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Is that possible? Can they just
execute you like that? No, right?

Not just like that.

Traitor.

Mr van Meegeren...

what was at stake?

My soul.

They've destroyed my life.

Puked on my work,
taken away my son.

I wasn't allowed to exist anymore.

According to whom?
The occupiers?

Jesus, the occupation has nothing
to do with it. Absolutely nothing.

I'm listening.

Revenge.

You don't believe me, do you?

You waive your right to legal counsel.
- Yes, Your Honor.

Are you quite sure?

I've been unable to convince
a single testimony of my innocence.

You may sit down now.

I now give the floor to the prosecutor.

Mr van Meegeren,
how did you get that Vermeer?

I never had a Vermeer.

Your name is mentioned four times
in Göring's personal account.

I'm not a collaborator.

It's a fact that you sold this Vermeer...
- Its not a Vermeer.

..to Hitler's appointed successor,
Reichsmarschall Göring.

And that's called
collaboration with the enemy.

I hated the Krauts.

May I give you some advice?

Confess.

Then you may avoid the firing squad.

Mr van Meegeren,
you have the right to keep silent.

But in this case...

There's nothing to confess.

Its not a Vermeer.

Then what is it?

I'm listening.

Goddammit.

Son...

Hello, Dad.

So you're a Nazi now as well.

No, no, no, I hate...

Is Göring's painting your work as well?

Yes, of course.
- Then say so.

You'l be executed.

I'm not a traitor.

Five words and you're free.

I have painted it myself.
Say it.

Then I'll be a forger.
- But not a traitor.

Say it.

Son...

I don't want you to die.

Look at this, son.

Look...

IV.M.
Johannes Vermeer.

Look.

that's where we live, Jac.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Come, a little bit this way.

Yeah, sit down.

Anybody can do that.

That's not true, dear.

Just finish it.

Han, stop.

No, don't.

You may wake him.

I like it.

Look at it. Look carefully.
What do you see?

What?
- I see love.

Soulless artistry.
- like it.

I'm a nobody and I can't do anything.
- Not again, Han.

No.

You didn't really like it, did you?

Come here.

Come.

Not like that.
As if you're blowing my nose.

Han...

Ladies and gentlemen...

Ladies and gentlemen,
welcome at the Arts Club in Delft.

I'm glad to be chairman of the jury again.

That brings me to the official ceremony
of this evening.

The winner of 1924 is...

"Madonna with Child"
by Jan van Meegeren.

Han. Han van Meegeren.
- Yes, of course. Han van Meegeren.

His outstanding entry won the almost
unanimous praise of the jury.

Bravo.

Well, this will be a big blow to Picasso.

Much better, don't you think?
- Different.

Picasso's debut and yours are
incomparable, don't you agree?

No.
- You have to agree.

No.

The work of such innovators
is so exciting...

Well, look...

Mr van Meegeren, our young old master.

Jolanka Lakatos.
- Ophelia.

Antigone. Cleopatra.

And in my spare time simply Mrs Bredius.
- Well, Han...

I'll just put...

Look at this. He paints like a ten-year-old
because he can't paint.

Don't be so narrow-minded.

And beauty, Theo?
Doesn't beauty matter?

Beauty isn't always the criterion for art.

How did you put it recently, Bram?
"The artist doesn't search, he finds."

Come, my dear. I see Mrs. Dailly.

Mrs Bredius?

Would you like to pose for me?

Interested?

100 guilders.

If it's signed, you'll get
ten times as much.

1000 guilders.

Even for free I wouldn't want it.

Did you see her eyes? That look?

"The artist doesn't search, he finds."

I'm in love.
- No, drunk.

This only happens once in a lifetime.
I'm the new Vermeer from Delft.

With only one painting.
- Yes, only one.

And not even a studio.

I work all day among
those diapers full of shit.

What am I to do?

Have you ever been upstairs?

Up there?

I have something special there.
Hardly anyone knows about it.

You clean up the place.
I'll get the clients.

Portraits of rich ladies.
- Portraits?

Ever heard of Rembrandt, Frans Hals?

I'm the new Vermeer from Delft.
I want to exhibit.

I'll arrange that too.

How can I ever thank you?

Fifty-ffty.

Goddammit.

Your Honour, this masterpiece
was bargained away to the occupier.

Bargained away, no, masterpiece, yes.
- The maximum sentence...

It's not true.
- It's a fact that you sold this Vermeer.

It's not a Vermeer.

Then what is it?

A Van Meegeren.

A real Van Meegeren. Well, well.

And you sold that to Géring
for 1.5 million?

Mr van Meegeren...

do you claim to have painted
that work yourself?

Yes.

Yes, I can paint like that.

Yes.

Paint like Vermeer.

Han van Meegeren can do that.

Very good, but not too many details.

We can do the eyes or nose later.

Now you only follow the shape...

Good, but don't think too much.
Just look at the model.

Not at your hands.

Mr van Meegeren?

Can I still sign up?

Thank you.

Art.

Here not only the model is rendered
with artisanal perfection.

Here the artist reveals himself as well.

Unintentionally or on purpose?

What does this canvas tell us about
the feelings of the painter for his model?

May I ask you another question?

How do you give form
to your relation to the model?

I mean the little deer.

Very nice.
- Till next ime.

Thank you. Till next week.

Thank you.
- It's my pleasure.

Revenge?

That was written
on the inside of my skull.

With an exclamation mark.

So you're of unsound mind?
- That's not what I said.

But I had no choice.

A French word, that you have to...

"Crime passionel"?

Crime passionel, yes.

The hatred, the loathing...

Disgust.

As if you're swallowing
your own shit time and again.

Two drops three times a day.
And no alcohol.

What's that?
- Cocaine.

All because of that fat windbag.

We have to hurry.
- What are we going to do?

Uncle Theo has a Hals.
- Good for him.

But what are we going to do?
- You'll see.

Sweet Mary, Mother of God.

Just look at it.
Those rough brush strokes.

Those eyes really shine.
- It's about how you spin them.

I know how to do it.
-Then do it.

Han, a real Hals.

Have you shown it to an expert yet?
- No, it has to be cleaned and restored first.

Me? No, no way.

Come, you're the only one
who can doit.

Fifty-fifty.

Yes.

Those eyes... A fine restoration.

You have the technique,
the craftsmanship.

Almost no one is good at hands.
It's of a very high level.

Those rough brush strokes.
- I'm glad you like it so much, Mr Bredius.

The little deer from the painting class,
is that for sale? The drawing, I mean.

It's a bit too anecdotal.
Its not art.

My wife thought it was...
How did she put it?

Endearing.
- That's why I won't sell it.

Hals used white lead. I can't find it.

The original layer of paint
is still intact here.

Barely any texture, no pigment.
- But the craquelure is old, isn't it?

A nice forgery, from around 1870 or 1880.
-But it's signed.

Look, Mr Bredius, for your wife.
On the house.

What did I tell you? It's a forgery.
Right, Mr Bredius?

My, my...

300-hundred-year-old paint
that dissolves in alcohol.

Odd. Never seen it before.

I give the floor to the expert witness,
Professor Bredius.

We know very few canvases
from the Golden Age...

in which the essence of faith
is so strongly expressed.

Superior art.

A Vermeer?
- It's not.

Certainly, it's a genuine Vermeer.

Your Honour, this seems sufficient
to refute the defendant's plea.

Has Mr Bredius performed the alcohol test?
- What?

I know how to distinguish fake
from genuine.

What is the alcohol test?
- Diversion tactics.

You still maintain
you can paint like Vermeer?

Yes, but that wasn't the problem.

I had old canvases, old frames
and those beautiful old pigments.

But I couldn't wait 300 years
till that paint had hardened, you see?

One big smoke screen.
- One moment.

Do you know what pigment is?
- Yes.

Instead of mixing it with oil,
you use Bakelite.

Bakelite?

Bake what?
- Bakelite.

It's American. Fantastic stuff.
Sells like hot cakes.

It's pressed in moulds under high pressure
and when it's cold, it's hard as a rock.

Barend...
- And heatproof.

Along dreadful paths...

Oh no.

No, dearest.

How you destroyed me.

Destroyed me, yes.

Pain.

You.

My own brother.

My beloved.

Take me into your urn...

for I'm nothing.

I need to move into nothingness.

I only want to die...

and share the grave with you.

The dead don't know misery.

Goodness.

I knocked.
- You did?

Did I say "come in"?

I thought you were
overwhelming on stage.

I wanted to congratulate you.

Are those yours?

Yes.

Very nice. Thank you.

Do you also give those to your wife?

Of course.

I look forward to your exhibition.

You're having one, aren't you?

Bram told me about it.

Figurative, or also a bit abstract?

Not your thing, is it?
Not a real Picasso enthusiast.

What's it going to be?
Portraits?

Those too, and a lot of Jesus.

Exciting.
-Oh well...

Playing tough, are you?

Look...

That's where we live.

Did I say I was going home?

I want to pose for you again.

Now, tonight?

But listen...

I won't take my clothes off.
Agreed?

Have you been living here long?

I was just 16 when I arrived.

For the first time in my life
I sat in a real bath.

That warm sensation on your skin.

Where are you from?
- Szabadszentkiraly.

A five-day walk to Budapest.

And then the train to Belgium,
to convalesce.

And Bredius?

Bram was my foster-father's nephew.

He'd pick me up every Saturday
and take me to a museum.

Imagine, a gypsy girl predestined
to become a household drudge.

And suddenly I stood eye to eye
with Van Eyck, Breughel, Rubens...

So you decided to marry him.

Security.

Entrusting yourself to someone.

But do you also...

Do you also have...

I love that man.

Jolanka?
- Jolanka.

Jesus...

Do I ask you what you do
with your wife?

Jolanka, please. It's not finished yet.

Jolanka...

Courage for the great Master!

Han, I have two glasses and a bottle
that needs to be emptied.

Company.

Maybe it's wiser if you keep
your hands off of her for now.

Han, do you want an exhibition
or a quickie?

A quickie.

Theo, that woman...
- That woman is married.

He will blow up.

Yes, yes...
- Loser.

He may be willing to open
that exhibition of yours.

Dad?

Yeah?

Is Surabaya further as The Hague?

Further than The Hague.

Yes, much further.

A hundred times?

A thousand times?

Dad, it's finished.

Right.

Sonny, it's beautiful.

But it's not finished yet.
Put that away.

Now we take this one.

And then?

Jac, are you coming?

Now it's finished, see?

Come along.
-Let me be.

Stop it, imbecile.

Is this an assignment?

Do you like it or not?

Yes, it's beautiful.

It's alive.

So much...

love.

It surmounts the anecdotal.
It surpasses the personal story.

The sordid passions seep right
through the varnish. Dirty old man.

Well, cheers.

To success.
- Did he come and take a look?

Yesterday night.
And I put that away.

But...

An indisputable talent.

A most promising craftsmanship.

There is no other like Van Meegeren.

Unrivalled authenticity.

What shines through is an unparalleled
control of oil paint techniques.

Nowhere does van Meegeren conceal
that he's indebted to the Old Masters.

A phenomenal talent...

where you can feel the breath
of the Golden Age...

and of course the burning
passion for his model.

Do you like it?

You can't say that of yourself, can you?
- Well?

I didn't paint it.

And you didn't pose either?

It's about him.

It's how he sees me.

Chained passion, ladies and gentlemen.
It's in abundance here.

Volcanic ardor.

But where does the craft become sacred?
When does art become art?

The craftsman turns into a creator
when he gets touched by the gods.

There, "Christ with the Apostles".
A tableau vivant, absolutely.

But as natural as a photo...

without the profound perception of faith.

I would like to ask:
Han, where are you?

Where's your individuality?
The originality.

Who is Van Meegeren?

Are we dealing with a troublemaker?
An amateur?

A charlatan?

Han van Meegeren is what
you call a peintre du dimanche.

A clever paint virtuoso.

We find him in the vegetable kingdom
aswell as in the animal kingdom.

The parasite.

The parasite skillfully
seftles itself on a host...

and gorges itself on its life energy.

What does he wager? That parasite?

What is the risk?

The artist creates and pays
for it with blood and sweat.

With his nervous system, his life.

And the expert?

He leans back...

yawns and smiles.

With one stroke of a pen
a life is destroyed.

VULGAR KITSCH

VAN MEEGEREN: NO VISION
EXHIBITION: INCOHERENT

CARICATURIST

And when you read this,
you wanted revenge.

I wanted nothing.

Seeing a brush already made me sick.

I wanted to disappear.

What do you want?
- You have a visitor.

If you speak it out loud,
it's almost poetry.

Jesus Christ, Han.

"I know nothing, I am nothing.
I do nothing right".

And then he'd tear up my drawings, get it?
- Your son is here.

Goddammit.

Write a 1000 lines.
"I know nothing, I am nothing...

I do nothing right."

You know what my mother told me?

I don't remember it myself...

She'd put me on the potty
and then we'd colour figures.

And he would punish me
by putting my hands in my shit.

Hi, little man.

You're looking smart...

What's the matter?

What's the matter?
- I'm going to Grandpa in Surabaya.

Jac...

Bye, Han.

What are you still doing here?

I told you to leave before seven.

Come on, you have to go.

Hurry, why do I have to repeat it
every day?

Hey, you vagabond. Careful.

You can look at it,
but don't touch it.

What did I say?
- It's beautiful.

Yes, of course.
Everything I have is beautiful.

It's a masterpiece.
- A masterpiece?

Yes, it's made in Holland.
The country of the tulips.

It's only 5000.

5000? That's way too much.
- Too much? Look at it.

What are you in search of here?
-I...

I don't search, I find.

Are you by yourself?
- With Bram.

He let me come along.
He's giving a guest lecture here.

What a coincidence.

I knew you were...

Not that you were a musician.

Theo said you were in Rome.

He sends his regards.

Do you know...

I have to go to the Galleria Borghese.

Do you still paint?
- No.

Have you been here before?
- On honeymoon.

Bram really thought you were promising.
He regretted what he did with the deer.

He's not like that.
Bram is a good man.

Really?

Han, you painted me
so incredibly beautifully.

Do you mean that?
- As if I looked in a mirror.

When I'm alone, without prying eyes.

I have to go.

Will I see you tomorrow?
I'll have a surprise for you.

You're getting a divorce.
- Why should I?

See you tomorrow? My treat.

Look, the believers.
This is pure magic for them.

Caravaggio catches the moment
just before the Lord will break the bread...

when the believers from Emmaus
recognize him.

As you all know,
Caravaggio had a huge influence...

on Dutch painters of the 17th century.
Especially Rembrandt.

Not on Johannes Vermeer?
- There's no proof that he knew Caravaggio.

But I'm confident that one day
we will find a connection between them.

How?

With the compliments of your impresario.

Did he...

Wait, you can't do that.

I'm hungry. Hungry.
-Oh no.

Money, money.

That will last him a while.
- He'll buy grappa.

Or brandy for his drunken father.

15,000 pounds?

Theo, Theo, Theo.

Excuse me.

A bottle of Prosecco, please.

And a room, please.
With a bath.

That's for a Frans Hals
I once restored for Theo.

But wasn't that...
- It's been sold.

But that was a forgery, wasn't it?

Thank you.

Just don't think I'll sleep with you.

Why not?

Why do you want it so badly?

You can eam money with that.

I know.

You mean you actually did?

My father...

Do you miss him?

I had to play every day.

In bars.

Not bars, beer caverns on the streets.

He'd spend all my earnings on booze.

Or on things I don't know about.

Look at that.
- I was seven.

Each night I went to bed hungry.

But not anymore.

Never again.
-But...

Let's leave it at that.

Okay?
- Yeah.

Thank you.
- You're welcome.

Put it on.

You really want me, right?

Amateur...

Charlatan...

Who is Van Meegeren...

Is this a good idea?

You're mine.

You're my muse, day and night, forever.

You know what your muse says?
Go back to painting.

Fine, you.
I only want to paint you.

You have to pose for me.
- I just did. Han, I...

Han, I'm already way too late.
- Look.

Beautiful.
- Yes, but old.

A Dutch painter, unsigned. 5000 lire.

A lot of money for such junk.
- Yes, but...

Hello, welcome back.

How are you?
- Wonderful, now that I see you.

Excellent.

The painting, 3500.
-3500?

That's a deal. Lucky me.

Here.
- Oh, thank you, my friend.

My regards to the wife.

It's old, it's good, it's beautiful.
So what?

What do you want with it?
- It's for you.

What will Bram say?
- Bram. Bram...

Would you've liked it if it was signed?
- Han, please...

You should have married...
You did marry that genius.

Stop it.
- Knowledge yes, understanding, no.

Maybe he was right.
- What? When?

You're hurting me.
- Spoiled slut.

20 paintings.

I had to dump 20 paintings
because of that bastard.

Bram wasn't the only one who thought...
- What?

your work was flat.

He thought my work was flat?
Did he say that?

Impersonal. Mostly that.

Flat.

Impersonal.

There's no proof that he knew Caravaggio.

But I'm confident that one day
we will find a connection between them.

The missing link.

Did you have enough of Rome?

I've been living among olive trees
for six years already.

In Rocquebrune. The French Riviera.
- Thanks to my Hals.

Indeed.

Could we try that again?

I'm an artist, not a forger.

You have the talent for it.
- I'm onto something much better.

A Vermeer.
- A Vermeer?

Yes, a Vermeer.
- A real Vermeer?

Yes.

Signed?
-I.V.M.

What sort of painting is it?

Mrs Bredius.

That Vermeer.
What kind of painting is it?

Jesus risen from the dead.

And he's going to have a spot of lunch
with the Emmaus Pilgrims.

Tell me why they're selling the Vermeer.

Well, this collector, Marquis So-And-So,
a very nice man...

has been beaten up
by few black-shirts. That's bad.

So he wants to leave Italy for America.
- How do we know it's real?

Who do you think I am?
It's slightly damaged.

A little tear, but it's beautiful.

Indescribable.
Caravaggio comes nowhere near.

Neither does Rembrandt.
- Any documents?

Stop badgering, I'l take care of that.
What do we do? 80-20?

Just as with the Hals, 50-50.

Theo, how often do you get a Vermeer?

70-30.

Yes or yes?

Oh, just one thing.

Make sure it's authenticated
as a Vermeer.

By Bredius.

Bredius?
- Yes.

He won't receive you.
- Right, that's where you come in.

And that's why you get 30%.
30% of 200,000 or 300,000?

I beg you.

Attend now, thou sorrowful...

thou radiant...

mercifully to my distress.

You know my suffering.

To you I want to dedicate...

my grief...

and my death.

Come with me.

I'm very sorry.

About Rome, my horrible behaviour.

I want to marry you.

Marry a spoiled slut?

I can't live without you.
You're my love...

my muse, my everything.

Remember what we'd agreed upon?
-I'm not a child.

Chained passion. Remember?
Volcanic ardour.

Bram!

And so it came to pass...

that he sat with them...

took the bread...

and blessed it.

My God...

I'll get you, parasite.

An unpleasant memory
is often relived as physical pain.

That could explain his alcohol addiction.

And his fantasies of omnipotence.
- You mean his narcissism?

His rancour, his paranoia?
-Is that all?

Your hysterical psychopathy.
- The expert.

The suspect just wanted
to enrich himself by criminal means.

During the occupation he acquired
over 50 houses in Amsterdam.

Townhouses, hotels...
- Bourgeois...

Excuse me?

Your Honour...
- He conducts his own defence.

Have you ever actually paused
in front of a painting?

And really looked?
Ever been moved by its beauty?

Sentimental talk, Your Honor.
- Have you ever been to a museum?

No excuse for collaboration.
- Ever seen a Vermeer up-close?

Look at that, the head...

It's nothing.

Jesus looks like a girl.

And what a girl...

And she looks so familiar...

Hey, fatso.

Look carefully.

That horny look.

You still remember, don't you?

Come.

Come, young friend.

What you sense in all of this...

is Vermeer's deep love for his models.

The magic.
Where is the magic?

This has nothing to do with Vermeer.

Is that perspective?
And those colours look like shit.

Vermeer would turn in his grave.

My son, you shouldn't drink so much.

But I saw the allure...

of the craquelure.

The unbearable tension.

Hello?

Anybody home?

No.

Sir, please open the door.

I don't want any visitors.

I'm looking for Mr van Meegeren.

What do you want?

What?

Dad?

Hey, son...
- Hey, Dad.

Hey, man. Hey, kiddo.

I was so proud of you.
-And I of you.

I still am.

I want to show you something.

Where's your studio?
- I don't paint anymore.

What a shame. Mum used to say...
- I've gone into business.

With Uncle Theo.

Strange canvas.

Is it old?

Here.

I.V.M.
- Johannes Vermeer.

No. A real one?

Yes.
- Impossible.

How?
- Connection of Uncle Theo.

How many Vermeers are there?
-34,

And you have one in the kitchen?

What?

For Vermeer it's...

It's so coarse.

It's not really like Vermeer. It's...

Something is missing.

His mysterious period.
It's a lacuna in art history.

Vermeer's religious work.

Jesus, Dad...

A real Vermeer?

Would you please do something for me?
Here. Jac, please.

It's a Vermeer.
You don't cut that.

It's not a Vermeer.

It's yours.

Yes.

What are you doing?

It has to look old.
Look at me.

Listen.

I can't do it, Jac.

One little cut, no more.
- And then?

Then it's a Vermeer, right?
- If it has a certificate of authenticity.

You want to sell it?
Dad, you're not a...

The Rijksmuseum wants it.
Boijmans, the Mauritshuis...

They're bidding against each other.
Half a million.

Americans are cueing up.

You're a forger.

I've only forged a signature.

You're an artist.
- Yes, my work will be in the Rijksmuseum.

Son, your father in the Hall of Fame.

Anonymous, but still

Imagine, Hals, Rembrandt...

And then...

your dad.

My dad?
- Yes.

A loody swindler.

Recognition?

Right?

Is that it?

I'm sorry that I...

It's alright.

Whatever you do is okay.

Even if you're angry with me.

I hope it works out.

That they buy it.

That you'll hang there,
next to Rembrandt.

We'll show them.

Revenge.

It's childish, right, but...

I'll get him.

Sitting there on a wobbly chair...

with sticky leather...

I want to get my glass,
but I spill wine on my blouse.

This special blouse for artists,
made of batik.

Your mum made it for me.

Embroidered with beads and gold thread.

She gave it to me.

As soon asit hangs there...

I'll tell the truth.
And pay it all back.

They'll look like fools.

Next to that blue...
- And the hand...

What do you know of its provenance?

It's the missing link.

Yes, the subtlety...

Where is it from?
- Perfectly documented.

Marquis Doria de Pamphilj.

A deep-felt work
that sublimates the biblical story.

Such unity of form is a quality
of the highest art.

The stunt of the century, Dad.

The best day of your life.

Your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen...

a touching masterpiece.

I dare say, Johannes Vermeer's
masterpiece.

Art has never produced
amore noble creation.

Your Majesty, give us "Christ at Emmaus"
by Johannes Vermeer.

Beautiful?

My God, it's the most beautiful Vermeer
I've ever seen.

I had a feeling you'd be here.

I had to be here.

Han, I've missed you.

Had you forgotten me?

Have you ever thought about me?
- Look.

That's you.

Han, that canvas is 300 years old.

I made it. I've painted it.

Who is that?

The Messiah.
- No, look carefully at those eyes.

How could I have forgotten you?

Not for a day, not for an hour, not even...

What has gotten into you?

They all fell for it.

I'll come clean about everything.
I'll pay it back.

520,000 guilders.
- And what will you have achieved?

You want Bram to look like a fool.

Don't.

Han...

You've already won.

I've left him.

My son. Jac, this is Jolanka Lakatos.
-Hi Jac.

Quite an acquisition, right?

And it hangs so beautifully here.

Dad. Now.

Now.

What are you doing?

My dear boy...

I've fried...

but failed.

And I've let you down.

I can't turn back the time...

and hope you'll forgive me.

That you'll remember the good father
I so much wanted to be.

In name of the Father, the Son
and the Holy Spirit.

Congratulations.
And you too.

We may not get away anymore.

We're going back to Holland.

Fantastic.

That dark, Teutonic atmosphere.

Terrific.

Mr art dealer...
- Reichsmarschall.

You should find something like that
for me as well.

I've had it with Jesuses.

You know how much they pay?
- I don't care.

I've made more Vermeers than Vermeer himself.
- 1.5 million.

That fat man.

Over there.

Göring?
- Göring.

Hitler already has two Vermeers,
now he wants one too.

Bloody dangerous.

If he finds out it's fake, he'll serve
me my own balls for breakfast.

I can't help being a Renaissance man.

Where does it come from?

I could hardly stop them.
- The paint s still wet.

Every detail is documented.

Have the pigments been analysed?

Has the craquelure been checked?
The frame?

Absolutely, Herr Reichsmarschall.
Technically it's waterproof.

Around 1654.

Fantastic.

That dark, Teutonic atmosphere.

This is no boy scout's uniform.

If you want to screw those damned Krauts,
you'll have to suck up to them first.

Swindling is a profession.

Your Honor, to sum up, this picture
is more than incriminating.

Listen, I'm a forger, a swindler,
but I'm not a traitor.

Just one more little canvas...

and I can fill the whole Keizersgracht...

with tinsel.

Another Jesus.

Another Vermeer.

What else? A Picasso?

A Van Meegeren.

I want to see a Han van Meegeren.

I love you.

Walking in the dark
along the edge of a ravine.

Having no idea
what you're looking for...

until you've found it.

With the chance you'll drop right in.

You should try it.

Look.
-For me?

No, for Hitler.
Can you please give it to him?

Certainly.
But you have to sign it first.

Of course, I'll do it right now.

Walking in the dark
along the edge of a ravine.

Isn't that what you wanted?
- You're lucky he left it on his chessboard.

You're mine.

Yes?
- Yes, you love me.

Say it. Say it.

You seduced me, on the stairs.

Vian Meegeren
in between Hals and Rembrandt.

That excites you, doesn't it?

There's no Van Meegeren
next to Rembrandt nor to Frans Hals.

Do I have a canvas there, yes or no?
- Yes, but nobody knows it's yours.

In 50 years nobody will know
who Han van Meegeren was.

Do you know what Theo said to me?

You know what you lack?

Character.

Expressing things
you don't know you possess.

Do I hear professor Bredius there?

Imagination, originality.
Thats art.

A woman as a cube with one eye.

A composition of blue squares
with black lines. What do they call that?

Degenerate art.
- And to copy Vermeer for Mr Göring?

I've never copied Vermeer.

I've never...

Never.

You must be crazy.

If they ever discover this...

Who would be such a fool
as to write this: "For the Fuhrer".

He knows what true art is.

Is this high treason?

To ask the question is to answer it.

Under the Special Justice Law
I therefore seek the highest penalty.

Thank you.

Dedicated to our beloved Fuhrer
Han van Meegeren

I can't look into someone's soul,
but revenge seems a plausible motive.

You're easy to fool, madam.
- I painted that canvas.

I can prove it. Give me paint.
I beg you, palette, canvas...

A nice bottle of Bordeaux?
A chaise longue by the fireplace?

Doctor?

I'd ask the court to consider giving
Mr van Meegeren the benefit of the doubt.

Absurd.

A painting presentation?
I protest, Your Honor.

Not only was he an opportunist,
he was a fanatic follower.

Do you believe in his innocence?
- No.

Not at all.

But only the Creator decides
whose life to take.

Or whatever we call him.

The court is adjourned fill further notice.

So, a brand-new Vermeer,
the paint is still wet.

I have great admiration for what
Mr van Meegeren has achieved.

Today we will attain clarity
regarding the question...

whether or not the defendant
committed high treason.

I now give the floor to the chairman of the
expert committee, Professor Bredius.

It's simple.
Your Honor, let me be brief.

This painting is no match for the Vermeer
that ended up in the hands of the Nazis.

Göring's loot dates from the same period
as the unsurpassed "Christ at Emmaus".

The stylistic similarities between
both masterpieces are apparent.

Well, and then this pale imitation.

I'm afraid Mr Van Meegeren won't save
his life with this Sunday paint job.

Idiot. Withered art pope.

I don't talk to collaborators.

You're being found out, Bredius.

I'm sorry.

I can't safe your skin.
- Your own skin, you mean.

With your blabber about noble creations.
What do you know about it?

I painted that Géring-Vermeer.

Your Honor!

You hear?

And who do you think painted
"Christ at Emmaus"?

He's present in this room.
- It's not about "Christ at Emmaus".

It is.

It most certainly is.

And you are?

Mrs van Meegeren.

We had an X-ray taken of the painting...

making the undercoat visible.

It's clearly one and the same canvas.

Most likely painted by Abraham Hondius.

The overpainting, however,
is no older than 15 years.

How long has Vermeer been dead?
- Almost 300 years.

Then "Christ at Emmaus" must be
the work of another Dutch master.

Indeed.

The court will rule in ten days.

May Göring rot in hell.

You are acquitted of the charge
against you of high treason.

That leaves the charge of fraud...

concerning the following paintings.

"Christ at Emmaus", Johannes Vermeer,
520,000 guilders.

"The Last Supper, Johannes Vermeer...

600,000 guilders.

"Young Christin the Temple...

1,250,000 guilders.

"Isaac Blesses Jacob"...

1,275,000 guilders.

And "Jesus and the Adulterous Woman"...

1,500,000 guilders.

You admit you've painted these canvases?

Yes, Your Honor.

All of them.

And that you sold them at a high price?

If you sell them at a low price,
nobody will believe they're real.

The court considers
the forgeries proven...

and sentences you
to one year in prison for fraud.

Furthermore, you will have
to pay back five million guilders.

Yes, that's the difference
between what you gained...

and the real value of these canvases.

The difference between Vermeer
and Van Meegeren.

But they're still the same canvases.

This is the radio news service, brought
by the Netherlands Press Office ANP.

Last night in Amsterdam the art painter
Han van Meegeren died at age 58.

One month after he was
sentenced to one year in prison.

As he claimed himself, the real Han van Meegeren
worked six years on his "Vermeer".

His forging techniques are still admired
by modern experts.

The "Emmaus gangers" still draws a crowd
to the Boijmans van Beuningen museum.

By postmodern standards
Van Meegeren's work really is...

art.