All language subtitles for Skin.in.Flames.2022.1080p.HMAX.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H264-SPWEB_track4_[eng]

SKIN IN FLAMES

The city's top hotel and they
make you haul your own luggage?

I can't imagine
what the worst one is like.

Come in, don't stand there.
Don't let them get the wrong idea.

Not even the presidential suite
gets presidential treatment.

Is this normal to you?

I don't think we'll ever agree
on what "normal" is.

Things here aren't like
in your country, Mr. Salomon.

I know. They're different to
anywhere else in the world.

Are you okay, Mr. Salomon?

It's nothing.

Too many memories, that's all.

Jesus Christ!

Look.

Sit down. Get comfortable,
if you can.

I'm sorry. We could do
the interview somewhere else.

No, here will be perfect.

Are you sure?

Please, make yourself comfortable,
Mr. Salomon.

Fine.

I'm afraid I haven't much time.
They're picking me up in half an hour.

Don't worry,
the Presidential Palace isn't far.

I know, but all the committee members
are coming, the ambassadors...

And the Minister...

The Minister
for Tourism and Communication.

-You've done your homework.
-It's my job.

Do you mind if I...?

Go ahead.

Thank you.

Have a drink, if you like.

No, I'm alright.

I've been dreaming
about interviewing you for years.

-No need to flatter me.
-I mean it.

It means a lot to me.

What paper did you say you work for?

What else?
The country only has one.

What happened to the other one?

They closed it down last month
for being unpatriotic.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Why?

-Aren't you sorry?
-It wasn't my newspaper.

Mine either.

When were you last here?

-Five years ago.
-Do you think it's changed?

There's democracy now.

A democracy
that also shuts down newspapers.

Yes, but it's still a democracy.

You should be proud of it,
especially you.

Me?

Yes, you.
How old are you, 28? 30?

You've lived most of your life
in wartime, right?

-Now, however...
-We're still at war, Mr. Salomon.

Not hearing the bombs
doesn't mean the war is over.

-But there's a peace treaty now.
-If you want to call it that.

-What would you call it?
-Do you expect me to thank you?

-What for?
-For the peace.

Me?

You, your country, the U.N.
What's the difference?

I'm just a photographer.

You're getting the prize for
your contribution to peace here.

-I didn't do anything.
-Can I quote you on that?

Your Spanish is good for
someone who learnt it at school.

No need to flatter me.

Shit!

-For God's sake!
-What is it?

-There's a woman down there. She's...
-She's naked.

She's dead!

She must've jumped
from one of the hotel windows.

-It's the tallest building in the city.
-For God's sake!

Some come here
to ensure an easy death.

For God's sake!

Right, now yes. Now yes.

I almost didn't come, you know?

Because of this, because of death

and because of today's date.

You've done your research,
you're a journalist.

You'll have done your job.

Because of the prize,
because of everything.

It's one thing to see it all on TV,

and another is being here.

No one notices.

A woman just killed herself
and no one notices.

People are still scared of
getting too close to the windows.

I'm going to freshen up.

We'll start the interview right away.

Make yourself comfortable.

Hi, gorgeous.

Hello, Dr. Arellano.

-They let you in without a problem?
-As always.

-How are you?
-Good. Lots of work, but good.

Sara... How is she?

Still in intensive care.

But is she better?

No change.

When can I see her?

It's still too soon, Ida.

But you told me
I could see her this week.

I was wrong.
She has to be isolated.

I don't get why
they're doing this to me.

Because it's the best for her.

The best for her
is to be with her mother.

Are you complaining?

-Are you complaining?
-No.

Yes, you're complaining,
and you have no reason to.

No, I'm not, I'm very grateful.

That's better.

I just want to be with her,
to give her a kiss,

to be by her side.

Remember,
any infection could be fatal.

Is that what you want?
To kill her with one of your kisses?

We're doing all we can.
Or aren't we?

Thank you.

It's alright.

I brought her favorite book,

for you to give to a nurse,
or... I don't know.

Sara loves to be read it before bed.

Ida.

The protagonist is a little pig

that travels in a balloon
and meets other animals.

Sara likes me doing the animal voices.
Will you tell the nurse to do that?

Otherwise, the story's not funny.

I can't promise anything.

She'll hear it, won't she?

Even if she's still...

I read that in a magazine

Of course.

-Whenever you want, we can start.
-Whenever you want, we can...

If you're not feeling well...

If you're not feeling well.

No. It's the humidity.

This damned humidity
rots my brain.

We should get this over with
as soon as possible.

Did you bring a recorder?

I'll take notes.

Why do you wear gloves?

-Excuse me?
-In this humidity, I'm surprised.

Is this part of the interview?

I have eczema. It's not pretty.

-Since when?
-Must we talk about my hands?

-Your hands are important.
-I don't see why.

Your hands took the most famous
photograph in history.

I think that makes them important.

Then let's talk about the photograph.

Does the question bother you?

I won't answer personal questions.
You should've been warned.

How do you feel about
our government awarding you

for the first international
prize for artistic merit?

Well, getting it fills me with pride.

For me, my profession,
and the State I represent.

The establishment of such an award

is a clear indication

of your government's efforts

to restore normality, democracy.

I know it's just a photograph,
but there's also...

what it represents for
your nation's recent past.

What will you do
with the million-dollar prize?

I'll donate it

to healthcare
and reconstruction programs.

Aren't taking any notes?

I will when you tell me
something I don't know.

-Don't you think it's too much?
-What?

A million dollars for a photo
you took twenty years ago.

It's not just any photo,
you said so before.

Exactly.

You've received all the awards.

Do you think you need
any more publicity?

This medal isn't publicity.

For me or the photograph,
I assure you.

Of course not,
but it is for this country.

What do you mean?

Our child mortality rate is 50%.

Over a third of the population
has the HIV virus,

the schools are destroyed,

and only the arms industry works.

And our government creates
an International Artistic Merit prize,

which they give to you.

Doesn't that sound like
a marketing campaign?

I won't make controversial statements.

No one's asking for them.
I just want honest statements.

Do you want them to close down
your newspaper too?

-The girl.
-What girl?

The girl in the photo.
What side was she on?

That doesn't matter.

She was on the losing side,

the side that 20 years on
is now in power.

Have you looked closely at the photo?

I have indeed,
more than I wanted to.

Then may I say that
you didn't understand it.

What's there to understand exactly?

That the photograph knows no sides.

It only shows what happened:

a little girl, six or seven years old,
flying through the air

because of a bomb
that exploded right behind her.

-Just that?
-Yes, just that.

It doesn't matter who dropped
the bomb or who the girl was.

You have to see
the essence of the image:

an innocent victim of horror.

-That's why it became a symbol.
-A symbol of what?

You know, a symbol of peace.

Is that what you think this is?

A girl with her hair and back
in flames is a symbol of peace?

-It isn't for you?
-No.

What does it mean to you?

Revenge.

Revenge?

Our people's misfortune
becoming a frivolous symbol

of Western guilt.

Need I remind you who sold the bomb
in your photo to the rebel guerrillas?

-Why are you telling me all this?
-Because it's the truth.

Look, miss, I'm sure the Minister,

with whom I'll shortly be dining,

wouldn't be pleased to know
that someone working for

-the regime's official paper thinks this.
-My patriotism is beyond doubt.

And it will remain so
when this interview is published.

You'd better hurry,
or you'll have nothing to publish.

You only have 20 minutes left.

In all this time,
I've seen your photo everywhere.

Everyone recalls it
from magazines and papers.

It's been on television.

Millions of replicas
have been made worldwide,

it's been on T -shirts,
hats, posters, everything.

In some cities it's even on
murals in the streets. Am I wrong?

-No, you know you're not.
-They've written books about it.

You yourself
have signed many copies.

It's been the topic of
dissertations and TV shows.

Some anti-globalization groups
have put it on their flag.

It's the first time
that something like this has happened.

Well, the same thing happened
to the shot of Che Guevara.

It wasn't the same. Don't be modest.

You're right. Why deny it?

You must be pleased.

It's the highest honor
a photographer could hope for,

-that people make the image their own.
-And make it a business.

Can you tell me
what's not a business today?

Even peace is.

Look, you just gave me the headline.

You wouldn't dare.

Relax, I'm just kidding.

Right.

So it's the highest honor
a photographer could hope for.

And you achieved it at 28.
What did you do after that?

I kept working as a photographer.

You couldn't aim any higher.

No, I didn't have the need.

But you never worked
as a war correspondent again.

-No.
-Why not?

Obviously because of my leg.

No other reason?

-Miss...
-There were other reasons, right?

I told you, I won't answer
personal questions.

If you won't, I'll have to
make up the answers.

You're a good journalist.

You know how to
put someone on the spot.

It's not my intention
to be so threatening.

What are you still doing here?

Excuse me?

Here, what are you doing?

You're young, educated,
speak different languages

and you can't stand this regime.
What are you still doing here?

I was born here.
And my people are buried here.

Don't you want a better life?

What do you mean? More money?

-For example.
-If I wanted more money,

I'd be blowing U.N. delegates

or foreign celebrities, like you.

Don't you want a more...
dignified life?

More comfortable,

with hot water, no blackouts.

Don't you want to be happier?

Do you really want to know
or are you just trying to be nice?

-I'm interested.
-You doubt anyone can be happy here?

Are you?

What are you writing?

Question: "Do you think
our people are happy?"

Answer:

"Recovering from
such a long, cruel war is hard,

but I'm sure the new government
is doing everything possible

to guarantee the people's well-being,

no matter what side they are on."

I couldn't have said it better.

-But you didn't answer my question.
-It's too personal.

Like the questions you're asking me.

But I'm not the famous one.

What else do you want to know?

Tell me about the photo.
The moment you took it. How was it?

You can get that from
any article on the topic.

I'd rather to hear it
from your own lips,... please.

It was the final days
of resistance in the capital.

The rebels controlled
half of the country

and had surrounded the city
weeks earlier.

The fall was only a matter of time.

The air attacks were constant,

two a day, maybe three.

Well, I don't need to tell you.

That day I was
at a school downtown.

It was run by some missionaries.

I had to take shots of the everyday life
of the children, the teachers,

of how they tried to carry on with
their lives as if nothing was happening.

You know, the human side of the war
for the Sunday supplement.

Suddenly, the sirens went off.

We all ran to the bomb shelter.
It wasn't far.

I got distracted taking pictures
and before I knew it,

the planes were already overhead.

I hurried,

but at the shelter entrance
I looked back at the school.

Then I saw her.

A girl had been left behind.
She ran out with a book under her arm.

In the middle of the street,
she stopped.

She had no idea where to go.

All the buildings in ruins
must've looked the same to her.

Poor girl.

She stood there, still, lost.

I got out my camera, focused,
and just then,

a bomb hit the school.

The flames engulfed everything
and the blast hurled her body

ten yards forward.

And for a moment,

just a split second,

as she flew through the air,

the little girl looked at me.

She looked at the camera.

I didn't realize
until I developed the photos.

I wanted to go and help her,

but a second shell
blew up next to me

and I lost consciousness.

And I lost my leg.

Later we found out that the resistance

kept ammunition
in schools and hospitals.

That's why the explosion was...

so violent.

Careful, don't dirty the dress.

I have to return it this afternoon.

Can I keep it?

You don't need it to leave the hotel.

You did bring your own clothes?

Yes.

And you never heard from
the girl again.

No. It was as if the earth
had swallowed her up.

I spent three weeks
in a Red Cross infirmary.

When I got out,

I tried to find her.
I assure you, I tried.

But no one knew anything about her.

Not even her teachers
or the missionaries at the school?

Some claimed to recognize her, but...

You know the priests' obsession
with giving a Christian name

to every orphaned child.

I moved heaven and earth
to find out her real name,

but it was in vain.

The girl came out of nowhere

and disappeared forever.

Why did you want to find her?
Did you feel guilty?

Well,

I wasn't even 30
when I took the photo.

Of course.

If I'd called out to her
while she was standing there,

she would've come to me
and none of this would've happened.

And the photo
would've never existed.

That's right.

And now... do you regret it?

I haven't asked myself
that question for years.

And, as a journalist,
you shouldn't either.

As a journalist, perhaps.

But I can't help thinking
about that poor girl.

She probably
wasn't aware of what happened.

She probably
didn't even know I was there.

Maybe not.
But what if she survived?

She would've seen
the photo years later.

Don't you think she wondered
about it a thousand times?

"Why didn't that man help me?"

-That's highly unlikely.
-That you would've helped her?

-That she's still alive.
-So you think she died?

I said unlikely, not impossible.

In that case, if the girl died,

wouldn't you have even more reason
to have wanted to help her?

Listen,

any moral question about this

I've asked myself thousands of times

and on a much deeper level
than you're attempting right now.

It's no good dwelling on
what we could've done.

You can't change the past.

What would you do
if you found her today?

The girl?

Imagine she's alive,

that she's a grown woman,
that she is, for example,

in one of the rooms of this hotel.

Imagine you saw her
in the hall or on the street.

-Would you recognize her?
-I don't know.

I think you would.

You must know her features by heart.

What's the first thing
you'd say to her?

Would you apologize?

The war wasn't my fault.

It's curious how your life
can change in a split second.

Any given day,
a bomb falls next to you,

or you see a little girl
coming out of school.

Or someone points a gun at you

and everything turns upside down.
Did you think about that before?

When?

At the window, when you saw
the woman who killed herself.

Yes, kind of.

It must be difficult for you,
considering what day it is today.

-You said so yourself.
-Let's not get off topic, shall we?

I'm sorry.

It's just that...
Well, you understand.

You're Frederick Salomon.

That says it all.
A living legend of photojournalism.

Don't exaggerate.

I can't help it.
I want to know all about you.

No one wants to know everything.

Have you ever received death threats?

Yes, anonymous ones.

E-mails lately.

What did they say?

What you attacked me about before.
How did you put it?

"Our people's misfortune becoming

a frivolous symbol of Western guilt."

It's curious.

One of downsides to fame:

you're suddenly responsible
for the misfortune of people

who live thousands of miles
away from you.

Naturally, I guess.
You got rich with a photo

you took in a country
that's only known poverty.

People could be offended.

Well,

I guess you have enough
for the interview, right?

Yes, with my research
and what you've told me.

Then if you'll excuse me...

It was a pleasure chatting with you.
Thanks.

One last thing.

What?

I can't believe
that you didn't think of it.

We need an image
for the interview.

Yes, of course.
Did you bring a camera?

No, I'll do a portrait.

A drawing?

It was my idea.

Photographing the world's
most famous photographer seemed...

too easy to me.
And since I'm good at drawing...

I've no doubt,
but will it take long?

Not long. It'll just be a sketch.
Take a seat and get comfortable.

Alright.

Don't worry, you'll look good.

Perhaps photographs can't lie,
but a drawing certainly can.

So can photographs, believe me.

Here, the dress.

You're not having a shower?

No need, I'll just sweat again.

Did you bring the pills?

Of course.

I don't like owing people,
much less you.

They're the usual.

When your daughter gets better,

give her a red one after lunch

and two green ones before bed.

This dosage worked for her, right?

They didn't take all the pain away,
but at least she could sleep at night.

And her coughing has stopped.

Now,

what do you say?

Thank you, Dr. Arellano.

You know I'm delighted to help you.

If there's any change...

I mean,

if she wakes up,
you will tell me right away?

Of course I will.

See you next week then.

Wait.

Don't leave yet.
I have a surprise for you.

A gift?

Maybe. I don't know yet.

I don't understand.

I'm meeting someone
at the lobby in ten minutes.

Don't move.

A doctor friend of mine from the U.S.

I asked him to study Sara's case.

Can he cure her?

Ida, your daughter's illness
is incurable, you know that.

Not here, but in America...

Not there either.
But with the right treatment

she could lead a normal life
for many years.

Maybe your government

would be interested
in sending her there.

It'd be a humanitarian gesture
well received

by public opinion worldwide.

My little girl in the West...

Slow down.

Before we do anything,
my friend has to approve it.

We have to be sure that Sara
can handle such a long trip

without complications.

I'm sure she will. She's strong.

And then...

we'd need the press
to follow the story.

That shouldn't be a problem.

They die for stories like this one.

When will they take her?

We'll see. If all goes well,
in a few weeks.

We have to monitor the coma
and her progress.

You're a very lucky woman, Ida.

Why didn't tell me all this before?

You're a very lucky woman.

Can I go too?

-Now? With my friend?
-No, to the U.S., with Sara.

Well, that's no piece of cake.

Journalists will want to talk to
the hero of the story, and that's you.

Do you realize that?
If everything goes well,

you'll be all over the news.
You'll be famous

I don't care about fame.
I only want my daughter to live.

Of course you do.

Why do you do all this for me?

That's what the U.N. is for,

to guarantee democracy,

write peace treaties
and help the less fortunate.

I'm serious.

Me too.

You want to save your daughter

and I want to save your government
by cleaning up its image.

It's win-win.

I don't give a fuck about
our government.

Don't swear, or I'll have to
wash your mouth out with soap.

-Is it going to take much longer?
-No. Don't move.

Are you hungry?

Did you have breakfast?

And dinner last night?

This can't happen,
you need to eat.

Otherwise, you won't have
the energy for anything.

Don't they pay you enough
at the factory where you work?

How the hell did this happen?

You've never told me.

I don't know. I've had it since
I was a kid. But I can't remember.

Dr. Arellano, can I ask you something?

Go ahead.

Why do you take off
your wedding ring when we meet?

Are you ashamed?

I do it out of respect.

Respect?

Yes.

For whom?

For her, I'm sure.

Do you think it's silly?

You can't understand.

I respect what the ring symbolizes.

My wife, of course,

but also marriage,
the sacrament, order.

Civilization is based on that,
on symbols.

Our civilization, and yours too,

in your own way.

I thought you took it off
because you loved your wife.

Yes, as well.

If I loved someone,

I wouldn't let him go
to the other side of the world.

Do you have any more chocolate?
Sara loves it.

Yes.

-Done. You can relax.
-Great!.

"Arellano", correct.

Where is he now?

-We're all done now, right?
-Don't you want to see it?

Alright, I'll be right down.

-I trust your talent.
-You've never seen anything like it.

My friend just got here.
He's waiting in his room for me.

Wait here. I'll be right back.

-Okay, I'll see it when it's published.
-Aren't you curious?

Go on, give it to me.

What the fuck is this?

Don't you like it?

How dare you...
This isn't fucking funny!

-You don't like it. How disappointing.
-Get out. Now.

-I tried my best.
-I said get the fuck out of here!

What's wrong?
Don't you see the resemblance?

Hang up right now.

What are you doing?

What a stupid question.

It's not like you.

I'm pointing a gun at you.

What do you want?

Pick up the drawing.

-Pick it up and look at it!
-Yes, I will.

There you go.

Look at it.

-I told you to look at it!
-Okay, okay, I'm looking.

How...

did you do it?

Now tell me. Do they look alike?

Why are you doing this to me?

Just answer my question.

Don't forget, I'm the interviewer.

Yes.

They look alike.

They've always told me
I'm good with faces.

I never forget one.

She has a look, right?

They say that daughters resemble
their fathers more than their mothers.

This is inhuman.

I thought it might be fun.

The hardest part was
recreating your famous photo.

Too many emotions.

But I'd say it came out pretty well.

It's just a sketch, but look.

Yes.

I included all of the details.

I even wrote the title
of the little girl's book.

Look!

Calm down.

And after traveling many miles,

the little pig's balloon landed
in the snake's country.

"Good morning", said the little pig.

"Good morning",

replied the snake, very sadly.

Don't make that face!
It's your creation,

the photo that made you famous.

The only difference is that
the girl isn't anonymous.

It's your daughter flying through
the air with her skin in flames.

It's your daughter
looking at you horrified,

about to be crushed like a bug.

Now doesn't she look like...
what did you call it...

a symbol of peace?!

What do you want from me?

Another obvious question, Mr. Salomon?

I could've killed you earlier,
even before the interview started.

But it would've been too easy,
even pointless.

And cowardly.

An execution should never be done
from behind, though they always are.

I wanted to see your face.

I wanted you to know
why you deserve to die.

And I wanted to get to know you,

maybe give you a second chance

if I saw the smallest shred
of remorse,...

"Why are you so sad?"

...a shred of pity.

"Because I don't have any friends,

all the animals are afraid of me,"

said the snake.

"My fangs are full of poison
and nobody comes near me".

-Which rebel group are you in?
-I'm no fanatic.

Look at yourself.

Don't insult me.

-You can't kill me.
-Why not?

"You don't scare me",
said the little pig.

"Why not? You should
be scared of me".

Half the hotel knows we're together.
At your office, mine...

They'll connect the dots.

They'll hear the gunshot.

In this city,
people don't hear gunshots anymore.

"It's not your fault
that your fangs are full of poison.

And if you cry so bitterly,
you can't be so mean."

I'm a respected journalist from
the regime's official paper.

This morning I sang
our national anthem

with my co-workers
and tonight I'll be shocked

to learn that I was the last person
to see you alive.

The snake looked at the little pig
with her snake eyes

filled with tears
and the little pig was touched.

"Can I pet you?", he asked.

-You couldn't.
-Sure I could.

"Of course you can",
whispered the snake with a smile.

The little pig slowly came over

and ran his little hoof
over the snake's scales.

"Your skin is soft.
I didn't expect that!"

There's money in my wallet.
Take it all. Take it!

How much are you offering me?

I don't know, 500 dollars.

Is that what your life's worth?
500 shitty dollars?

There are credit cards too.
Miss, please, take it all!

But leave me alone!

But instead of answering, the snake

opened her snake mouth,
showed her fangs

and... chomp! She tried to bite him.

The little pig stepped back, scared.

-"Why did you do that?"
-Why are you doing this to me?

-I'm doing you a favor
-To me?

You should thank me.

Why?

Not everyone gets the chance
to die so meaningfully.

-Think about it. After 20 years,...
-What do you mean?

...you return to the country
that made you famous to die.

And precisely on such a special day.

The snake cried again

and, as she slithered back
into her little hole,

she said in her snake voice:

"Do you understand now
why I'm so sad?

Do you understand now
why I'm so sad?"

On the anniversary
of your daughter's death.

I hope you took the time to

take flowers to her grave
before coming here.

Please. I'm begging you, miss.

Please don't hurt me!
I won't tell anyone.

-Please don't kill me.
-Don't grovel!

Please, I'll do anything you want,
whatever you ask...

-Anything?
-Anything, anything!

Fine. There is something
I want you to do.

-What?
-Answer one simple question.

-That's it?
-It's that easy.

If your answer is correct,
I'll let you go.

If you're wrong,

I'll kill you.

This is barbaric!

I don't think you have a choice.

Go ahead... What's the question?

What's my name?

-What?
-What's my name? Say my name.

-That's the question?
-Yes. And it's not hard,

considering we met
a little over an hour ago.

Please! I'm sorry!

You can't remember?
My first name will be enough.

Wait.

-You don't know, do you?
-No, I'm sorry!

And you don't give a shit. Well, now you
do, now that your life depends on it.

Please...

-Hanna!
-Hanna, Hanna.

My name is Hanna!

Yes.

I'm sorry.

Don't shoot.

Give me a reason not to!

-I haven't done anything to you.
-Sure you have.

To you?

You still haven't figured it out, eh?

Do you still not understand?

Look at me, look at my face.

Doesn't it ring a bell?

The girl in the photo, Mr. Salomon.

It's me.

They must be from the committee.
They're picking me up.

Get rid of them.

-I'm having lunch with them. The gala...
-I don't give a fuck.

Make up something.

And don't do anything stupid.

I'll have the gun on you.

Salomon, my man!

Luis, how are you?

-What took you so long?
-Come in.

Have you been crying?

No. It's just an allergy.

Look, I appreciate you coming,
the committee does too.

-I know it mustn't be easy for you...
-Spare me that shit, okay?

Fine. As you wish.

Do you like the suite I got you?

Yes, it's perfect.

What's that?

Any whisky left,
or did you polish it off?

Well, well, I see that
your habits haven't changed.

You're still afraid to live, Salomon.

How's Gladys?

As ever. Fatter.
She'll explode one day.

You should be there for her more.

Well, she's got enough
with her golf instructor.

Sure.

-Are you all right?
-Yes. Yes.

It's... this heat and...

I'm a nervous about the ceremony...

This country doesn't agree
with you, or with anyone.

The WHO should put a ban on it.

Shouldn't you get changed for lunch?

No. Listen.
I don't think I can make it.

You and your jokes.

I'm not joking.

-C'mon, don't talk crap.
-I said no.

-What am I missing?
-Nothing.

Nothing, I just have
an important matter to take care of.

-And this "matter" can't wait?
-No.

Let's see if get it.
You got here an hour ago

and you already have a matter
more important than having lunch

with the Minister of Tourism
and Communication, not to mention

ambassadors from the fifteen
most powerful countries in the world?

Yes, more or less.

What's her name?

-It's a woman, right?
-I don't know.

Who is she? A prostitute?

-A love from twenty years ago?
-Luis, please...

Fuck, Salomon,
you didn't waste any time.

Where have you got her?
In the bathroom? Behind the sofa?

No. You're more traditional.
You've got her in the closet.

You don't understand.

No, you don't understand.

It took longer for the U.N.
to put this damn lunch together

than to write the peace treaty.

This lunch is the first opening
of this country to the West

after half a century of hostilities.

Over this lunch, my friend,

they'll close more deals
than at the fucking Yalta Conference.

And you can't trash it all

because some hotel whore
left you with blue balls.

I'm sure you can come up
with some excuse.

Excuse?
We've already got an excuse!

The excuse is your fucking medal,

a show for the sheep
who watch the TV.

That's why we need you,
just for that.

To show up,
gorge yourself on seafood

and give a moving speech
on human rights.

That's all. I don't think
it's too much to ask.

I'm asking you, as a personal favor.

You're not in a position
to ask for favors, Fred.

-But, shit, we're friends.
-Exactly.

And I'd like it to stay that way.

Is this how you repay me
for all I've done for you?

I've put you back in the spotlight.

Even though you don't deserve it,
you're a star again.

-A puppet, I'd say.
-And?

You were 20 years ago.

Your photo was a weapon..
That's why it got so much exposure.

Stop complaining, Salomon.

Being a puppet, as you say,
saved your life.

You're still living off it today.

And what have you done
all this time? What?

I'll tell you. Nothing.
Rot in your office and live in the past,

crying in a corner, alone...

-and complaining.
-Watch it, Luis...

"Why is this world so unfair?
Why me?"

You haven't touched a camera.
You've looked for that girl for years

and let your own daughter die.
No wonder your wife...

Exactly.

I want to see you in an hour
at the Presidential Palace.

I won't hold you up anymore.
Deal with your "matter".

By the way, whoever the woman is,
make sure she doesn't kill herself.

A prostitute jumped
out of a window earlier.

I saw her.

It won't be too hard to cover up,
but you watch yourself,

we don't need
that kind of scandal.

Fred,

don't let me down.

For old time's sake.

For old time's sake.

For a moment I thought
you'd try to escape.

Why didn't you even try?

Sure.

You want to know if I really am
the girl in the photo.

You know the saying:

"Curiosity killed the journalist".

Don't you want to shoot me now?

Do you want to run away?

The conversation with your friend
made me think.

My life's been shit,
I can tell you. But yours...

Arellano talks too much.

I don't know which of us
lost more in that explosion.

I've made my way.

I was lucky. I studied and moved on
while my country rotted away.

But you, in Europe?

Heaven on earth,
the birthplace of democracy,

the land of opportunity,
and you squandered it.

You've been miserable for 20 years.

Sorry I took so long.

I ran into someone
I hadn't seen in a while.

How did it go?
What did he say?

I showed him Sara's medical records

and he says there is hope.

He'll stop by the hospital
and do a check-up this afternoon.

-When will they take her?
-We'll see.

My Sara in the West!

Once there, they think the treatment
will take a month or two

before she can leave the hospital.

And then?

Then what?

When she gets better,
will you send us back here?

Of course not.

We'll enroll her in a school,

find you a proper job

and you'll be able to buy your daughter
all the chocolate bars you want.

Thank you, Dr. Arellano.

You're welcome.

But there's one thing
we still haven't dealt with.

What is it?

The price.

What price?

Well,

all this isn't free.

You know I have no money.

Who's talking about money?

When have you paid me with money?

When?

Is this what you want?

No, no, no...

Take off your gloves.

What?

Take off your gloves.

Yes.

Give them to me.

How do you feel?

What are you trying to do?
Humiliate me?

Your idea of humiliation is very...

curious.

This time a quick blowjob
won't be enough.

For half a dozen pills, maybe.

But now you and I are doing
some serious business here.

You can't imagine how much
plane tickets have gone up lately.

What do you want me to do?

For starters, you'll get in the tub
and let me piss on you.

If I say open your mouth,

you'll open your mouth.

If I say swallow, you'll swallow.

Then we'll go to bed
and I'll tie you up.

You won't be able to move,
I'll do that for you.

I'll fuck you anywhere
and any way I like.

Right now, I recommend you relax,

so I don't hurt you
any more than necessary.

And your mouth...

I'll gag it with a belt.

If I take it off, it'll be for you
to suck, not to talk.

Got it?

I don't want you to talk.

Not a fucking word.

Do you have any questions?

Good.

Good.

-What was that?
-Probably a building collapsing.

It happens a lot.

The war riddled them with holes.

Don't you want to ask me anything?

I thought you were the interviewer.

Don't be coy,
I know you're dying to know.

No, you're wrong.

You've looked for me for 20 years,
and now you have the balls to tell me

you don't want to ask me anything?

Exactly.

-Why? If I may ask.
-I doubt you're the girl in the photo.

You don't think so?

I don't believe a word you said.

You must be just another...

-fanatic seeking...
-I told you not to insult me.

I'm sorry, it's what I think.

We both know why
you didn't try to escape before.

It's not because I'd shoot you.

Then show me.

Give me some proof.

You don't trust my word?

Would you trust someone
who's pointing a gun at you?

We have something in common now.

A significant death,

that's what you said.

If you're going to kill me,

shouldn't I make sure
that you're the right person?

That was your plan, right?

Then let's go with it.

Do you believe me now?

No. Cover up.

I can't think of
any more conclusive proof.

You'll have to try harder.

You're not the only girl
in the country with burnt skin.

Of course not.

But my scars match
the burns in the photo.

Isn't that too much
of a coincidence?

No one's talking about coincidences.

What are you insinuating?

You told me you read
all of my books, right?

So?

Then you'll know that
tons of women

have claimed to be her.

Some said the flames
didn't burn their skin, others...

that over time the wounds
had disappeared. But others...

Did it to themselves on purpose.

Some people are capable of anything

in order to get

fame, money...

or just to live in Europe.

Those people are sick.

There were mothers who,
in the early years,

brought me their daughters

deformed by the flames.

-I'm not like that.
-I don't know that.

-How could you think...
-I said, you wouldn't be the first.

I've lived with this monstrosity
my whole life.

You have no fucking idea
what it's like.

It still hurts sometimes, you know?

After all this time.

I think you're an imposter.

An imposter as crazy
as all the others.

The others wanted to take
advantage of you with lies.

I haven't asked you for anything.

You just wanted to kill me.

Maybe you still do.

-I won't make it easier for you.
-Fine.

Then ask me.

Ask me something
that only I could know.

What's the point?

You've probably read
all the books on my photography.

There must be something
that didn't get published,

a detail you kept for yourself

for when this moment came.
I'm sure of it.

Maybe.

Of course.

-How old were you then?
-Seven.

Do you remember many things
from that day?

A few, not many.
The least important ones, I guess.

Small details,

I'll be honest.

I don't know if
some things are memories,

my imagination, or images that
hit me when I read your books.

It's all a bit fuzzy.

A bit fuzzy?

A good way to cover your ass
if you make a mistake.

That morning I had a glass of milk
and an apple for breakfast.

I remember it exactly because
I hadn't eaten fruit in months.

A strong wind was blowing,
from the north I think.

It's common that time of year.
Be more specific.

-I don't know what you expect to hear.
-For example...

Why did the missionaries and teachers
at the school know nothing about you?

Why couldn't they recognize you
when I showed them the photo?

That wasn't my school.

Then what were you doing there?

I went to see a friend.
She went there.

-What was her name?
-Ida!

Ida what?

Ida...

I don't know.

Ida is a very common name here.
What did the missionaries call her?

I don't remember.

Weren't you friends?
You must remember.

I'm telling you I don't remember,
damn it!

Her name was Ida. Just Ida!

Relax. We need to
corroborate your story.

Can you contact her?

I've been looking for her
since that day.

-Why did you go see her?
-She had to give me a book.

-What book?
-The one in the photo.

-And you were meeting at her school?
-Yes.

Why not at your house
or the orphanage?

I don't know.

Maybe your classes
ended before hers.

The sirens, did you hear them?

Yes, but I got held up.

Why?

-I needed to do a crap.
-And your friend didn't wait for you?

You know she didn't.

You never saw her again?

No. I never saw
Ida again after the explosion.

You were close friends.
Didn't she visit you at the hospital?

I didn't say
they took me to a hospital.

Where did they take you then?

I don't know.

You don't know.

You only remember what you want.

You only recall what you want
as well, or what you can.

You're right about that.
You're making the rest of it.

You're only telling me
anecdotes impossible to prove

and I need concrete facts:

-Who did you meet? Where did you go?
-My first memories

after the explosion are
when I was ten or eleven.

C'mon, don't shit me.

Shock-induced amnesia
always helps, right?

They said I was taken to the southern
mountains before the city fell.

That's all I know. I grew up there,

studied there and didn't come back
here until I was older.

That was when I saw
your damn photo for the first time.

Look, Hanna...

Hanna, right?

Look, Hanna, this is boring me.

-I've heard it all too many times.
-Fine, let's say

you are right. It's all lies.
Why would I want to kill you?

Maybe you just wanted me
to think you wanted to kill me.

-A bit far-fetched, don't you think?
-Why haven't you done it then?

Why didn't you do it?

Let's go back
to the moment of the explosion.

What do you want to know?

Hanna!

You're on the toilet and hear
the sirens. What do you do?

I'm scared.
I run out as fast as I can.

The planes weren't there yet.

I get sidetracked. I go back inside.

Why?

I forgot the book. I realize
just before I leave the building.

They're about to bomb the city
and all you think of is a book?

It's Ida's book, my friend.
I can't lose it.

Continue.

I run up the stairs.
I don't see anyone. They've gone.

I enter the bathroom,
but I can't find the book.

I'm confused until I realize
that I'm on the wrong floor.

It's then that I hear the planes.

-Go on.
-The book is on the upper level.

I grab it
and run for the stairs.

I trip and fall. I hurt my knee.

It's bleeding, but I don't cry.

I hear the engines
of the bombers over me.

The glass in the windows shake.

A shell must've exploded nearby.

My leg hurts, but I hurry.

I'm scared.

Another explosion.

The beams creak,
dust falls from the ceiling.

The noise of the planes is so loud,
it feels like they're...

inside the building
and chasing me like wild dogs.

I only think of running, running...

I come out of the school,
that square is deserted.

I'm out of breath, from exhaustion
or panic, I don't know.

I look around.

All the buildings look the same.
I can't find the shelter. I stop.

I try to see someone,

something to tell me:
"Come, Hanna, it's over here!".

But I don't see anything,
or anyone.

All I'm thinking is:
"Save yourself".

But my feet are stuck to the ground.

I look up. I remember very well.

I look to the sky and see them, slicing
through the clouds like vultures.

And suddenly...

-And suddenly what?
-I can't remember much after that.

Only feelings, still images,
unreal images,

as if it were a dream.

A brutal silence

and a single loud note so sharp
it pierces my mind. And darkness.

Nothing else?

I don't know.

Did you see me?

I don't know!

I was there. Did you see me
as you flew through the air?

I don't know. I don't know.

Yes, you saw me.

For a split second you saw me,
pointing the camera at you.

The camera, a black eye.

A shiny black eye looking at me.

-And what else?
-It's only a dream.

Think!

A shirt... A jacket maybe?

A jacket. What color?

I don't know.

Think.

-Yellow?
-Yellow.

And something else.

-What?
-Another color.

Red?

Yes.

Where?

-Is it blood?
-I asked you where.

On my arm.

-On your arm... An armband?
-Yes, an armband!

A white armband

with the word "Press"
written in red letters.

You were fantastic.

I don't know why
who didn't turn pro.

You would've made a good living.

Very good.

Hanna,

it could be you.

Do you believe me now?

Do you realize what it means
if it's really you?

That I have every right
in the world to hate you.

So do I, Hanna! So do I!

Today. Precisely today.

I'm a loser,

incapable of using any opportunity
in the land of opportunity.

You said it before,
and you were right.

I lost you 20 years ago.
And since then...

it's been only fear...

and that damned photo

looking at me with horror,

surprise,

but above all with contempt...

for me, for us,

for all those with the indecency
to go on living.

Look.

Look at this little thing.

She died without me,

while I was trying to find you.

She died in the pastel-colored West.

Europe doesn't immunize you
from misfortune, fuck it!

What use is paradise if...

you can't save your own child's life?

My wife couldn't forgive me.

She didn't know what to forgive,
but she couldn't do it.

Neither could I.

I took...

all of the copies
I had of the photo

and hid them in the basement.

The original negative,
the magazine covers

I'd framed so proudly.
It was all down there.

But I kept seeing you. Or her!

I kept seeing you.

You were everywhere:
on TV, on the streets,

even in the fucking gift shops...

Watching me...

from every corner of the city.

In any city in the world.
You know what that's like?

I would've given anything
to erase those eyes...

forever.

I was a victim too, Hanna.

I never would've imagined

that things would end like this. Ever.

What am I going to do?

What I'm about to do.

Come with me.

Where?

The whole world wants to meet you,

to hear your story and feel
the same emotions as 20 years ago.

That's not what I was after.

Me neither.
But we have no choice.

We can't change the past.

It doesn't matter
who I was or who you were.

From now on, we can be
whatever we want.

Do you understand what I mean?

What if I refuse?

You won't.

We have to get on with our lives.

You can't stay there. Get dressed.

We have to leave the room before 12.

Do you hear me?

What?

You have five minutes
to leave the room.

Your hands are soft.

I didn't expect that.

Thank you.

Arellano.

Are you already
at the presidential palace?

Yes. Don't worry, I'll be on time.

Listen. Put another place
next to me. I'm bringing...

a very special guest.

I don't care about protocol.
Fuck it! Listen to me.

Yes, next to me.

My friend, I want to be
in the spotlight again.

Get your things.

Your government
is inviting you to lunch.

Ida, did you understand me?

Ida!

You deal with it then.

If they kick you out,
it's your problem.

Doctor Arellano.

Yes?

Are you going to the hospital?

When? Now?

Now, this afternoon, whenever.

Why?

The book. It's for Sara.

You will give it to the nurse, right?
It's the last favor I ask you.

Above all, they have to do
the animal voices,

or the story isn't funny.

Ida, do you want to know the truth?

What truth?

About your daughter.

I ask because sometimes
the truth is overrated.

What's going on?

Your daughter died last night.

See what I mean now?

I'm sorry.

Shall we go?

Do you mind waiting in the lobby?
I have to freshen up a bit.

Sure.

Just one thing.

When you tell your story
to the Minister,

the ambassadors
and all those people,

don't say that when you
stopped in the square

that you looked up at the sky.

The little girl never did that.

And my jacket wasn't yellow,
it was purple.

And I wasn't wearing an armband.

We don't want anyone to think
you're an impostor, right?

Of course not.

Nice smile, I didn't expect that.

From now on,
we'll be whatever we want to be.

I'll wait downstairs, eh?

The Hospital of the Republic?

Yes, I'm calling about

the patient in room 161.

Yes, Intensive Care.

Ida. I'm her mother.

Yes, I'll wait.

Yes, I'm still here.

Recovering from
such a long and cruel war is hard,

but I am certain
that the new government

is doing everything in their hands
to guarantee the people's well-being,

no matter what side they are on.

It's just a photograph, but...

I am aware of what it represents
for your nation's recent past.

And it's for this reason

that I am honored to introduce
you to today's real protagonist,

the girl... with the skin in flames:

Hanna Maalouf.

I shouldn't be here,
this isn't my place.

Look at my face.

Look at it carefully and you will realize
that it is not the one in the picture.

The girl that flies through
the air isn't me.

That girl is my childhood friend Ida.

It's my cousin Jina.

It's my neighbor Aisha.

It's Akina,

Johani,

Lakeisha.

It's Tambika and Kamaria

and the millions of girls that
your bombs have left without a face

and without a future.

I know those names
don't mean anything to you

and I am sure you will forget them.

From now on,
you will only remember mine.

They should be here with me today,

because all of them
are the girl in the picture.

And I will make sure
they are not forgotten again.