave?

I'm getting away from all of that.

I haven't taken anything for three months.

I enrolled in art school.

- Do you want me to show you?
- Of course, my dear.

I come to the park every day.

I spend all my time drawing.

Because I'm trying to do
something good with my life.

But it's not enough.

No, don't do that
to your drawings, my dear.

No, those are so pretty. Don't do that.

Just take my advice,
leave soon and go far away.

No.

There's no escaping these guys.

They're like a chain store
with branches everywhere.

She's right.

Alternate measures are called for.

Tell me, miss.

Do you have lunch plans on Friday?

I don't know.

I'll be hospitalized on Friday.
Or maybe dead.

No, you're not going to be hospitalized.

You need to trust me.

You're not going to die. You will not die.

Okay, my dear?

Time?

Ten to eight.

Very good.

What's my name?

This again? How many times
do I have to say it?

What's my name?

Donato.

Full name.

Severino Donato.

Better known as…

"Hoarse Throat" Donato.

Is that okay? Did I pass?

Commissioner Severino
"Hoarse Throat" Donato.

Okay, now you. What's your name?

My name is "Fuck You."

What's your name?

"Stutter Mouth" Robledo.

"Stuts" Robledo.

Why "Stutter Mouth" Robledo?
Do you have a stutter?

Do you have a hoarse throat?

Oh, please.

"Stuts" Robledo, sir. Stuts Robledo.

He won't ask for my life story
before he shoots me.

It may come up in conversation.

In situations like this,
details are everything.

"Stuts" sounds like a machine gun.

Stuts.

You introduce yourself and say,

"Sergeant Evaristo 'Stuts' Robledo."

No, I'm not saying that shit.

I'm going to do what I said
I was coming here to do, period.

Which is a lot to ask already.

I'm here smoking.

Smoking.

I haven't touched a cigarette in 32 years.

I meet you and I'm smoking. Unbelievable.

Look, I'm doing it for that girl,
so she doesn't have to prostitute herself,

but I'm not staying a minute longer
than necessary.

You're a ticking time bomb, old man.

I ask you to look at the record, sir.

What harm have I caused you? Explain.

That little thug wasn't here yesterday,
and he's not here today.

We don't have to pay his toll anymore.
Is that correct?

For now.

What about your job?

Did anyone mention your dismissal
after my chat with Menéndez Roberts?

For now.

So, when this guy gets here,

you approach him
and say, "Good evening."

"Sergeant Evaristo 'Stuts' Robledo."

"Commissioner Donato
wants a word with you."

"They call him Hoarse Throat."

You bring him here and that's it.

Your work is over.

And then I take a hike.

I go home and find out the rest
when I watch the news.

I just don't understand.

If you're the one
who's going to talk to him,

why do you need me?

- I don't understand that.
- Details, Antonio.

This gives the impression
that I have a staff, an organization.

Now, Cardozo. Now.

I'm backing down.

No, it's that way. Go that way.

What's up, old man?

Robledo, Evaristo. "Stuts."
Nice to meet you.

Listen, my boss…
General Commissioner Donato, over there.

He wants to see you.

- Your boss?
- Yes.

I'm part of his staff.
He's the one who wants to see you.

- Who are you?
- Part of his staff.

But who are you?

Robledo.

Evaristo. Stuts.

You look familiar.
Don't we know each other?

No.

No, sir. You don't know me.

No, look. You don't know me, because I…
You know? Look, I…

I'm no one.

- What do you mean, no one?
- I'm no one.

I don't exist.

No, but listen.
Please pay attention because…

The one who is someone,
and who wants to see you is him…

I can't, I'm busy.

- He's Commissioner--
- I said I can't, I'm busy!

Oh, I didn't get that.

Apparently, he can't. He's busy, he says.

Listen, you punk.

Are you talking to me?

Yes, you, Al Capone.

- Come here.
- What do you want?

I want to not yell. Come here.

Laurita Martínez. Five hundred grand.

Does the name sound familiar?
Does that amount sound familiar?

What?

Over here, kid.

Come and chat with Daddy.

I'll leave you to it, so you can talk.

What's this about Laura Martínez?
Who are you?

I am Commissioner Donato.

- If that little whore thinks…
- That whore is my daughter.

Sit down.

- Okay.
- Look at that.

That girl has a father.

I'm not her biological father,
I'm a different kind of father.

I have many children.

I'm Hoarse Throat Donato.

I've never heard of you.

At your level, of course not.

You youngsters never do your homework.

Then you end up lying in a ditch.

Let me educate you.

You probably work with the 32nd Precinct.

I oversee the entire South area.

From Belgrano Avenue
to the Riachuelo River.

You can imagine
that I don't have time for minutia.

I leave that to Gordillo.

Rogelio Gordillo.

"Two-Heads."

Stuts!

He doesn't know Two-Heads.

Don't mess with Stuts, okay?

He gives guided tours
of places no one comes back from.

- Is that clear?
- Cut to the chase, old man.

Don't do that. It annoys me,
and that's not good for you.

Let's talk about your problem.

That girl, Laurita.
I'm not happy with her.

The fact that she got hooked on cocaine,

I view it as a personal failure.

I admit it.

But she tells me that you hit her,
and that doesn't make me happy either.

I understand you need
to control your territory,

but we'll deal with this ourselves.

This is none of your business.

She's family,
and she won't bother anyone anymore.

Do you understand? Forget about her.

You never knew her.

Forget her, or you're the one
who's going to become a memory.

Are you telling me
two old guys like you will hurt me?

Of course not.

We don't hurt anyone.

I'm not going to fight you.
You could kill me with one touch.

Although you should not mess with Stuts.

Are you kidding me, man?
Enough with this nonsense.

What were you doing here yesterday?

- I don't remember.
- You don't?

You were using this.
I have eyes in the back of my head.

- I'm warning you as a courtesy.
- Tell me where that girl is.

You are making a serious mistake.

Fuck you both!
I hate it when people disrespect me!

First that girl,
and now these two old farts.

Do I have a sign on me that says "idiot"?

- I don't know, sir, I don't see well.
- Enough.

Tell me who you are and where the girl is.

- I am Hoarse Throat Donato.
- I don't give a shit! Where is she?

I don't care!

The precinct knows I'm here.

If I'm not back by nine,
they'll send people.

You still think I'm an idiot?
Tell me where the girl is.

I'm not authorized to say anything.

Listen, I live in these streets.

You're disrespecting me in my home!
Tell me where that bitch is!

- Where is she?
- I'm Commissioner Donato.

Let's see how you defend yourself,
Commissioner.

- Get off me!
- Where are your people? I don't see them.

Let him go!

Let that man go, damn it!
Or I'll call the police!

Stuts can talk!

There's one on this corner.
I'll go get him.

- Come back here.
- I'll go get him.

Old man!

Whoa! What is this?

What is this? This is a crazy old man
with a knife in his hand.

You can't even see me!

I see a blue shadow with blood inside.

Come closer and I'll prick you.
I swear I'll get you, you punk.

Enough, Stuts. I'm leaving.

Fucking old guys really get on my nerves.
Where the hell is that girl?

You shit in your pants,
you son of a bitch!

No, Cardozo.

- You ran away, you asshole!
- Cardozo!

This is my spot, you understand?

My name is Antonio Cardozo, you coward!

You mess with me again
and I'll slice your balls off!

I'll have your balls in a salad, damn it!

Oh, no! No, you son of a bitch!

No, you son of a bitch! No!

Cardozo!

Cardozo, come here.

Sit here if you like.

I just--

Not a word, please!

I just wanted to tell you

that, frankly,
I really missed you, Cardozo.

You said it.

I would also like to express my joy
that you're back from the hospital.

The only thing I regret

is that you didn't let me in to visit you.

Of course I wouldn't let you in.

You'd tell them you're a doctor
and amputate my foot.

I spent 12 beautiful days without you.

You're right. I don't blame you.

No, I told them,

"Even if he says
he's Favaloro reincarnated,

don't let him in."

I don't blame you.

- And I've stopped making things up.
- Oh, sure.

I'm serious.

Ever since the incident
with that miscreant,

an episode in which, if I may say,
you behaved magnificently.

Not since Sergeant Cabral
has this country seen such courage.

Ever since that day,
I have been only myself.

That Friday, Clara came for lunch,

and I told her the truth.

The poor thing.

She had tears in her eyes,

and I decided to tell her the truth.

I will admit that the fact
that this Laurita girl

never showing up again

helped me make that decision.

But I could have made up another lie,
and I didn't want to.

My mouth is dangerous.

It turned you into Stuts Robledo,
and you almost got killed.

It made up an Israeli family,
and broke my daughter's heart.

I have retired my mouth.

Since we're talking about your mouth,

the committee's lawyer found out
that ENOUGH doesn't exist.

They put me out on my ass,
and the boiler too.

No severance at all.

I'm deeply sorry.

And you promised that Laurita girl

that you would
help her with that gangster.

And now,

who knows what's become
of that poor sweet girl.

And since we're doing inventory,

Rodrigo.

He's back, right?

He charges 3,000 pesos now.

So you lost by a landslide. Five-nil.

I assure you that my wounds
need no more salt.

And another thing,
I'm not Sergeant Cabral.

Cabral was beaten to a pulp, but I wasn't.

On the contrary, I almost beat
that son of a bitch to a pulp myself.

If I ever catch him… Look at this.

Do you see this?

A piece of that punk.

It's from his jacket, but still.

I almost took a slice off him
before he got me.

Do you know what I saw

in my hospital bed, floating above me?

I saw that idiot's look
of absolute terror.

His eyes got wide as melons
when I took out my knife.

He froze.

He shit himself.
The guy didn't understand what happened.

How could he understand? How could he?

My God. Look…

Even with my horrible eyesight,

I could see his eyes completely wide open,

staring at me.

Because he saw me.

I assure you that he saw me.

He saw me.

Listen to me, I guarantee you
it will be a long time

before that son of a bitch
wants to mess with me again.

I have to get this framed.

Unfortunately, I have to go now.

That's the best news I've heard all day.

They're expecting me
at the nursing home at noon.

The bell rings at 12,
and if I'm late, I get scolded.

I'm in kindergarten again.

I have to hurry,
because Clara calls me every day.

Oh. And I no longer
come to the park on weekends.

I spend them in La Horqueta.

At the hospital, they told me
you'd been discharged.

That's why I came here,
to see if I could find you.

Because I owe you an apology,
and I also owe you the truth.

My name is León Schwartz.

That is my real name.

I was an activist in my youth.
That's the truth.

But then life, family, and children

made me worry about
putting food on the table.

And for the last 41 years
of my active life,

I was a waiter at the Imperio Café
in Villa Crespo.

That's all.

A waiter.

I retired at 73 years old.

I would have liked
to work a little longer,

but I talked too much,
and that bothered some customers.

So I am now, and have been my whole life,

a nobody.

An absolute nobody.

That's the truth.

Well, goodbye, Antonio.

I wish you and your knife all the best.

Oh, wow.

You can't stop lying.

I told you the truth.

What truth, sir?

You don't know how to tell the truth.

Listen…

After what we've been through together,

tell me the truth.

I already told you the truth.
There's nothing more.

No, sir.

You, a waiter? Oh, please.

You must have been
so much more than a waiter.

Seriously, what were you?

I was a waiter, nothing more.

Just a waiter.

Except for a brief period

in the film industry.

What? You worked in the movies?

Well, you call it the movies,

we call it the film industry.

And what work did you do?

Well, I wouldn't call it work.

I was, for a brief period, a producer,
and a director/screenwriter.

Producer and director.

And screenwriter.

There you go. I knew you were lying!

That's a big deal!

- Well, one might say that.
- Yes.

It was a very difficult time.

The height of the 70s. Blacklists.

Our most talented artists
were either murdered or exiled.

Everyone was terrified.

The industry was completely paralyzed.

I had competed in Cannes

with a documentary

on the Latin American
liberation movements.

Holy shit, Cannes!

Yes, Cannes.
I heard a lot about that, yes.

It was a little passion project.

How could I have thought
it would win the Golden Shell?

No! What was the name of the movie?

The Bleeding Veins of Pachamama.

I have goosebumps.

What we lacked in money,
we made up for in courage.

- You get me?
- Sure.

Suddenly, the phone rings.

It's two in the morning.

No! Who was it?

The film industry.

"We need quick solutions,
decisive actions."

Imagine the context.

Yes, of course. I can imagine.

So, what do I do?

So? What did you do?

Well, that's a long story.

A very long and complicated story.

I'll try to summarize it for you.

STRANGERS IN THE PARK

BASED ON THE PLAY
I'M NOT RAPPAPORT, BY HERB GARDNER

Subtitles by: Jerrold Cameron