The Eternal Feminine (2017) - full transcript

I'm not a seed of anise.

I am a girl and I'm
seven years old.

The five fingers on the right,
and two on the left hand.

And when I stand, I can look
straight at my father's knees.

No higher.

I imagine he is still growing
like a great tree...

...and that on his highest branch,
crouches a tiny tiger.

My mother is different.

Her hair, so black,
so thick, so curly...

...draws passing birds
who like it and stay.

I only imagine it,
I've never seen it.



I see only what lies
at my level.

Certain bushes with leafs
half-eaten by insects.

The school desks,
stained with ink.

My brother.

And him, I see completely,
for he was born after me...

...and by then I knew many things
that I now explain to him in detail.

Such as this:

"Columbus discovered
the Americas."

Thank you very much.
Thank you, Rosario.

I want to add that FCE Press
is fully confident...

...that Balun Canan is already
a classic in Mexican literature.

Dearest Ricardo:

I started writing this letter
as soon as I got to Spain.

I've been feeling very sad,
and what's worse, it shows.



So, the others leave me alone,
just what I need to be with you.

I examine myself incessantly
and find your image everywhere...

...the memory of you.

With you, I was so perfectly,
so thoroughly happy...

...that this separation hasn't
disturbed nor destroyed me.

I am still too full...

...too overflowing with
the happiness you gave me.

My reserves of joy
are still plentiful...

...and I hope they won't run dry
before your presence renews them.

Doesn't it make you uneasy,
to mean so much to someone?

Because you should know that
I can't love whom I don't admire.

I'll say goodbye now.

And I swear upon my heart
that I'm utterly faithful to you.

It makes me happier to think of you
than to talk to people.

I love you, dear Ricardo,
as far as the eye can see...

...and keep in mind
I stand facing the sea.

I am genuinely grateful
that you agreed to see me.

I didn't do it for you.
I just wanted closure.

I wanted to talk to you...

- We're talking now.
- No, not like this.

How else are we
supposed to talk?

What is that?

- Are these my...?
- All of them.

Every single one
you ever wrote me.

- Are you giving them back?
- No! Of course not.

I wanted...

...I don't know, I guess...

...I wanted you to know
I still keep your words.

All together like this,
they do seem like a lot.

You were gone
for a long time.

I have five postcards
from you.

Look, I'm nothing but
a poor philosopher, Chayo.

The only words of love I have
came from you.

- I didn't do things right.
- You don't say!

You're exaggerating.
Other than the bit about...

...asking me to marry you
and then marrying another...

...you were a dream.

I made a mistake.
That's why I wanted to see you.

To tell you that I know
I made a mistake.

Next week, I'm signing
my divorce papers.

I didn't mean to make you
feel uncomfortable.

Oh, Guerra!

You are... a prodigy of nature.

- Like the Rock of Gibraltar?
- No!

Nothing as boring as that.

I'm sorry.

Do you have plans?
Want to get lunch with me?

No.

Yes... I don't know.

I don't know what I want.

I did five minutes before
seeing you, I swear it.

Ouch!

I'm sorry!

I am so sorry.

What's wrong?

I used to be skinny.

But so skinny that I almost
didn't have a body.

I used to wander around,
floating like a ghost.

And at night...

...I used to dream
that I died.

My brother and I used to
pretend that we died.

And the following morning,
I couldn't feel alive again.

Later, I got fat as a cow
and that was that.

I now dreamt of pork rinds,
instead of dying.

Come here.

When I'm with you,
I feel solid...

...and consistent,
dear Guerra.

I love you.

I don't want to be something
sad and heavy.

I love you.

Like all those things
you learned back home.

I don't want to be
heavy and sad...

...or any of those things
you learned back home.

How dare you, scoundrel?
My house was a carnival.

"Loneliness traced
its wrecked landscape."

"The shape it takes before men
is that of a hostile nudity."

Give me the sheet.

- Give me the sheet.
- What? Why?

It's hard enough being naked
to feel exposed on top ot that.

You brought up childhood
and you wrote the poem.

Ricardo.

You show up after all this time
and make me feel naked.

Literally.

Look at me.

I'm just as naked
as you are.

I want to be by your side.

Don't think I'm fine with you
reading me my monstrosities.

I did it because I liked that poem
even before I liked you.

Don't you dare.

This is my favorite one.

"And so it is that we
love and enjoy."

"And even of this feast for worms,
we make pornographic novels."

"Or adult-only films."

You scare me more
than high windows.

Don't you leave again.

Miss Castellanos!

- I'll get it.
- Don't.

Darling, let it ring.

Hello?

Yes, yes. I told her.

Tomorrow.

I can meet you there.

I’d rather.

Yes.

Yes, I know.

No!

No, no, no.

No, it’s the building that is…

What?

Nothing.

You're not the only one
working, you know?

I'm sorry.

Excuse me.

- Your coffee, ma'am.
- Thanks, María.

Dear, your coffee!

- None for him?
- That's OK, leave it here.

The kitchen is gleaming
in its whiteness.

It's a shame having to
tarnish it with use.

It'd be better to sit
and watch it, describe it...

...to close one's eyes
and bring it to memory.

On close inspection, its sharpness
and tidiness lacks the glare...

...that usually prompts
chills in hospitals.

Or is it the aura of disinfectants,
the rubber steps of the nurses?

Or is it the hidden presence
of illness and death?

Come here.

Come here a minute.

I'm coming.

I just need to finish...

- ...finish this.
- Come here.

Now that democracy has come
to our beloved Guatemala...

...President Arévalo has extended
an invitation to Mexico's youth.

So we can start a dialogue
on the future of Latin America.

We know of no one better
to respond to this invitation...

...than our comrade
Rosario Castellanos.

Rosario, please.

I'm honored that you call me
your comrade, Otto.

Who is she?

Who, Castellanos?

She was the student rep
for the faculty last year.

- Where is she from?
- Chiapas, I think.

I see, so she thinks
she is a communist.

- But she is a landowner for sure.
- Ricardo!

Excuse me, comrade.
I have a question.

Save your questions
for the end, please.

I thought this was a forum,
not a press conference.

- It's more practical to...
- Don't dismiss me, comrade.

Politeness doesn't detract
from your socialism.

I am comrade Guerra.

There are only two subjects
worth writing about.

And by writing I mean
rearranging...

...because in their pure state,
they are intolerable.

Sex and death.

That's it, we all suffer them,
but they are kept hidden...

...in a dark place,
covered with prejudice.

Bringing them to light is risky
because we're doomed to fail.

There are no words to talk
about sex or death.

They happen in the body,
so far from our conscience...

...and its instrument, language.
So, what can we do?

Should we recognize our limits?

Chayo! Our poems
were published!

- Really?
- Let's see them.

- Let me see.
- Sergio!

Lola!

"I was encircled
by rings of words."

"Rising like smoke
in space."

"Diluting their mass,
becoming lost."

"All that remained, thick
like milk poured over me..."

"...one that knotted
origin and destination."

"Woman."

"A hypnotizing,
radical voice..."

"...in Eve's throat
and all thereafter."

"A docility of honey
meant for kissing."

Rosario Castellanos.

Someone should tell you...

...that even if you hide,
you are visible for miles.

You, again.

Don't tell me you didn't
feel my presence.

So, you're the source
of that unpleasant odour.

Come, I want to show
you something.

Come, come.

Reading Mistral reminded me of this
and I thought about you.

Do you know her?

She's Uruguayan.

Her husband killed her
when she was 28.

It's beautiful.

Do you really like it?

It's yours, then.

- You're crazy, it's too expensive.
- Don't worry about it.

I can afford it.

What are you doing?
Stop that!

Follow me.

- Can I help you?
- I'm fine, thank you.

Chayo!

Thank you, goodbye.

Goodbye.

How could you do that?

- You wanted it.
- But not if I end up in jail.

Why? I'd come visit you.
I'd bring you lots of books...

...and a file baked into a cake
for you to escape.

Scoundrel!

We didn't hurt anyone.

And poetry...

...is priceless, comrade.

Shoot! Don't look now.
Here comes the owner.

Don't look!

I'm sorry.

For what?

Now I'll have to shoplift
an entire library.

You're back at it already?

Know what I dreamt?

That you let me work.

We were on a beach.

It was nighttime,
but there was a full moon.

Have you seen the moon
when it shines on the sea?

- How it looks like a path?
- Mhm.

So, in my dream I walked away
on the path of light.

It'd be a killer poem.

I'll let you write it,
but dedicate it to me.

That poem already exists.
It's by Juan Ramón Jiménez.

It's called "Departure."

Ha! Two-bit plagiarist!

What does your machine
have that I don't?

What can it be?

It's not too shabby...

...and it doesn't complain.

All you do is write...

...and write, and write.

That's why you feel alone...

...because you only
live inside your head.

That's enough, dear.
I mean it.

You're picking a fight
that doesn't exist.

I'm only trying to
finish my work.

That's exactly what I mean.
Name a recent gesture you had.

Name one.

You never think about me,
I ask very little.

Just a nice gesture
once in a while.

A nice gesture.

You want a nice gesture
from me?

Here.

Buy yourself a coffee
somewhere else.

My treat.

Go to hell, Rosario.

There must be some other way
whose name is not Sappho...

...or Mesalina,
or Mary of Egypt...

...or Magdalene,
or Clemencia Isaura.

Another way of being free
and human.

Another way of being.

I tripped with
your typwriter.

I don't want to know.

I tripped because I drank
a little bit too much...

...and then I couldn't
get back up.

I don't want to know.

That's why I came in
so late.

Don't you dare
lie to my face.

I'll believe anything
you tell me.

I take each and every one
of your words as true.

I don't doubt.

I've never questioned the reasons
why you want to be with me.

My love for you
is unconditional.

All I ask in return is that
you speak to me with the truth.

That your words are accurate.

That they express exactly
what you feel.

Because if you say no...

...to me, it means NO.

And if you say it's raining...

...to me, it is raining.

And if you say love...

...it means love.

All right?

All right.

Rosario?

Are you all right?

Why are you here?

I was just reading.

In the bathroom.

What's wrong with it?

Well, it's commonly used
for other purposes.

Come here.

Come, come.

All done, take a seat.

Isn't this better than
the bathroom?

Don't be foolish.

Hey...

Why don't you and I
have lots of children?

With my looks and your brains,
they'd be perfect.

Remember when Lola and I
went to see Gabriela Mistral?

Well, she told us that
if we want to write...

...we have to give up
everything.

I don't think it has
to be like that.

You don't have to choose
between life and writing.

I want to write.

Everything will be OK,
don't be scared.

Pressure 160 over 110.

Ricardo.

Call Ricardo.

Easy.

- She lost one a year ago.
- Stay here, we'll let you know.

Lola.

And so I return and fail
to recognize myself.

I come home and find it
ravaged by furies.

I walk the paths with
nothing to cover me...

...other than the veil
torn from my shame.

With no ribbon but despair
to press on my temples.

Madness buzzes around me
with its horsefly stinger.

It's 3:00 am.

Are you staying here?

Oh, it'd be better to die.

But I know there is
no death for me.

Because pain...

(and what am I, if not pain?)

...has made me eternal.

Thank you very much
for being with us today.

Thank you.

Dr. Guerra, I'm Julián Mendoza
from the Chiapas Tribune.

How do you do?
Nice to meet you.

Could I ask you a few
questions for the paper?

What do you think about the honor
bestowed upon your wife...

...by Governor Efraín Aranda,
with the Chiapas Award?

Oh, so this is about
my wife?

Listen...

...I think that in this times
our country is going through...

...it's absolutely vital for all
political figures in society...

...to find an effective way...

...to deal with the tropical issue
of the annoying Dipterans.

I mean, the fucking
mosquitoes.

Which, in these regions
are pretty vicious.

They annoy people during
solemn, splendid events.

Like this one,
in honor of my wife.

If you'll excuse me.

That scene with the spinster
and her mother!

Oh, I'm glad you
enjoyed it.

The women in our state
sorely needed a voice.

I hope you'll excuse my wife's
incipient feminism.

We just want to tell you
this is forever your home.

- The state welcomes you.
- To tell the truth...

...I am very interested
in your wife's comments.

Please, don't take me wrong!
My government...

...is taking extreme measures
to open spaces for women.

Like you said in your novel:
"Give voice to the voiceless."

I understand things can't
change overnight.

Especially when customs
are centuries old.

But I think we can start to think
about changing our ways.

My husband and I have...

You were saying?

My husband and I have thought
about social programs...

- ...that, through art...
- Of course!

...may change society
for the better.

Swear to me you won't
leave me alone.

Not today, truly.
Not today.

Just swear it.

Oh, you're...

...I can't believe it.

Where am I?

You're seeing me, right?

Right here, in front of you.

Do you see me, or not?

Do you see me or not?

I'm here, goddammit!
Here, next to you.

I accompanied you to
Tuxtla-fucking-Gutiérrez.

I came to this hellhole
just to be with you.

Do you see me or not?
Goddammit.

- I'm not talking about...
- But I am.

Right now it's not about what
you believe, think, feel...

...or what you fear!

Here I am.

Here I am!

I'm sick of you seeing monsters
instead of seeing me.

I can't compete with that.

How is it possible
that in Mexico...

"...stubborn men who
accuse women..."

...is still the boldest thing
us women say?

I'm asking you.

How are we still on Sor Juana
and her centuries-old complaint?

What have we done
since then?

What battles have we won?

Today, our duty is to name
the causes of our marginalization.

To name the causes
of our oppression.

It is not equitable,
and therefore not legitimate...

...that he has the chance
to educate himself...

...while she has no choice
but to remain lost in ignorance.

That he has complete
freedom of movement...

...while hers is reduced
to the runway.

Does that seem fair?

It is not equitable,
and therefore not legitimate...

...that he can own his body
and do as he pleases...

...while she reserves her body,
not for her own ends...

...but so it can house processes
alien to her own will.

- Good morning!
- Good morning.

Good morning.

I agree with the ancients in that
living is not necessary.

Is that all you do?

You've been here months
and all you do is write.

But since we must live,
it's a contingency...

...that can be overcome
by writing.

Therefore, I think of as lived
only what has been written.

What's all this?

Why do you write about this
if no one cares?

Maybe that's why, Raúl.

Ready?

- You promised you'd do it.
- You'll regret it tomorrow.

If I regret it, so be it.
I have worse regrets than this.

All right, then.

Let's see.

You told me so.

You said if I left for Spain,
he wouldn't wait for me.

And I left anyway.

Everyone told me so.

- And I thought he'd...
- You thought nothing.

Stop lying to yourself,
little sister.

A real woman
wouldn't have left.

Let me finish or you'll
end up looking awful.

I'm awful already.

Just don't even think about
going to see him.

Do you think I'd dare to,
without any hair?

Do you know what has
always been your problem?

What?

You feel too much.

Like all guests eventually,
my son got cumbersome.

Taking a space that was
my space.

An untimely existence.

Making me divide in two
every mouthful.

Ugly, sickly, bored...

...I felt him growing
at my expense.

Stealing the color
from my blood.

Adding a secret volume and weight
to my way of being on earth.

His body asked me
to be born.

Make way for him.

Give him a place
in the world.

The time provision
needed for his history.

I gave consent.

And through the wound he escaped,
through the hemorrhage of his flight...

...also departed the last
of my solitude.

The last of me, staring
behind the glass.

I was left open,
offered to visitations.

To the wind, the presence.

What am I missing?

Do you think it's
very funny, love?

Really?

Please, tell me more.

I was missing these.

You can't put these in your mouth,
you cheeky monkey.

María, can you take him
for a bit?

- Yes, of course.
- Careful with this, thank you.

Come here, baby.
Don't worry, ma'am.

- Thank you.
- Sure.

What are you doing?
We're going to be late.

We have time, and I want to
do this while Gabriel is quiet.

Oh, by the way, I talked
to Dr. Chávez.

We agree you should stop
teaching for a while.

You can go back later,
when Gabriel starts school.

You'll have more time
to write at home.

And fold your briefs.

Excuse me?

- Are you serious?
- Of course.

You can stop scrambling between
your classes and Gabriel's naps.

It's my work, Ricardo.
Mine.

How dare you and Chávez
decide over my work?

Goddammit.

Make up your damn mind.
Should I worry, or not?

Should I help you, or not?
Tell me.

Please tell me,
because I give up.

Who said you could
go to my office...

...talk to my boss,
and discuss my business?

Tell me, isn't it true
that the doctor said...

...that it's best for the child
to be with his mother?

Damn it!

- That's my decision.
- Whose child is it?

Yours and mine, right?

Yes, but I don't see you
giving up anything.

Why don't you stop
going to the office?

Don't be stupid! I put no one
at risk if I keep working.

Oh, so you're saying that if I,
a woman who is a mother...

...keep working,
I endanger my...

Don't put words in my mouth!
I'm not one of your characters.

I don't understand...

...why it offends you so much
when I ask for respect.

And when will you
start respecting me?

No one is stepping
all over you.

What you want is a woman
who dotes on you.

Who raises your kids at home
so you can leave for work!

María.

- What happened, María?
- I'll take care of it, ma'am.

- You will?
- Yes.

Aren't you going
to get dressed?

No, I'm not going.

Please, come along.
Don't be awful.

Someone needs to stay with
the kid, since you can't.

María is with him.

I promise we won't
be back late.

If you were raised like that,
I don't want it for my son.

Stop making me feel
like I'm wrong.

Can't you see I'm trying?

I'm trying and you keep making me
feel like I do everything wrong!

I won't stop being a mother,
I won't stop teaching...

...and I won't stop writing!

Rosario.

Spare me the tantrums.

You got old a long time ago.
Look at yourself.

In Mexico, when we say
the word woman...

...we're referring to a creature
dependant on male authority.

Whether her father,
her brother, or husband.

Even her priest.

Submissive in the choice
of her marital status...

...her field of study...

...or her professional
career.

Trained since childhood...

...to understand and endure
the abuses of the strong.

The Mexican woman
doesn't consider herself...

The Mexican woman
doesn't consider herself...

...nor is she considered
by others...

...to be a fully realized woman
if she hasn't borne children.

If she is not enveloped
in the glow of maternity.

María!

Let's not fall for the weak
sophistries of anti-feminists...

Ricardo!

...who declare inferiority
on the basis of sex.

Sex, like race...

...doesn't constitute a biological,
social, or historical hindrance.

What happened, María?
Where are they?

Your husband took the boy
to your mother-in-law's.

The usual argument of irate,
yet thoughtless feminists...

...is a demand for equality.

A demand that provides us
with a false start...

...and comes with a series
of undesirable consequences.

And, ultimately, it's nothing
but an acknowledgement...

...of the male models
of life and action...

...as the only viable ones.

As the goal we must reach
no matter what.

But let's not despair.

Every day, a woman,
or many women...

...win a battle to procure
and keep their personalities.

A battle that...

...in order to be won...

...requires not only
lucidity of intelligence...

...a determined character,
moral fiber...

(and those are big words)

...but also require expediencies
such as cleverness...

...and, above all,
persistence.

A battle that upon
being won...

...creates human beings
that are more wholesome.

Happier marriages,
harmonious families.

And a country constituted
by conscious citizens...

...for whom freedom is
the only breathable air.

And justice, the soil in which
they are rooted and prosper.

And love, the indestructible
bond that unites them.

Thank you very much.

It's vital to keep the changes
to the lesson plans.

That's the only way we'll
demand from the government...

...from the federal government
what the university needs.

We have formed committees
that will supervise...

Comrade Guerra,
a question.

Sorry, save the questions
for the end.

Oh, my! I thought this was
a public forum...

...not a press conference.

All right.

As I was saying...

These committees
will visit each area.

- And propose...
- I want to say...

Sorry, excuse me.

Say that Dr. Guerra's words
not always match reality.

- Rosario, please.
- I can attest to the truth of that.

Though it may be redundant
because everyone here...

...knows already.

Isn't that so, Dr. Guerra?

- Rosario...
- You're not answering me!

Everyone knows, right?

Excuse her.

Professor Castellanos
needs her Valium.

Don't make an even bigger scene.
Have a little dignity.

You coward.

And don't you dare take
my son again! Hear me?

Rosario?

Because we were friends and
sometimes loved each other...

...perhaps to add another tie
to the many that bound us...

...we decided to play
games of the mind.

We set up a board
between us.

Equal in pieces, values,
and possible moves.

We learned the rules,
swore to follow them...

...and the match began.

We've been sitting here
for centuries...

...furiously contemplating
how to deal the last blow...

...that would utterly annihilate
the other one forever.

Hello?

Gabriel?

Hello?

Can you hear me?

Ricardo, please
put Gabriel on.

Hello?

Hello?

Rosario Castellanos died
at 49 years of age...

...on August 7, 1974, in Tel Aviv,
as Mexico's ambassador in Israel.

Hers is one of the most powerful
literary voices in 20th century Mexico.

She made cracks in the walls
that still stand in the way...

...of women's rights
and gender equality.

A domestic accident ended the life
of the poet, novelist, and essayist.

An electric discharge
silenced her pen forever.

THE ETERNAL FEMININE