01x06 - Don't talk about me

[bunniefuu]

And I'll say one more thing.

And I'm getting hysterical, and emotional,
because she doesn't deserve it.

EXCLUSIVE - MORIA SPEAKS OUT

RESULTS OF PRIVATE RHINOSCOPY
INTERLOPERS BRINGS YOU EXCLUSIVE FOOTAGE

This lady who, at the funeral
of her daughter, I mean, her son,

said, "You're such a good person."

Why is she giving me advice now?

Why am I good when I go to a wake,

but I'm bad all the time and I'm crazy?

She's insolent and a liar.
She better not talk to me again!

She better never address me again,
and forget about Moria Casán!

She's disrespectful and shameless.

Now I say we go to a break,
because I need to cry.

And then I'll talk more sh*t
about those who talk about me.

Lying hypocrites!
I'm not letting you do this. I'm done!

I'm fine. I'm crying for my daughter
and Helenita, not for them.

I need to go to a break.
Enough with these people.

I'm not cutting to commercials,
but I'll leave you to calm down.

-I've never seen you like this.
-Come on!

So Moria Casán is good
when she's at her son's funeral.

I stay to the side. "You're so good."

But when they could defend me
on something that affects my honor,

they don't, they're shameless.

And I won't allow it.

I'll send her a cease and desist.

Do you feel, Moria, like the industry
cast you out over this issue? That they--

No, please, honey.
The industry casting me out?

What industry? There's no industry.
They're all decadent.

An industry that smells like feces.
What industry is there? What stars?

Please, honey. What industry?

They're all decadent, decrepit liars.
Just seeing them is embarrassing.

There are very few in this industry
who are great and stay out of things.

There's no such thing
as an industry, darling.

I don't feel cast out.
I feel like I get taller every time.

Why do I care about them?
The audience hasn't cast me out.

They worship me like a folk saint,
the Patron Saint of t*ts.

I don't care about the industry.
The audience pays my bills.

They're nervous because I'm so…
They're scared.

They've never seen me like this.

I was the nice Moria, which I still am,

the fabulous one who lets them
get away with everything for fun.

But this time
I'm not making up on a TV show.

That was another era, and we had fun.

But now you butt in,
hang off my t*ts, hang off my nose.

Then I'll air your dirty laundry.

Don't f*ck with me.
Because I know all of you.

And I'm a good person, I'm not a liar.
I've always told the truth.

So I'm not going to let them
give me advice.

Who are these people? Who are you?
Don't talk about me.

Morita, are you ready to sign?

Yes.

It's right here.

They messed with my daughter,
and I won't allow that.

Here.

They're shameless.
Nobody messes with my family.

There, one more.

The more dirt they throw at me,
the more I come out clean.

That's what they don't realize.

I don't want anyone else to talk about me.

If you don't want people to talk,
then talk about yourself.

-How?
-Accept the publisher's proposal.

Tell your own story.

Let's go, Kristóbal.

Here I am, stirring up the past,

shaking it with a sharp edge.

A sharp fingernail becomes a portal,

a journey through time.

A living archive that is reviewed,
corrected, and improved.

Had you been to this neighborhood?

The first time I heard about Leloir
was because of you.

What is this?

Art.

Sit down.

The publishing house
said you're the best, Fernanda.

Well, that depends.

But the idea is to support you,
to help you.

Do you get good pay?

It's never that good. But yes.

I want you to be delighted with your book.

I want it to have your smell,
your texture, your voice.

Write down anything
that comes to your head.

I'll read it and give you some feedback.
That's one way.

-But if you need a ghostwriter--
-No ghosts!

I'll write it myself.
You guide me, lead me.

Have you ever tried
writing about yourself?

Because it's a trip.

I only journey within myself.

You're Moria Casán.

You know how we should tell this story?

-How?
-Like the life of a Martian.

Science fiction?

I love that.

Memory is time…

MEMORIA
MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

And where there is time…

there is a past.

I have an urge for orgasms
that make me cry.

I recreate emotions. I keep them stored.

Encapsulated, just like my t*ts.

What a strange mix of plastic and truth.

I've always felt special.

I got the gift of seeing myself
from the outside,

and casting a great light on myself.

I'VE ALWAYS FELT SPECIAL.

I GOT THE GIFT OF SEEING MYSELF
FROM THE OUTSIDE,

AND CASTING A GREAT LIGHT ON MYSELF.

Moria!

What are you doing?

Look, go like this. Otherwise I can't see.

-You play the same thing.
-Hold on.

My dad was in the military,
although his passion was music.

Flat and F.

-No.
-No!

-Great job!
-There we go.

My mom was a housewife
who always longed to be an actress.

-Will you be long?
-No. Look.

I was thinking about dinner.
You're not having dinner like this?

I loved them,
but I hated seeing them together.

You're hungry.

You're worse than I am.

You're… You're naughty.

Don't be like that. Keep playing.

Jealousy would make me sick.

It affected me physically,
it accelerated my heart rate.

Anger.

Dancing, soaring,
seeing everything from above.

But not even dancing would calm me down.

That f*cking jealousy made me so fragile.

I was six years old.

I heard them f*cking.

They were making me suffer
and I didn't want to forgive them.

Rage!

I rocked myself all night to calm down…

to control my mind.

My jealousy was gone forever.

That's how my famous self-esteem was born.

Excuse me.

Oh, no way.

Hi, Grandma.

Hi, Helena.

-Say hi.
-Hi.

Hi. How are you?

How are you doing?
Do you need anything? Are you okay?

-I'm good, Mom.
-Really?

Oh wow.

Oh, sweetie.
This kid has a stunning face already.

The family line is preserved.

We're like Matryoshka dolls.
Or more like "Mo-tryoshka."

Now we're three witches, Mom.

So you're okay then? Are you feeling well?

Yes, we're fine, Mom.

-How about you?
-Fine.

The book?

It's your grandma.

It's your grandma. There.

-What is it, Helena?
-There, honey.

Did the green scare you?
Did Grandma's coat scare you?

Wanna hear about the book, Helena?
Grandma's book?

So? How is Grandma's book coming along?

I have to say,
it's taking me longer than I thought.

-But it's going well?
-Yes, I like it.

Is it good for you?

In what sense?

Thinking about yourself, Mom.

I'm talking about things
I've never talked about.

Let's hope that Grandma
doesn't talk much about us in that book.

Right?

I'm Moria
Moria Casán

Everybody will call me

La One

-Moria, Moria Casán…
-It's good.

It's working.

Everybody will call me La One

Forget it. It's her new lullaby.

It's working, dude. Go on.

-Moria, Moria Casán…
-It's not David Bowie, okay?

-Everybody…
-It's Moria Casán.

Will call me La One

Moria
Moria Casán

Everybody

Will call me La One

COME SEE THE MIRACLE ROCK
THAT FELL FROM THE SKY

THE STONE THAT GOD SENT US

THE MIRACLE ROCK THAT FELL FROM THE SKY

COME SEE THE MIRACLE ROCK
PURE ENERGY

THE ROCK FROM THE SKY

DONATIONS

Hi, guys. Offerings over there.

What is this?

Frida, ma'am.

Frida.

I saw Moria over there!

-Moria, can I get a kiss?
-No, I can't kiss. I have a cold.

Raise your hands…

What is this, Susana?

I don't know, ma'am. It was Frida.

And give thanks.
This stone is a magnetic point.

Its energy comes from the depths
of the earth, from this garden,

our dear Parque Leloir.

-How did it happen?
-We were inside and we heard a loud noise.

Right, ma'am? Like an expl*si*n.
And when we came out, the stone was here.

You can ask for whatever you want.
Let's all raise our hands and--

No raising your hands!
Please leave my house, everyone.

Get out of my house, thanks. Frida.

-Just leave the offerings and--
-You can take your offerings. Thank you.

-Please, get out. Goodbye.
-Everyone leave. Bye.

Susana, see all the faithful out.

Let's go. Goodbye. Chop-chop.

-Thank you. Chop-chop.
-What is this?

-Come on.
-What are you doing, Frida?

Why did you bring all these people
to my house?

-Ma'am.
-Tell me what's going on.

This happened for a reason.
Here at your house.

This isn't a work of art.

This is something else.

This is a miracle.

It's a miracle that Helenita brought.
She came to heal us.

Excuse me, I'll see all the faithful out.

Excuse me, ma'am.

It's very good.

Very good.

People don't know much
about your childhood, huh?

-Not that much.
-Right. I figured.

I figured. Good.

Is there more?

More? What, tell more to sell more?

No. My thing is words.
I know nothing about numbers.

-But you liked it? What did you think?
-Yes.

Yes, I liked it. It's…
It's very good. It's…

It's dynamic, full of images. Very good.

But the thing that got me thinking

was the Martian thing, right?

The point of view you chose
to see the world from

and chose to talk about yourself.

It's almost as if you were…

a foreigner, an exile from planet Earth.

It's a shield you put up,
which is totally valid,

but it's also a way of not opening up.

Go figure. I don't know a more open,
more honest person than me.

The audience expects something
you've never told.

Your book is asking for it.

It's asking for an act of brutal honesty.

That the main character
can delve into the wound.

You want to talk about trauma?
I don't have any.

I metabolize, I process,
elevate everything to the maximum degree.

No trauma.

Did I say trauma?

No, but just in case.

I wanted to clarify.

I HAVE AN URGE FOR ORGASMS
THAT MAKE ME CRY.

I RECREATE EMOTIONS. I KEEP THEM STORED.
ENCAPSULATED, JUST LIKE MY t*ts.

Very good.

Good.

There we go.

Okay.

Now lie down.

Slowly, gently. There you go.

Don't move. Don't talk.
Breathe slowly so it won't break.

My mom and I had a sacred ritual.

Be right back. I'll be right back.

Stillness, so that the armor of mud
wouldn't break.

An hornero girl.

I am my own home.

My grandfather molested me.

It was a silent, dirty routine,
but eroticizing.

Was it normal?

Did it happen to other girls too?

I experienced it with a mix of disgust…

and pleasure.

Secret.

Had you ever told this story before?

Yes, I told it on one of Mirtha's shows.

What did you say?

That. That I'd experienced
a mix of disgust and pleasure.

Her jaw dropped like yours just did.

I'm not surprised.

I think we have to find
another way to tell it,

because readers will be too shocked.

Readers or you?

It's heavy.

Heavy and controversial.

That was my experience and I got over it.

You got over it?

Yes, I didn't go to therapy,
but I processed it.

And I'm not trying
to romanticize anything.

The image of the hornero girl
who builds her nest is so powerful.

It's so sensitive, so inspiring

that I think it's a pity you don't condemn
your grandfather a little more strongly.

He was a son of a b*tch.

I don't want to victimize myself.

You don't believe
that I got over it, do you?

To be honest,

I find it hard to believe.

And I think the readers will too.

It's hard to sympathize
with a character like that.

I don't get why you took this job.

You don't believe what I say.
You're so judgy.

I'm your editor.

I'm not a fan.

I don't want to be a role model,
and this isn't a self-help book.

I never did anything
to please others or to be accepted.

I said that from the start.

My life is not like anyone else's.

I'm confused.
Do you care that I believe you or not?

Let's leave it here.
Someone will see you out.

I'll mail you the rest.

We only have a week left.

Having my period at 14
was like some sort of sexual alarm clock.

Men felt some type of way about me.

I felt it.

I started to provoke them.

Handsome, ugly, tall, short.
I didn't care.

They all wanted me,
and I liked being liked.

-Moria, let's go inside.
-Is something wrong?

My parents didn't know what to do.
They wanted to calm my mind.

Hormone surge.

-Mom! Mom! Let me go, please!
-Calm down, please.

Mom, please!

Please, Mom!

Please, stop. Mom! Stop! Mom!

ELECTROSHOCK

They thought it had worked.

But it didn't.

I wanted pleasure.

And then came Rubén.

Two rabbits. Horny all day.

An unstoppable, toxic, and lethal loop.

I thought that love had to hurt.

But the pain wasn't only from the punches.

I had two ab*rtion in one year.

Alone.

"Memory is a footprint where you sometimes
find unexpected answers."

"Every obstacle was a lesson
disguised as a challenge."

"And resilience was the armor I built
so I could fight every battle."

There's lots in the book
that I didn't know about.

You'd never told me about it.
The shock thing, for starters.

Well…

But seriously, I think you were always
very much about getting everything out,

all the things we already know about you,

but this proves

that you are also kind of
a custodian of your privacy.

There is a way, a very "you" philosophy

of overcoming adversity

that is inspiring
and that makes you unique, Mom.

Don't cry or I'll start,
and I don't want to.

-What is the sewer thing you say?
-If I fell into a sewer…

Even if I fall into a sewer,
I get up and smell like roses.

I love you. And congratulations.

Thank you.

So sweet.

You're so stupid.

It's hard for me to interrupt this moment.

When you look at Sofía and Moria,

you kind of lose sight of the fact
that's a mother-daughter bond,

a declaration of love.

So I'll keep it as brief as I can.

To work with Moria Casán,
I first had to face my own prejudices,

of which I had many,
a lot more than I thought.

I had a hard time accepting

that her way of handling
the obstacles that life put in her path

was genuine.

An artificial image.

-Don't get angry.
-It's all good.

But as we worked together

and got to know each other
in this writing process,

I realized that she is genuine.

When Moria talks about de-dramatizing,

she does so almost
as a philosophical political current.

The philosophy of Moria.

But I can say it's a power,
it's your power.

The power of Moria Casán.

So when you read this book,

you will find out what it's like
to live amongst humans

when you're a Martian.

Thank you for your trust. Thank you.

If you want to cry, cry.

I'm going to read some paragraphs
that I have bookmarked.

"Who said that the past
is already written?"

"I've always sensed I could question it,
alter it, modify it."

"But how do you shake off
what's already happened?"

"There is only one way.
With vertigo and a lot of edge."

"The strength…"

Oh, my q*eer friends are crying!

I'm dying!

I always say
all but two of my friends are g*y.

I'll go on. "The strength
is in recognizing oneself."

"In facing that past,
sometimes in the form of a memory,

other times as an open wound."

"The past can feel like a shiny,

sharp, and threatening fingernail."

I love you, my friend!

You're the best!

There's a reason you're the best!