Maradona by Kusturica Page #2

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- I see you...

- See you. Ciao, ciao.

We could make

a nice movie out it.

Nice?

Yes. You sit here.

I won't be seen anyway.

There's nothing harder than when

you want to peer into someone's life

and yet at the same time understand

why he or she won't let you in.

It's like a never-ending game

where the doors are opening and closing.

When you yourself have been

persecuted by some journalists,

you begin to hate them.

Not only when they lie,

but also when they are trying to

ferret out the secrets of your life.

And now I'm intending to

present a portrait of

one of the most famous people

on the planet

and suddenly I am taking

on the role of

those very people

I have never liked.

I feel like a paparazzo

waiting for a star to wake up

and to step in front of

my camera lens,

so I can sell

the photos to the tabloids.

- They go somewhere else.

- Really?

They're sitting in the car.

This barbed wire crown

represents the pitch,

the field, the grounds.

The Goal of the Century

...naked aristocracy...

He's awesome!

My best friend, a great brother,

he does everything for us.

You play for Argentino Juniors?

- Yes.

- What position?

Nine.

Will you be like Diego?

No, I've never thought that.

No?

My brother's a Martian.

No question about that.

Travelling through Fiorito to

Maradona's house

looked to me like the journey to

the setting of my first feature film

DO YOU REMEMBER DOLLY BELL?

While I was looking at

the shanties of poor,

it seemed to me that I knew every face

that was hiding behind the scenes.

While making DOLLY BELL,

I discovered the most wonderful

characteristics of city poor

the aristocratic spirit that had

vanished from the houses of the rich

and had moved to

the homes of the impoverished.

The wonderful morality

within the family

where rules are respected

and sacrifices made.

Since then, I have always found

it easy to recognize

that aristocratic spirit,

knowing that in the west,

poverty was an embarrassment,

but here and in Balcans

it's an expression of suffering.

When he was choosing

between River Plate,

who were offering him

more money,

and Boca Juniors,

Diego chose Boca

precisely for

these aristocratic reasons.

Boca were paying less money,

but by joining them,

he was fulfilling a dream

dating back to the time

he was walking past the

Bombonera stadium with his father

and promised that one day

Diego arrived at Boca's stadium

carrying a torch, whose weak flame

shyly lit the road of return from

the underworld of drug addiction,

back to being among his football fans.

Once a god, always a god.

That evening he reminded me

of the Mesopotamian god, Gilgamesh.

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