1
Good morning, Madrid.
Welcome to your favorite show.
The first rays of sunlight
are just appearing,
and it's already over 30.
Watch out, because forecasts say
that today will be the hottest
for 20 years.
Our recommendation?
Drink plenty of water, wear light clothes,
and grab your diary
and write down all the plans
that we are suggesting...
Honey, I'm sorry.
Relax.
Fuck.
Relax.
Hello?
This heat's unbearable.
It sure is.
Listen.
What?
I'm sorry, really.
It's all right, Marcos.
It's the heat, no one can take it.
You didn't sleep last night either?
You were tossing and turning.
You got up and started pacing
around the house.
I didn't want to wake you.
You kept me up.
I was here for a while,
but I fell asleep again without realizing.
You ugly guy.
This ugly guy is dying of thirst.
What the hell
is wrong with you, Marcos?
- Nothing.
- Nothing?
Nothing.
I just don't like seeing the place
like this, so empty.
Eight years in 20 cardboard boxes
and 15 plastic bags.
You counted them?
Sure, I counted them.
What for?
I don't know.
To see how much we take up, I guess.
You know?
I'd like to come back here years from now
to see who are fucking in this bed,
or who are sleeping
in Celeste's and Eze's rooms.
What for?
To see how they've changed it all.
Things change. And they end, Marcos.
What's good shouldn't change.
Maybe they change
because they have to become
something different, or even better.
Are you Marta or Paulo Coelho?
Trivia question?
Remember the first time
we did it in your room?
- The first time?
- Yes.
Of course, I remember.
I came without getting it in you,
and your teeth mashed it.
- That's a lie!
- A lie?
- Yes.
- A lie?
Marta Garnica, don't lie.
Okay, but just a little,
because it didn't fit in my mouth
and I got nervous.
A board game question.
- Imagine you can travel in time, okay?
- Mm-hm.
You visit yourself, but in the past.
Okay.
What would you say
to 19-year-old Marta, for example?
Mm...
- To go on a diet because she's fat.
- Marta, I'm serious.
Marcos, I don't know.
To do what she wants, I guess.
Knowing what will happen to you sucks.
Nobody likes being told
the ending of a movie, right?
I think I would say one thing to her.
- Oh, yeah? What?
- Yeah.
That one day,
in the caf of the main library,
she would meet a Medicine student
who wouldn't have a change
to buy hot milk.
He would ask her for change, of course.
She would buy him the milk,
and he would return it that weekend
with an irresistible combination.
Chinese food and karaoke.
That's what I would say
to 19-year-old Marta.
That seeing this hopeless guy onstage
singing an awful version of "The '80s,"
she would fall in love with him.
- When you got me to call
- Oh, no!
I didn't suspect it
Wah, pa, pa, pa, pa
- Colored plasticine, underwear
- Colored plasticine, underwear
- Memories...
- Memories from out there
Hello.
Look, I like this one,
in black and white.
It's pretty easy, you'll see.
There's no mystery to it.
The shitty part is the parents
who get hysterical
when you have to take a photo of the kid.
If you're patient and tactful,
then you'll have no problem.
I've got a silver tongue.
Let's see.
Well, that's it.
Just these left to hand in.
I told Maria you would
take care of everything.
Any doubts or trouble with anyone,
call me on the number I gave you.
And always give them a photo,
whether or not they want the album.
Relax, it's all under control.
It's a summer job.
I won't have time for hassles.
Maria said it would suck replacing you,
that you're good.
So they say.
Why leave? It's a good job,
compared to what's out there.
It is. But my summer
has lasted five years.
The longest on record.
Here.
Take mine. They'll give you one,
but use this meanwhile.
I forgot to tell you,
it's a hospital rule.
Okay.
Are you spending summer in Madrid?
No.
I wanted to go back to Gijn
for a few days, but now...
I'm going. I have things to do.
Shit!
Eze, it's me.
No, I couldn't.
I don't know, somewhere.
All right, in Lucero.
I need you to come get me.
I'm broke, and this place
is in the boonies.
Yeah, I know.
Don't fuck with me, Eze.
I know. I'm sorry.
Okay?
Okay, swing by home
and don't be long, please.
Oh, hey. Thanks.
I love you. Bye.
THREE MISSED CALLS
NUMBER UNKNOWN
Hello.
I have missed calls from this number.
This is Celeste Rivas.
Oh.
Yes, of course.
I'm still interested, sure.
Why are you dressed like that?
I was going to sleep at home.
- Is it still busted?
- Get in the back. I reserved a space.
Marcos.
Marcos.
Shit.
THE ROOM
BY EZEQUIEL SILAS VERSION 3.0
- What's that?
- A private letter.
Give it to me.
- No, it's private.
- Okay, fine.
- Don't you get the concept of "private"?
- I get the concept.
"London"! What are you up to in London?
How long have you known this?
A while.
- When were you going to tell me?
- I'm telling you now.
You're not telling me, I'm reading it.
I didn't tell you anything
because I thought it was impossible.
But you can see, it's not.
Right.
I can see.
You know what? I don't know
whether to be happy for you or to cry.
Tell me what the hell I do now.
You're an actress.
Try to look like you're glad.
When is this? In the letter.
In a week.
- A week?
- Yes.
A week!
You're leaving for London
in seven days and you don't tell me?
I was going to my parents'
for three months, it's just the same.
- Fuck off! It's not the same!
- No, it's fucking better!
Anyway, it won't change anything.
We can still Skype every day.
If you need help
reading a part or anything, ask me.
I don't think I'll need you
to help me read for parts anymore.
What are you saying?
Stop here, my mouth is dry.
It's your hangover.
Yes, Ezequiel. My hangover and everything!
Fucking stop.
Celeste, what's wrong?
Hey!
- Got any cash?
- Yes.
- He's paying!
- What's wrong?
Nothing, Eze! That's the problem.
Nothing happens in my life.
Well, yeah, it does.
They're opening a fast food joint
near the old university.
Some American fried chicken chain.
One of those that can't use "chicken"
in their name, in case they get sued.
I submitted my CV last week, just in case.
Then they called this morning.
Great plan.
What can they offer you there?
Something, Eze.
It's better than nothing.
I won't have to wait for hours
to get a call from a stranger.
I can get a taxi when I'm stranded
in some dismal metro station.
I can claim for, what, ten-minute work?
The most I've done as an actress.
I can have a sickening,
quiet, normal life.
- Normal is no good to me.
- I don't care.
You're a fucking great actress
and a special person.
Maybe that's the problem, Eze,
thinking we're special.
And nobody has the balls
to tell us that maybe we're not.
Marta?
Good morning.
Morning.
Excuse me!
That's mine.
What is?
- The T-shirt.
- The T-shirt?
I found it in the patio years ago.
I live in ground floor C.
I asked the neighbors,
but nobody knew anything.
- I felt bad about throwing it away.
- You didn't ask me.
- Which apartment are you in?
- Apartment 9B.
Apartment 9B.
I don't think I made it there.
Hey!
I'll swap it with you.
Mm-hm.
Both are mine, you can't swap anything.
Sure, but you could be tricking me.
The T-shirt could belong to someone
who doesn't live here anymore.
You don't look like
you've got anything from '92.
Are you lying to me?
I'll come over.
I'll come over,
I don't want this to stink.
- I'm Marcos, by the way.
- Hm.
- Oh.
- Yeah.
Hello, Marcos from 9B. I'm Maggie.
- Hi, Maggie from ground floor C.
- Mm.
Hi.
You know what?
That T-shirt's definitely mine.
I swear, it was my brother's.
He's 15 years older than me.
As a kid, I was obsessed with it.
You know what I would do?
I would put it on,
and it would fall straight to my ankles.
I told my parents I wanted
to be a striptease artist.
I would take off the T-shirt,
shake my hips, all of it rehearsed.
By the age 13, I had forgotten about it.
When I came to study here,
my brother gave it to me.
He had kept it all that time for me.
I thought I had lost it on Cceres,
on vacation,
or my mother had thrown it away.
But no, it was closer than I thought.
Come and help me.
Okay.
THE ROOM
BY EZEQUIEL SILAS VERSION 3.0
Stop following me! You are so annoying!
Go to your room.
- Hey, Celeste.
- Leave me alone.
I want to be alone with the boxes.
- Will you stop being a...
- Leave me alone!
I don't want to talk about this now, Eze.
Leave me alone!
Like it better in English? Go away!
I didn't do anything.
You're not my dad!
Leave me alone!
Ezequiel, seriously, leave me alone.
I'm not good at this.
It's easy if you don't think.
- Watch me do it.
- Okay.
When I needed you so
What are you doing?
Singing a song while I fold my sheet.
That's our song.
"It's ours."
The T-shirt's yours, the joint's yours,
and the song is yours.
You think the world is yours.
If I cried at your door, it did...
How does it go?
If I cried at your door, it did...
If I cried at your door, it did...
If I cried at your door, it did...
I don't remember.
It was Pablo, my husband.
He called the cops
when you two came up here,
singing your hearts out.
It got on his nerves.
I told him to leave you alone.
You were just kids having fun,
but he didn't get why you did it.
Our first night here,
it was hot as fuck, like today.
We grabbed some bottles
and came up to the rooftop.
Vodka and orange,
like two brats just getting
into the good life.
We could see all of Madrid.
And it looked so small.
We felt so big.
So we started belting out that song
out of tune,
like a couple of mutts.
- Where were you when I needed you so
- When?
It became a custom.
When we were drunk or euphoric,
or both, which was likely,
we would come up here
to sing that damn song.
Until a neighbor called the cops.
And it was always the same, "Sorry,
it won't happen again. See you next time."
But now I know
that the neighbor was Pablo,
the husband of the woman
who steals T-shirts.
Pablo's a good guy.
He has just...
forgotten about the important things.
Got any gum?
No, I don't. Do you think...
that coming up here drunk
and singing that song
was important?
I have to go.
If you'll give me back the T-shirt...
Thanks.
Smells fucking great.
If you lose it again,
I know which door to knock on.
We're leaving.
I mean, I won't lose it again,
at least not here.
Today is our last day in the apartment.
Tomorrow, I'm studying
for my residency in Oviedo,
which is the best city to do it, they say.
You're a doctor?
I'm going to be.
You don't look like a doctor.
Striptease artist, yeah.
No way. I forgot how to do it
when I was about 13.
Maybe you'll get it back,
like the T-shirt.
What? Don't judge me. Not you.
- Hello.
- Hey.
- Shall I help you?
- No, thanks.
I'm a bit bored.
Marcos has gone out,
and I've packed my bags.
- I just have to go get them.
- Great.
Go on, I'll help you,
so we'll finish up sooner.
You know I got a job in Oviedo?
- Oh, really?
- Yes.
They called me yesterday.
I'm going to teach ballet
at a girls' school.
That's nice.
But I'm a bit nervous because
I've never taught anyone before.
Do you think I'll be a good teacher?
I don't know.
Leave it.
I can sort it out better alone,
I know where things go.
You don't even live here.
Well, almost?
What is it?
Nothing.
You're very cute.
Hey, do you mind if we go
to your room for a moment?
I want to show you something.
Come in.
I am going to show you...
a gift for Marcos.
It's to celebrate his residency.
I would like to give it to him tonight.
You're his best friend.
Do you think he'll like it?
I don't know even know what it is.
- It's a map.
- I know it's a map, I get that.
It's a map of the places
we promised we would go to,
but we never went.
Marcos always says
there's something waiting for us
in these places.
And if we don't go find that something,
we'll be stopping halfway,
sort of half-finished.
And it will be lost. "Like tears in rain."
That's from Blade Runner.
Really?
I thought it was a Los Piratas song,
Marcos loves them.
No, the song is a tribute to the movie.
Ah.
We start the trip next week.
Now you know what it is,
do you think he'll like it?
Hello?
Mm. I thought no one is at home.
How's it going?
- Eze's leaving.
- Just for a while.
His parents' place is fucking wild.
Pool, air-conditioning...
They even have a local girl
to do the ironing.
- We could visit him.
- No, he's really leaving. To London.
Really?
When?
He got a scholarship to study film there.
He's leaving in a week.
Good for him. It's long overdue.
Hm.
Hey, that T-shirt?
I thought you lost it.
I loved it.
Right.
Do you know the neighbor
in ground floor C?
- No.
- Yes, she hangs her washing
on the rooftop. Dark hair, attractive,
looks like she was a real beauty.
Ahh. I think I know now.
Never spoke to her.
She's just average, isn't she?
If you run into her
on the stairs, she says hello, but...
Her husband scowls at me a bit,
but she's...
kind of normal. Why?
Just curious. Yeah.
I'll see if I can finish this.
Shut the door, go on.
Get dolled up tonight,
I'm not leaving this place
without singing drunk on the roof.
Pablo's calling the cops again my ass!
Who's Pablo?
Mm...
Go, go, go!
You liked it, eh?
Mm.
- You bitch!
- It's awful!
- Aah!
- Mm.
Abril's over there! Abril!
Cutie!
- Marcos, no, seriously.
- Marta, I'm almost a doctor.
I know the effects.
Let's mess with some chemistry.
- It will be great fun.
- It's up to you.
Eze, come along.
I didn't tell you,
but I'm glad about London.
- It's a fucking great opportunity.
- It's "the" opportunity.
Don't let anyone tell you shit.
Like you don't belong,
your stuff's no good, none of that.
- Who's going to say that?
- You. Who else?
- Remember what I said two years ago?
- No, you talk all the time.
That one day, I'd force you
to make all the ideas you cram
into that notebook come true.
One day.
Then stop fucking around.
That day is staring you in the face.
I'm really going to miss you. I mean it.
- Thanks.
- Marcos.
- How are you?
- Hey, handsome. Come here.
I was looking for the fairy godmother
of this place. Ring a bell?
Do you know Eze?
By sight.
- How are you?
- Good. You?
- Fabulous. When are you leaving?
- Tomorrow.
I want tonight to be an awesome finale.
I need fairy magic.
Careful, honey, your best days are over.
- You're not up to an all-nighter.
- Eight years deserves a good all-nighter.
Plus, we got a silent carriage.
We'll sleep like babies.
- You're leaving, too?
- Yes, looks like it.
My friend's going to be
a legendary director-screenwriter.
Remember this face,
and give him wings tonight.
Oh, what a cutie, please...
Do you think
I could be a good actress?
With my job,
I've got to give it loads of theater.
And people say I'm terrific.
Hm.
I don't know, I would have to see you.
All right, Marquitos.
What's your wish from the fairy?
- I can choose?
- Of course.
They're kind of bitter,
but they're worth it.
And now...
- Marta.
- Mm-mm.
Not me.
You'll end up drunk
and won't remember anything.
Like the first time we did it?
What happened?
We fucked our brains out,
he took ages to come,
and I did the world's greatest blowjob.
Eze?
A bit less for me, or I'll spin and puke.
- Then just a quarter.
- Go.
And now?
Now shut your eyes, relax,
and ask the fairy godmother
to make your dreams come true.
So far, I just need to piss.
Me, too. Come on.
- I've never seen it.
- What?
We've been living together for eight years
and I've never seen it. Show me.
Stop. Now I can't piss.
I think it's big.
Stop it, really.
Eze, it's only a dick.
You know that Marilyn said that, for her,
making love is just like shaking hands?
She didn't sweat it.
I think it should always be like that.
- I'll wait for you outside.
- No, wait. I'll be quick.
What's wrong?
I brought you this.
I had forgotten.
I know. It's a promise.
We said that the last day
we'll live together,
we would take the same photo as the first.
One for you and one for me.
Yeah.
We also said we would take a trip
on Route 66,
just like those women did,
and stop at a roadside diner
with one of those waitresses
who were constantly pouring black coffee,
and find out if you paid for one,
then they would keep filling it up.
We were never sure.
And we never did it.
Promises suck.
They remind you of what you're not.
Come on.
We owe it to Thelma & Louise
and the first movie we saw together.
Which one are you keeping?
The photo from the first day.
Don't worry.
It was just a handshake for my friend.
- Listen.
- Mm-hm?
If you don't want to come to Oviedo
and stay here instead,
I would understand.
Why wouldn't I want to go with you?
Look at you, so ugly, so rancid...
I'm serious.
I know you've got your dance stuff here.
You can do things that are worthwhile.
Eze told me they're reopening
those swank theaters on Gran Va
for musicals.
In Oviedo,
you'll only be a teacher.
- Maybe that's fine for me.
- Don't talk crap.
Talent isn't for teaching,
it's for other stuff.
I would like the talent of knowing
that what you mean
is that things will get simpler.
More genuine.
Okay.
But if you want to stay, I understand.
- You deserve someone good.
- And you're not?
You think I'm a good person?
It will all be fine, really.
I'm not made for you
You're not made for me
You're always in some kind of cloud
Really
I don't know what you think
When you see me
Flying over some part of your intimacy
I'm not your narcotics
And I'm going to your desert to ponder
You'll tell me I need you
And you'll almost convince me
I'm not made for you
You're not made for me
But you had the tip, right?
What are you talking about?
- Did you like her?
- Not at all.
Abril fell hard for you,
and you for her, a little.
- I missed it, I didn't notice.
- It's okay.
- Go to your fucking house.
- Water!
Son of a bitch!
Hey! Which apartment was it?
- 3A. Come up.
- You bitch!
- Let it rain, let it rain...
- Come up, smart ass!
No, stop it, shut up.
Run!
- Gosh.
- Oh, man.
Hey, don't go to sleep now, okay?
- Come on.
- I'm falling!
Oh!
- I can't feel my feet.
- Pablo!
- Pablo.
- Fuck.
- Let's go, come on.
- We won't make any noise, Pablo.
Pablo.
...to all the posters
on the walls of this dump
and its wonderful rent control.
Wonderful.
- Cheers!
- Cheers!
Mm!
And also, to our wonderful
no-future professions.
- All right.
- Yes, please.
- They deserve a toast.
- Absolutely!
- No.
- Yes.
Yours, not mine.
What a bummer, Dr. House is speaking.
No, your hippies feeding off
your own dreams. It's fine.
- Fuck off, Marcos.
- Hold on.
A toast to him.
Let's give a toast, Marcos,
to that red bandanna
you put on your doorknob,
so we'll know that you're fucking Marta.
Like you were 15 years old.
- You like it?
- Do you know why I do it?
- Why?
- It reminds me of your hair, Celeste.
Asshole!
- And just in case.
- Just in case of what?
- Just in case we're fucking.
- So what?
Wait.
Let's also give a toast
to that horrible, ugly,
dreadful song
that Eze puts on way up high,
so we won't know what he's up to.
Please, stop.
Wanker!
I never did that.
Really, never in my life, ever.
You should. I do.
- You do it? What?
- Of course. That.
That?
Who would you take to a desert island?
Really? While I'm asleep?
I masturbate while you're asleep.
You masturbate while I'm asleep?
Why don't you wake me up?
- I don't know, if you want...
- You should wake me up,
- Hey!
- so I can help you...
Who would you take to a desert island?
- What?
- What?
It's a game, it's easy.
Perfect for nights like this.
- Not me. I'm sleepy.
- Eze, Eze.
- Eze, Eze, Eze.
- No, seriously.
For a bit.
Come on, Eze, don't be a pain.
Come on, it will take a second.
Imagine there's a nuclear blast
and everything's fucked up,
but there's a desert island
you can go to with two companions.
From the people here,
choose two and say why.
Be honest, or it's no good.
Okay. You start, smart-ass.
- Me?
- Uh-huh.
I wouldn't go to a desert island.
I would rather die in the blast
and go down in film history as a legend.
Hey, legend, maybe it's me.
I don't get it.
If everything's fucked up,
then you and your movies
will also be fucked up.
It really hurts you to see people happy.
One thing you forgot,
you have to accept who you are.
You're a doctor, and I'm a legend.
- Take that!
- Boom!
- In your face!
- She said it!
I accept it.
Come on, I'll start.
I would take...
Uh...
- Celeste.
- Mm.
And Marcos.
Marcos for physical needs, and Celeste,
because I'll need support
when this guy acts like an asshole.
Very nice, beautiful. My turn.
I would take Marta,
- for physical needs and not much more.
- Uh-huh.
And Eze, to give her shit
when she acts like an asshole.
You're the asshole!
- It's a line I heard, it's not mine.
- Sure.
Eze to go.
I think I would take Marcos, and...
- I don't know.
- You do.
All right, then, Celeste.
I think now it would be weird
sharing with strangers,
although Marcos is allergic
to cleaning the bathroom.
- Lying is so ugly! So ugly!
- No, my ass.
It's no lie, man.
You never clean up,
you just move shit around.
Which is the same thing, kind of.
And Celeste?
She puts the feminist porn at full blast
in the early hours
and thinks we don't hear her.
- "We are liberated women!"
- Shut up, stop! No!
- You got to tell the truth.
- What truth?
You chose me to have gorgeous kids,
and repopulate the Earth from that island.
No kids for me.
They ruin fun, they ruin everything.
I would rather be alone
with my movies, chilled out, seriously.
Eze, seriously.
Stop the sad, tormented artist thing,
it doesn't cut it.
Seriously, you're too good.
It depends on your point of view.
- Seriously.
- Yeah?
How about this point of view?
What?
- Shit. I forgot how it went.
- How what went?
How did it go?
Right, I remember!
"With no one around,
who can take off my shells,
this armor I carry
suffocates me with pain."
- What are you laughing at?
- What a shitty point of view!
- That's so corny!
- No, it's not, it's beautiful.
- It's a bit airy-fairy.
- What do you mean?
Marta, you can't put "shell"
and "suffocate" in one sentence.
Marcos, enough!
It's not corny, seriously.
It's not, really.
"Shell," right?
- It makes no sense.
- Enough.
Where did you read that?
Where did you read it?
Tell me!
What's wrong?
Eze, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I accidentally found the script
while I was looking for a pen.
Bullshit. It was in my room.
Sure, but I did need a pen.
The script was on the table,
and I picked it up by chance.
It has been a while
since you wrote anything.
I was excited that you had.
You should've left it there.
You have no right to read private stuff,
much less to laugh at me!
I wasn't. We were just kidding!
Sure! That's why you called it corny.
- We didn't know it was yours.
- So you told the truth.
Eze, it's not like that.
I think it's a beautiful script.
- Forget it, Marta.
- No, seriously.
I didn't want to tell you
because I knew how you would react.
Fuck, stories are written to be read.
You don't have to be ashamed of anything.
It's good.
Did you read all of it?
Marta, look at me.
- Did you or not?
- All of it, it's okay.
- Are you seriously asking me?
- You fucking suck!
No, you have to be really selfish
- to go into someone else's room,
- Hey, Eze.
Read a script that's private...
That's so fucking shitty!
Stop insulting me!
It's not my fault
you're so alone and bitter!
"So alone"?
- Great.
- I didn't mean it.
- What did you mean?
- Nothing, I didn't mean anything.
Shall we play something else?
Yes, let's play something else
because this is stupid.
Listen, Marta.
Sorry. I think it was the crap Marcos
gave me before.
- I'm not used to it.
- Never mind.
But now we're on it,
let's not change the game.
We can mix it up a little.
Let's say the nuclear blast
has reached the island,
and near the island
is another smaller island.
It's tiny, only enough for two people.
You have to choose one.
Who would you take?
- That change is dangerous.
- No way!
Besides, you started the game.
- Eze, you're drunk.
- Like all of us.
Go on, you begin, smart guy.
- Those aren't the rules.
- Fuck the rules.
You can't do that.
That's what rules are for.
They're for breaking.
I don't give a shit about them.
- Marcos, you begin.
- Eze, you're drunk.
What a pain in the ass! Yeah, I'm wasted.
And drunk people tell the truth, right?
- What the fuck is wrong with you?
- Nothing.
- There's nothing wrong with you?
- No, I'm fine.
Right.
Marcos, a while ago,
you said you would take us two.
But now you can only choose one.
Who would it be?
Nobody. Let's go up to the rooftop
for a nightcap.
I'm not leaving this place
without singing on the rooftop.
- Forget the fucking rooftop and answer.
- Answer him, and we'll forget this.
- Move your ass.
- Answer him, please.
- Who cares? It's obvious.
- No, I won't choose anyone. Move it!
Answer him, so we can stop
this shitty fucking game.
Will you shut the fuck up
and let him say what he thinks?
Eze, what are you doing?
What, you going to cry now?
- Go to Marcos' room, as usual.
- You idiot.
- What's up with you?
- What the fuck are you doing?
- I'm fucking sick of this girl!
- Will you shut up?
I can't stand her anymore!
- Yeah, she can go the fuck home!
- What the fuck is up with you?
- She's a brat.
- Marta.
- Are you stupid or what?
- She's always causing trouble.
- Eze, you're out of line.
- Yes, go to Marcos' room.
- Eze, you're out of line!
- Get out of here!
- Will you calm down?
- No, I'm sick of this selfish brat!
- Are you an idiot or what?
- I'm fucking sick of her!
Eze, stop it!
- Will you shut up?
- She can fuck off home!
What's wrong? You can't live without us?
I swear that I tried every fucking day
with you!
Every day!
But you won't let me.
And you?
Nothing to say, right?
Yeah?
Sure, because Marta's always there, right?
- Fuck, Marta...
- "Fuck, Marta" what?
That's all you fucking have to say?
Fuck you both.
- Marta.
- Don't touch me!
What the fuck is going on here?
Nothing's going on, right, Marcos?
No, nothing's going on.
I'm going to put on some music.
Maybe it will lighten the mood.
Feel like that?
- Very much so.
- Yes, I bet you do.
I cannot stand that song.
Take off the fucking song.
It's not the time!
Eze, please. Turn it off.
What am I doing?
Eze, please stop it.
Eze, stop it and take off
that fucking song.
Eze, take off that fucking song, please!
Fucking hell!
I'm telling you to take off
that fucking song!
You're a son of a bitch.
Son of a bitch.
Guys, I don't know
if it's the booze or what, but...
- I don't get it at all.
- It's fine.
- Fine?
- It's all good.
You wish, Eze! You wish!
It's fine?
A moment ago, we were just chilling out,
and now you two got like this
over a stupid game?
Stop drinking now, or you'll fuck it up.
Fuck up what, Marcos?
What?
Let's do this.
Let's tidy up, go to bed,
and stop acting like brats,
- which is all we're doing!
- No, we're going to keep playing.
- No, that's enough games.
- It's the last one.
This is dumb.
Stop telling me what to do!
I'm sick of everyone telling me
the way things are!
Stop it!
You're my friends, right?
Then let's play
the oldest game in history,
the fucking truth.
Eze, we're wasted,
and we'll end up saying things
that we might regret later.
Why? We're friends.
Eze, please, stop it.
- Please.
- No.
I'll frame the question.
We have to tell the truth.
Nothing but the truth.
I'll start, I'll make it easy.
What have you never dared to say?
I told you
I would make it easy for you.
Nights with you have been
the best and worst I've ever had.
It was where I've felt most alive,
like the worst prick in history.
Now you really know me.
Bullshit.
I didn't know you could be such a bastard.
You two...
You two...
Both of you are bastards.
- Celeste, don't go.
- Don't touch me.
Celeste, don't go, please.
You don't want me to go?
Hold on, I get it.
You're going to apologize to me.
No?
Ah, you don't want me to go
because you're scared I'll run into Marta.
- Celeste, I'm sorry, okay?
- You're sorry?
Yes, this has nothing to do with you.
It's between Eze and me.
- It has nothing to do with me?
- No, it's between Eze and me.
You're the only person I told
how I felt about him.
The only one!
But that has nothing to do with me, right?
Fine, if it doesn't.
I'll get my stuff and take off.
So you can enjoy
your fucking desert island.
That's what fucks you off,
that he prefers me.
Guys, that's enough, okay?
- You shut up!
- You shut up!
Fucking great.
What the fuck. I'm staying.
Sure. This is my house,
and I'm staying.
Plus, it's my turn, and I want to play.
I don't want to go on.
It's my turn, and we're playing.
Eze said
we had to be honest, right?
Honest. Right.
My question is for you, Marcos.
Aren't you tired of being a fucking liar?
Yes.
Yes, I am.
Do you know why?
It's exhausting to have
to convince myself day after day
that what I have is what I want.
And I'm very scared, Celeste.
I'm shitting myself.
Scared to become a prick
that ruins everything he touches.
I'm scared of hurting Marta.
I'm scared of disappointing you.
I'm scared of losing Eze.
I'm so tired of being a fucking liar.
Bravo, that was...
...great.
You'll end up being the actor
in the house, not me.
Maybe I can do better than you,
it wouldn't be hard.
You motherfucker.
I am a motherfucker.
But I don't say anything to you
when you suck cocks for a role.
Do you think about the wives
and kids of the guys you fucked?
Or do you think Marta doesn't tell me
- what a bitch you are?
- Hey!
You shut up!
Stop defending your little friend.
It won't make you a better person!
He can't fall in love with you!
Do you get it, Celeste?
He can't fall in love with you
because he's a fag!
What's it like to be the lapdog of a guy
who couldn't bear to kiss you?
Weren't we playing truth?
Now it's my turn.
Do you know how much
you resemble your Marilyn?
Not much. Not much at all.
That fake hair of yours,
and you fuck anyone
who promises you success.
And you, if you get nothing,
it's because you're no good.
Because you've got nothing new.
You don't have talent, you're just eager,
and a scholarship won't change that.
And I'm in love with you,
you idiot.
I'm in love with you,
and I struggle every day not to be,
but I can't.
With Marta, it's all easy,
but not with you!
Great, right?
Are you happy?
All this fucking shit
because of your game.
Great.
Leave her alone. It's not her fault.
No, it's sure not my fault.
It's your fault,
with that goody-goody look of yours.
Fuck, now I get it.
That fucking song you put on
in your room at full volume.
It was so I wouldn't
hear you fucking, right?
And the bandanna on the door,
it was a signal for Eze, right?
So he would know Marta was in
and not fuck around.
Right?
Fuck.
Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me!
You did all this to protect him, right?
To defend him.
It's all going fucking great for him.
And me? I'm the fucking clown here.
You could laugh at me
whenever you liked, huh?
Answer me, Eze.
Look at me and answer me.
Did you laugh at me
while you were fucking?
Look me in the eye!
You're a coward.
All day whining about the world,
and you don't have the balls
to tell the truth.
What do you want me to say?
That I'm bitter?
That we spend our lives planning
what we're going to do,
and then do nothing?
- Maybe we're not talented enough.
- Speak for yourself.
No, for both of us.
Otherwise, why are you so mad?
- You just can't face it.
- This has nothing to do with it.
- Then what does?
- You're a coward!
That's what we're talking about!
The only truth you've said here
is that you're bitter!
But I'll tell you something else,
you're a fag.
- A pervert...
- Shut up!
I'm sorry.
Hello.
Guys, I'm sorry for being so...
Celeste, Celeste, Celeste...
I'm a bitch?
Celeste.
Marcos.
Marcos.
Say something, please.
One day,
I was asked a question I couldn't answer.
"What am I most proud of?"
Could you answer?
I don't know.
I think it's...
never, ever hurting anyone.
I don't know why.
Marta, I was scared to death.
Marta. Marta. Listen, Marta.
Marta. Marta. Please, Marta.
Please. Please.
You know what?
Maybe it's because, once,
when I was little, I fell...
in a ballet class,
and I hit the bar
really hard.
The exercise bar, you know.
I started crying like never before.
I got a small gash,
and I was bleeding.
I was scared
because it was the first time
I was really hurt.
I thought of all the stitches
I would have to get on the gash.
I thought I wouldn't be able to take it.
Then my mother came to pick me up.
She took me to hospital.
Her eyes looked strange.
I thought it was because of me
and my injury.
I asked her and she said it didn't matter.
But I kept at it,
saying to her, "Mom,
it hurts. It really hurts."
She said that it was a blow.
It's going to hurt at first,
but it will pass and be forgotten.
But her eyes were still strange.
Her look was empty.
And when we...
got home from the hospital,
it seemed emptier.
What was missing...
were the slippers my father wore
around the house,
the pack of cigarettes,
the dresser at the entrance,
his clothes, his razor...
I understood why...
my mother's eyes looked strange.
Because nothing hurts
more than that, Marcos.
Not even a gash on a girl...
who lost her balance in a ballet class.
Marta. Marta. Marta.
Marta!
Marta!
What, Marcos? What?
Eze! Eze!
Eze!
Eze!
That's it, you got me.
That's what you wanted, right?
Well, smart-ass, I'm yours.
What are you doing there?
Get down, you'll fall.
Did you notice it's not hot anymore?
I don't give a shit
about the heat or anything.
I'm begging you, get down from there.
Eze!
- Did you throw a glass at me?
- Fuck you.
You're leaving me?
What am I leaving?
Tell me. What the fuck am I leaving?
What are we?
- Relax, I wasn't going to jump.
- Don't touch me!
You always forget
that the neighbor below has a balcony.
I just wanted some air.
Really, Eze?
We went through all of it
to end up like this?
You kick me and I'm left here
feeling like a bastard.
What got you hard?
That I had a girlfriend
or that you didn't have the balls
to admit you're a fag?
- You don't get it.
- Eze, do you love me?
- That's not the issue.
- Yes or no?
- That doesn't matter now.
- I need to know what matters!
You don't know
what those nights were like for me.
For you, it was turn up, shag, and leave.
But I felt like shit.
Night after night, day after day.
You had no idea, right?
You've got no idea about anything.
I often imagined you staying
at the door and not opening it.
You would turn
and tell me everything would be all right.
You know the worst part of it?
I think you would end up doing to me
the same thing you did to Marta.
Because you're incapable of loving anyone.
At least you're not ashamed of her.
With me, there's only time
for you and me in a fucking bed.
Nothing else.
- Nothing else?
- Nothing else.
You really think...
I only wanted to fuck you?
Every night I spent with you...
was the only real thing
I've had in a long time,
but I didn't know it.
I didn't know it.
What Marta read in your room
is about us, right?
Yes.
How does the story end?
Badly. The inevitable ending.
The lead character ended up getting hurt.
- I never hurt you.
- Come on.
Not on purpose.
But you hurt me, you know?
Do you think I don't know
where you go at night alone?
You always forget to delete
your Internet history.
- Are you serious?
- Completely.
How many have you fucked
while you wait for it all to get better?
Maybe Celeste is right,
and you're a goody-goody.
How many cocks have you sucked? Ten?
Thirty? Forty? How many?
How many have you sucked?
Fifteen? How many?
I stopped when I realized
that all I was looking for was you.
You!
And I would rather have our shitty nights
than have nothing with you.
- But now...
- Now what?
I can't be involved with you now.
Eze, please.
Eze, it's okay.
I want you. Stay with me.
Go away.
I told you to go.
Yes, go away and leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Everyone left me alone, so fuck everyone.
5 YEARS LATER
- Hi, guys.
- Hi, boss.
Turn off the beep, or it's unbearable.
Take out the basket.
Make sure it's out of the oil
before shaking it,
so it doesn't splash. Okay?
Shake it well, and it goes here.
So...
this is the standard box of 12.
And this is the box of six, which is new.
Always with the tongs,
never with your hands.
Don't be dirty, okay?
Hygiene is always the key.
If your gloves break,
change them immediately, okay?
Eze!
Hi.
- It has been so long.
- Yes.
I thought you were still in London.
No, I came back.
I've been here and there, you know.
No, I don't know.
I was at my folks' place after London.
Then I was up north for work.
I've been in Madrid for about a year.
- How are you?
- Good.
- Good. You?
- Good. Great.
Well, I have to go,
they're waiting for me.
- I'm so glad to see you.
- Me, too.
Eze!
Come with me to a place, please.
The area's nice, the rents are low,
and the metro's right nearby.
I read that it's going to be
the next Malasaa.
Yeah, because of the river.
It's just down the street.
- Can I tell you something dumb?
- Go ahead.
It's stupid, okay?
I've Googled your name a lot of times.
I always hoped to find a photo of you
on a shoot in London, or...
if you had gotten an award
or published something,
or you had started a blog
of the stuff you were writing.
I told you it was dumb.
And you never found me, right?
It's here.
Come inside.
What is this?
Eze.
Celeste, the Madrid Council called
about an agreement
on alternative theaters.
Call them when you can.
Hello.
- Hello, sorry. Hello.
- How are you?
This is Eze. He's...
He's a friend.
That's Francesco, the head technician.
Celia, in charge of programming.
- And Irene, head of press.
- How are you?
How are you?
We're having a drink next door
with the cast.
Are you coming?
No, we're going inside.
I want to show him the stage.
Okay. Wait, I'll hit the lights.
Thanks.
Chon, leave us alone
for a moment, please.
Thanks, honey.
Welcome to Garaje Lumiere.
Mutant Fried Chicken gave me
some savings.
And one night, I had a dream.
I dreamed of a tiny theater
and a horse smoking a pipe.
A place where anyone
who wanted to be something,
could be it.
I said, "Why not?"
Are you going to act?
No. I don't know.
Maybe yes, maybe no.
We have loads of projects to study, and...
I don't want to steal their chance,
I want to give it to them.
Maybe that's my place.
Write something.
I'll put it on first,
you've got a connection.
You don't write anymore?
I went back to the hospital,
to take baby photos.
Now I make up a story for each photo.
I treat it as a training ground.
Maybe something will come out of it.
Great.
I'm relaxed.
I'm good.
I saw Marcos.
It was in London.
Near where I lived.
I was coming back from film school.
I was crossing at the lights,
and I suddenly saw him.
In front of me.
He was... disoriented.
He looked right,
like he didn't know
it's all backward in London.
He didn't see me.
The light turned green, and he got a call.
There, he stayed, talking.
And you know what, Celeste?
I had almost forgotten
what his voice was like,
how he talked.
And just then I missed him
so much that I ran off.
I didn't want him to see me.
The following days, I asked at the school
if a Spanish guy had asked for me
or left a letter, a package, something.
But it's always the same answer.
"No."
Maybe he went to look for you.
Maybe.
I saw Marta, about a year ago.
How is she?
I was coming home from work,
all sweaty and disgusting,
and I passed by a theater on Calle Mayor.
The play on the poster
was The Steady Running of the Hour,
and I saw her name, Marta Garnica.
I immediately bought a ticket
and went in to see her.
She's an actress now. But there is also
some dancing on the play.
And she's good, that bitch.
Very good.
I sat near the stage
and in the curtain call,
she looked where I was sitting
and I smiled at her.
I don't know if she saw me,
but she smiled, too.
Later, I waited in the alley
where the players come out.
It was a bit cold,
and I was kind of hidden,
maybe that's why she didn't see me.
Her mother was waiting with a stroller
and a baby, not more than a year old.
Marta came out, smiled,
leaned down, and picked it up.
There was no father, no boyfriend,
nothing.
Just her and her daughter.
And she was happy, Eze.
So happy that I didn't dare
to say hello to her.
I didn't want her to see me.
It's nice here.
Yes.
It sure is.
I did the Route two years ago.
Alone.
No, not alone, with our photo.
I fantasized about meeting you
there somewhere.
I was going to call you,
but, then, I thought that maybe
it wasn't a good idea.
I don't know.
I had this crazy fantasy
that we would run into each other
in the desert.
One time, I even thought I saw you.
- But it wasn't me.
- No, I know it wasn't you.
It wasn't me because I did it
three months ago.
In the end, we kept our promise.
You always have to keep them,
even if it's solo.
Well, I have to go, I'll be late for work.
See you later?
See you later.
Celeste!