All language subtitles for The.Artist.S01E05.Chapter.Five.FK.Whore.1080p.NTWK.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-BLOOM_track3_[eng]

My husband,
Norman Henry,

was a good man,
generally speaking.

But he was also a man
riddled with insecurities...

You heard of Thomas Edison?

When are you due for supper?

Anyone here know a chap
by the name of Mark Twain?

...self-doubts...

I see how she looks at you.

My wife.

You...

...and fear.

Fear that the world
was constantly laughing

at his every move.

This fear was not unfounded.

You see,
when he was just a boy,

the world did just that.

You're off key.

He's off key.

We've practiced this
part over 100 times,

but some students are simply
more gifted than others.

And that's okay, Norman.

Oh, darling, we're not done.

Let's try it again.

I'll admit my husband
has a flair for the dramatic.

Whether he was actually
laughed at that day or not

is quite beside the point.

I'm really sorry about that.

I'm really sorry about that.
I'm really sorry about that.

...laughing stock
of the entire congregation.

- I'm really sorry about that.
- It's fine.

It's fine.
He can't be good at everything.

Well maybe
he can be good at something.

I'm really sorry about that.
I'm really sorry about that.

I'm really sorry about that.

He would spend his life
yearning for approval

from a father who would
offer him nothing in return.

It's you
who's embarrassing us.

You know that, don't you?

I'm really sorry about that.

I didn't know it then,
but the day I met Norman Henry

was not one week
after his father had died,

leaving him with nothing
but a fragility

he would never be able
to overcome.

Fuck!

Of course.

You couldn't be any stupider.

Norman, you really just could not be...

Excuse me.

That's not a very polite
way to speak about yourself.

- Oh, hi.
- Hi.

I'm sorry.

Was I bothering you?

I didn't think
anybody would be here.

Well, they... they told me
nobody would be here

and that I could just let
myself in through the side door.

- Am I bothering you?
- You're not bothering me.

I'm not a robber.

Well, how could I trust
that statement now?

No, really.
Really, miss.

I promise, I'm not.

It appears
as if you're stealing

all the cutlery
from the dining hall.

- Giving it new life.
- The cutlery?

- It's fallen into neglect.
- The cutlery?

- Yeah, the cutlery, yes.
- Oh.

Forks, knives,
little spoons.

I... I give them renewed purpose.

Oh.

You're an artist?

- No.
- No?

No, I'm... I'm an opportunist.

But you... you make
little sculptures.

No, I... I know a guy
that makes little sculptures.

- Out of cutlery?
- Out of whatever I give him.

My sister's an artist.

You seem passionate
like an artist.

Yes?

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint.

You didn't... you
didn't disappoint.

The thing... the things
I get excited by

are... they're not exciting.

- You're not exciting?
- I try not to be.

Having just ended
my relationship

with a certain
fraudulent inventor,

I was intrigued by this humble
man who saw beauty in the world

and wanted no credit for it.

A beauty that I had hoped
he might find again, in me,

all these years later.

This penultimate chapter,

dear reader,

is as close as we came to
falling back in love again.

Hello?

Service!

Service!

Hello?

Will you all shut up?

But we was invited.

We wasn't invited.

Well, I don't work
for you woman.

Um...

Hello?

We was all invited.
It says right here.

Excuse me?

Who are you?

Replacing the driver, I hope.

He's about to die.

- A creditor.
- He's a lawyer.

It says so on his bag.

My occupation and identity
are none of your concern.

I am looking for
my client's wife.

Evelyn Nesbitt-Thaw.

- Who?
- Who?

If you could show me the way to
the... to the main house

where the real people are.

Okay, so Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw.

Oh, just Nesbitt.

For the purposes
of these legal proceedings,

it is preferable
for you to identify

as your husband's property.

Ah. Okay.

- You are the lawyer.
- I am.

So let us begin.

I'm so sorry, right now?

Yes, this very instant.

We're due back in the city
by 4PM for you to be sworn in.

How exciting.

I will be speaking to you as
though I were the prosecution,

but rest assured,
I am a friendly.

It's merely an act for you to...

I'm so sorry,
what's your name?

Delphin Delmas.

Right.

Well, you see,

I have acquired an audience
for my dress rehearsal,

and they're all waiting for us.

- Waiting for us?
- Mm hmm.

Hello and welcome,
ladies and gentlemen,

to the first and only
dress rehearsal for...

"The Crime of the Century."

Isn't that good?

We worked on that
jingle together.

Oh god, sorry.

This is... this is my lawyer,
Mr. Mrs. Delphus Finimas.

It's... it's Delphin Delmas.

- Right.
- Prickly fellow.

Take a bow.

I'm not... I'm your... not
her lawyer.

Ma'am, may... might I have a word?

Okay.

Wouldn't you prefer
to do this in... in private?

Are you sure you don't
want to do this in private?

Mr. Delphos,

am I not to testify in front
of the entire world tomorrow?

It's Delmas.

Yes, but...

I think the name is Demas.

- Demas?
- Yeah, Demas.

- Demas.
- Okay.

It's Delphin Delmas,

for those of you
who aren't sure.

Ma'am,
I do implore you

to trust your husband's counsel
on this.

I believe that we should
find a private suite,

and rehearse confidentially.

Oh, Mr. Alphys, come now.

I trust these people completely.

They're my friends.

Very well.

- Mrs. Thaw.
- Nesbitt.

Nesbitt-Thaw.

Could we switch
them perhaps?

- Thaw and Nesbitt?
- Wouldn't you like that?

I knew you'd understand.

I'll start from the beginning,

I suppose.

Yes, of course.

Where were you
in autumn of 1901?

New York City, Manhattan.

Thank you.

And were you romantically
involved with anyone

at that time?

Yes, I was.

- Whom?
- Oh, Stanford White.

Could you explain
the nature of the relationship

to the court, please?

Yes, of course.

Stanny and I loved each
other very much for a time.

He was like a father to me.

Mrs. Thaw, isn't it true

that you performed
sexual favours for Mr. White

in exchange for cash
and gifts and travel?

Is this not a little crass
for public consumption?

The real prosecution will try
to frame you as a common whore.

A whore?

Why?

I mean, why would they try
to paint such an ugly picture

about a lady like me?

- Mrs. Thaw.
- Nesbitt.

Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw,
did Mr. Stanford White

have a studio apartment
he kept in Midtown

with a velvet swing
hanging from a cross beam?

Yes.

And is it true that
you... you would swing naked

from the velvet swing?

It was all in jest.

In autumn of 1901,
did Mr. Stanford White

not drub you
with your mother in the room,

and penetrate you through
multiple orifices?

She was asleep, my mother.

That was not my question.

Yes.

Yes, he did this over and over again,

day after day,
month after month,

and in exchange,
he paid for your trips,

your schooling, your apartment,
your particulars,

the very definition
of "a common whore."

Well, there are many words

with multiple definitions
you'll find.

For example,
the word "I love you,"

that is something that means
a whole lot more to us women

than it does to you men.

And when Mr. White
tired of you,

did you not turn your attention
to Mr. Harry Thaw's fortunes

in an act
of selfish desperation?

I don't seem to know
what this has to do with...

- Is it not true, Mrs. Thaw...
- ...Harry shooting a man.

It's Nesbitt.

...that you crafted
a surgical campaign

to target Mr. Harry Thaw
to fleece him for cash

and gifts and trips.

To fleece him?

Like a sheep?

Don't be smart.

A smart young lady
doesn't play well with the jury.

What definition are you using
to define the word "smart"?

You see, it's all objective,
isn't it?

You traveled to Paris
at no expense of your own.

Your mother traveled to Paris
at no expense of her own.

So I must ask,
what was the currency?

Kindness.

I believe the currency
was companionship,

and loyalty,
and friendship.

And the trip
was a gift from Harry.

Mm.

Are gifts no longer
acceptable practice

from a husband to his wife?

Ya, very good?

And come to think of it,

I do believe I know where
you're going with this,

Mr. Ephram,
and it is downright shameful,

because my body is
and has never been currency,

not for gifts or trips
or any other thing.

It is Delmas.

You call it
"companionship and loyalty."

I call it
"sex acts and role play."

Risqué role play
for that matter,

which you performed in exchange
for a home and a life of status.

So disguise it as you will,
Mrs. Thaw,

but the truth remains
that you reek

of putrid desperation.

You are as every woman

who trolls the Lower East Side
of Manhattan

between the hours
of 10PM and 2AM.

I can smell
the rancid stench from here.

We all can.

Did you knowingly
withhold the fact

that you were indeed
not a virgin

when you met Harry Thaw?

Did you knowingly
withhold this information,

because you knew that you might
be able to swindle him

more efficiently?

Did you in fact steal money
from Harry Thaw

under the false pretense

that you selling him
your virginity,

and when he realized that
you had been lying to him,

he had a mental break
which caused him

to fatally injure
Mr. Stanford White.

So in fact,
was it not you, Mrs. Thaw,

who is to blame for the untimely
demise of Mr. Stanford White?

It is your fault,
because you are a dirty whore.

How dare you?

How dare you?

Me!

Wasn't it me?

All because I didn't
wanna sleep with Harry.

I didn't wanna sleep with him,
okay?

I didn't wanna sleep with him.

He was a beast,

and he hurt me
and he whipped me,

and I didn't wanna
sleep with him now,

and I don't,
and I never will,

and he knew that

because a woman doesn't
always need to be explicit.

She doesn't, okay?

Why the fuck does being a woman
always have to be so explicit?

Do you think I wanted Paris?

Well, you certainly wanted something.

I didn't want Paris.

You never asked me
what I wanted.

I wanted clothes,

and a bed
that I might call my own.

And I wanted to stop
supporting my whole family.

But I didn't want Paris.

And you could all sit here
and judge me,

but I am not a whore.

I am not a whore.

I am a girl.

I'm just a girl.

I'm... I'm Evie, Mama.

I'm Evelyn.

My name is Evelyn Nesbitt.

It's not Thaw,
it's Nesbitt.

So you do you hear me,
Delphis or Dingus

or whatever it is
they call you?

It's fucking Nesbitt.

We've heard enough.

We've heard enough.

No, no, no,
we're not done.

We're not nearly done.

I shall only
say it once more.

We are done now.

That performance was pathetic.

See how easily she was broken?

She is far from trial-ready.

I implore you to release
this young woman.

I believe the shame
felt in this room...

...is enough for us all.

Excuse me.

A man's life hangs in balance.

A murderer.

She is his whore.

That's enough.

That's enough.

Back to work
with a lot of you.

Back, out.

Everybody out.

Go, go, go, go.

Go, out! Out!

Norman would hold
her for hours that day...

...intent on being
the parent

that neither of them had.

Evelyn had told us
that it was common practice

for her mother to
take long walks, unannounced.

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Oh, my darling girl.

She told us to send word

when her mother arrived back
at the estate,

and they'd have Harry's
driver pick her up.

But Mrs. Nesbitt
never returned to the house.

Nor would
she see her daughter,

not ever again.

I do believe after
the mock trial,

the atmosphere in our home
had changed ever so slightly.

A lingering air of
forgiveness and gratitude,

albeit brief,

would blow through
with the wind.

I do appreciate your kindness
with me these past few days,

Mr. Henry.

Mm.

And you too, Mrs. Henry.

The time has come,
Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw.

Chin up.

It gets better.

Mr. Henry, you've got nothing
to worry about.

I'm the girl on the swing.

I believe
you're much more than that.

Yes. So do I.

All right.

Look, I shall only say this once,

so listen with your hearts.

The next time you see me,
it shall be my name in lights.

And when you do,

I urge you to remind yourselves
as of why.

It is because
I will have broken free.

At all costs.

Evelyn Nesbitt would
soon see her name in lights.

She would, in fact,
fulfill her promise

to her mother.

She'd become the most famous
in the entire world.

I will be
a great big stage actress,

and everyone will love me, Mother.

They will all love me.

But what she truly
desired was unconditional love,

and it was this that would
elude her until her dying day.

Evelyn had gifted us
a valuable lesson that day,

that our destiny resides solely
in our will to break free.

After that speech,
really?

- Okay.
- Mm hmm.

So are you looking
to ask me something?

Um...

It's just that
it's Christmas Eve.

Yeah, well, I don't celebrate.

Sadly, my family perished.

Oh.

You said you had a sister.

She's an artist.

I don't celebrate either,
but for other reasons.

Ah, yes.

Yes, right.

So are you looking
to ask me something?

Well, we could not celebrate together.

Okay.

Norman, are you awake?

Marian?

- You okay?
- Yeah.

Go back to sleep, Norman.

- What's wrong?
- Nothing.

We're gonna be okay.

We're gonna be okay.

But unfortunately,

this could not have been
further from the truth.

We bring
you news from the courthouse,

Lower Manhattan District,

in the Thaw trial
where his wife,

Evelyn Nesbitt-Thaw,

has just taken the stand
dressed as a schoolgirl,

exuding a sense of calmness
you normally only find

in the male persuasion,
but nonetheless,

this reporter could not help
but take note

of a certain quality
one might find

in a silent picture actor.

After Evelyn had left,

I had this... this feeling that
our situation might improve.

Looking back now,

I suppose I was a bit
lovestruck again.

We had entered
a dreamlike state,

one of companionship
and happiness and trust.

All of my experiences,

had they led me
here to this moment,

to a moment of grace and love
where my husband

might be willing to accept
the impossible?

He did not invent
the light bulb.

I suppose you know who did.

This secret I had
held so deeply within,

I had even convinced
myself it was not true.

But for the first time,

I had felt like maybe
he could hear my truth,

and set me free.

Forks, knives, spoons.

And while I would
grapple with the right moment

to confide my secrets
to Norman...

...Edgar and Lilith
were grappling

with a truth of their own,

that they might never
return to Paris.

This mounting
desperation paired

with Edgar's obsessions
had begun to weigh

heavily on me.

How much longer could
I protect my husband...

I don't get it.

...from the inevitable?

Well, you don't read very often.

No, I just don't get
the hyperbole.

It's not hyperbolic.

Do you even know
what that means, Norman?

No. Just sounded
good for the moment.

Excuse me.

- Yes, yes?
- Hello.

The appraiser.

Yes.

Will he be here today?

Of course.

I'm not sure.

He said he'd fit
it in as he could.

Well, I've been waiting very,
very patiently for days.

Very, very patiently.

I would like to go home.

I've been waiting
very patiently.

Well, you are still
occupied on a project,

are you not?

My wife told me
about your portfolio, your work.

It sounds quite exhaustive.

Happy to hear you're intrigued
with our ballerina.

- Lilith?
- Lilith. Yes, Lilith.

No, I have decided against it,

which is why I'm here inquiring
about the appraiser.

I just said I will no longer
be painting a ballerina.

And why very well not?

What happened to your passions,
and desires,

and... and passions?

It seems that passion
and desires are very...

fleeting in this house.

They change on a whim.

- Like hobbies, oui?
- I beg your pardon.

My wife is nothing
of a hobbyist.

- It's all right...
- No no, quite the contrary.

I know, Mr. Henry.

I know your wife very well.

That's a very inappropriate
statement,

don't you think, Artist?

Sooner or later,

we will all come to terms
with this masqa-charaade.

We will all come to terms with
this with this masqa-charaade.

He was not wrong.

We would soon all come to terms
with the house cards

my husband had built.

But at this moment,

I was concerned
that for Edgar Degas,

the statement
was far more nefarious.

Norman?

Norman, are you awake?

I hear a sound
from your vicinity.

Are you awake?
Are you sleeping?

Oh my god,
you've been killed.

Come out,
you fucking coward.

Marian.

Is that you?

Marian, if you're trying to kill me,

there's simpler ways.

He was right.

There were easier ways to see
him in a box six feet under.

But nothing would come
easy for Norman Henry,

not even his death.

What I can divulge is
that the sword was sharp,

and the cut was quick and clean.

Now you have me getting
ahead of myself.

This chapter was about love.

Let us simply leave it at that.