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PRIVACY AND SPECTACLE
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At the height of the promotional campaign for La Flor
de mi secreto we landed in Río de Janeiro, after
dragging ourselves through TV interview sets, premieres
and crowded parties in New York, Los Angeles, Miami
and Sao Paulo.
With the enthusiasm of a zombie, I looked out my hotel
window at an explosive view of Río. I didn't
want to move in the next hours, I couldn't.
Worn out, brain damaged from various attacks of jetlag
(overpowered by the typical sensation of emptiness and
in constant battle with Rossy de Palma because she was
really excited by Brazil and only wanted to go partying),
I was informed that we had a commitment: we were invited
to the home of Caetano Veloso.
I already adored Caetano's music although I didn't
know him personally, but in my physical and psychic
state, the idea of moving, mingling with strangers,
talking or listening, meant an effort verging on martyrdom.
I tried to wriggle out of the commitment in the hotel,
alleging an obvious and real affliction; but Chema Prado,
who was accompanying Marisa Paredes, completely ignored
my protests with that very Galician deafness of his
and dragged me to Caetano's house by force.
I'm grateful to him now.
Caetano had just performed in Sao Paulo, he'd recorded
the concert which would become Fina estampa ao vivo
and, as a curiosity, he played for us his version (it's
a reinvention rather than a version) of Cucurrucucú
paloma and suddenly all my ills disappeared.
From that moment I wanted to include the song in one
of my films. That's the other dream that has come true.
In Talk To Her, Caetano himself sings it live, accompanied
by the maestro Morelenbaum. As we couldn't bring the
whole orchestra, the version which appears in the film
is even more stylized, heartrending and intimate than
the one he played in Sao Paulo.
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