All language subtitles for The.Artist.S01E06.Chapter.Six.The.Rebirth.1080p.NTWK.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-BLOOM_track3_[eng]

Welcome to
the Henry Manor,

a Gilded Age tale of
mystery and murder.

But first...

Hey, Lucky.

The power is out
in the dining room again.

Mr. Henry
made his fortune as a junk man,

something he was quite
proud of, actually.

But it wasn't until a chance
encounter with Mr. Thomas Edison

that he became...

It should be good.

Oh, shit!

At this exact spot
is where Thomas Edison

accidentally slipped on a rock,
hitting his head,

right here on this second step.

And as we all know,
Mr. Henry is widely credited

with saving his life.

- It is the dawn of a...
- The obvious.

One day,
I'm going to be an inventor.

"Dear reader,
this is not a story

in the conventional sense.

You see,
nothing is neat and tidy,

nor is it laid out with ease
for a dimwitted pony.

Which I hope you are not,
for both our sakes.

No, this story in particular
is a cautionary tale.

My husband is dead.

Killed in the dead..."

"...anything to sabotage
a deal with Thomas..."

"Looking back, now, I can admit
I was rooting for her."

"...a portrait of poodles."

"When I was a child,
I had foolish dreams

of what I might become.

I saw the world differently."

I don't get it.

What does it do?

It's not about that.

What do you mean?

It's not about the trap.

If the entire contraption
is used to cage poor

Beatrice here...

But look what I built.

Look at all the intricacies
of it.

It's interesting.

One day, I'm going to be
an inventor.

"I wanted to invent
something that might have

saved our mother from
her untimely fate."

You both
understand why God created you

to reside together
on this earth.

She would say
that her destiny was written,

but ours was not.

Slightly ironic,
sitting here now,

writing to you.

Before our mother died,
she would instill

a sense of connection
that would bond us to our core.

We had promised
our mother

that we would come together
on this day each year,

no matter where life
might take us,

we would find each other again.

When you become
one together,

you see the world
for what it truly could be.

And today
the day that Norman died,

would be the day
that I see clearly again.

Someone gets around.

While Norman and I
had become infatuated

with one another all over again,
the rest of our world,

so it seemed,
was at a standstill.

That's the funny thing
about love.

It's quite indulgent.

What have you done, Lily?

I've done nothing.

He has not called on you,
not in days.

I don't care.

Read between the lines.

This isn't good.

Maybe we should leave?

Leave where?

Lilith?

Leave to go where?

I didn't see it then,
but we had become frozen

in time with no money...

- Fuck!
- ...and no way out.

Finito!

It's euchre on Tuesdays.

But it's Wednesday.

And like
any caged animal,

you become fidgety.

I say Old Maid.

Who are you calling an old maid?

She's going to make that joke
until she's dead.

I was afraid to reveal
the truth about Edison

to my husband.

Afraid of what it might do
to us.

Afraid yet again.

And as our world
grew more insular by the day,

I grew more timid.

You stop!

You're just such
a cheese always.

How are we supposed
to hold this?

And she's so perfect,
the head maid.

Are we playing cards
or are we not?

I could not shake
the feeling that something

was not right between us...

Can we just play?

And it was all
a charade.

Every single time.

And then,
like clockwork, she arrived.

Right on schedule
to break us free

from this insanity.

Okay?

I'm not sure
we was expecting you.

Were the Henrys expecting you?

Lovely to see you're still
kicking, Gretch.

Ah, the stench
of rotting paper bills.

How I have missed you.

Gretchen, can you be lighter underfoot?

I've been saying that
for many years.

It's as if you're a direct
descendant of Napoleon himself,

a choleric.

- Mr. Henry.
- Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Yes, Gretchen, I do know
the word "choleric,"

thank you very much.

- Mr. Henry...
- She has me reading now.

- Mr. Henry.
- Yes?

We have a visitor.

Is he coming for me? Now?

You're not going to like...

- Damn it, woman.
- Rosie.

Rosie Morsch.

Oh, no.

Did she die?

Not yet, sir.

She's here.

How the fuck does she find us?

How the fuck
does she always find us?

Will you be greeting her?

Relax, Norman.

I do believe you should.

- She is your sister.
- She is, yes.

- Yes, she is your sister.
- Yes, yes.

It's a terrible time to
entertain company, though.

She isn't company.
She is my sister.

It's just not a good time
for us right now.

We got an artist
wandering the halls.

He's asking for money
everywhere he goes.

Shh, it's fine. It's fine.
It's fine. It's fine.

All right, it's fine.

It would not be fine.

My sister had a way of making
Norman feel exposed.

I'll have the chef cook
the remainder of the pheasant.

This pheasant's old.

Oh! I knew that pheasant
wasn't old.

I knew it.

When Norman got nervous,
he would laugh uncontrollably.

Get out. Get out!

The doctors called
it "manic hysteria,"

previously only
diagnosed in women.

Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.

He was unable to form
cohesive thoughts.

Tonight we'll be hosting
Marian's sister,

that means our finest linens
and our holiday china, please.

Lily, I shall need you to dance
this evening.

- No, you do not.
- Yes, I do. I do!

I said I will not...

S'il vous plaît.
S'il vous plaît!

- I will not.
- Oh, please.

How much of that pheasant
do we have left?

None left.

Oh, please, that's impossible.

Chickens, do a chicken or a hen?

She's a sculptor.

She won't know
the fucking difference.

Where are you going?

This is for the miss
in the great room.

What's this?

- Where's the ice?
- We don't have ice.

No ice?

We need to ration
our supplies appropriately.

We need to do
a much better job

rationing our supplies
appropriately.

You hear me?

Goes for every single one
of you.

What are you standing there for?

Why isn't anybody working?

- Oh.
- Huh?

Yes, sir! Yes, sir.

What do you mean, yes, sir?

- Nobody's working?
- No... no, sir.

I meant yes, sir, to the other...

- Give me some fucking ice.
- Yes, sir.

Chip it off the rocks.
I don't care.

You leave her parched.

You leave her parched

until you get a coffer full
of fucking ice.

Fuck her.

How are you doing, sweetheart?

I can't wait to taste it.

I cannot wait to have your
lovely, horrible fucking food.

Rosie.

Marian, my darling.

What?

You look gaunt,
as if the wrath of Judgment Day

hath pummeled you
across a cliff's edge.

- Oh, how I've missed you.
- I've missed you.

Sit down. Sit down.

- Ah, are you remodeling?
- What?

It appears
as if you're remodeling

in this room specifically?

What? No.

You're missing art.

Oh, no, you know,
it's just around the house.

You haven't responded
to my letters.

I thought you were dead.

Every day I'd wait and wait
with a renewed sense of dread.

It's a bit dramatic, isn't it?

Thank you.

I've been holding a tenancy in a
small boarding house in the city

while I prepared my new show,

which you'd have been to
if you cared about art anymore.

Anyway, I wandered over
to your brownstone by the park.

You know I'd never come uptown

unless I felt the need of some
suffocating masochism.

- Yes.
- Oh, my God.

But as I knocked on the door,
an entirely different

rich old drab man answered,
not Norman,

a different one.

He said you sold the house
and moved up to the country

on some sort of exclusive basis.

Well, that's not exactly
what happened.

Marian, I think it's fabulous.

Finally away
from the druthers of status

and free to think, think,
think and tinker.

A free tinker thinker
again at last.

- That rhymes.
- It does.

Oh!

- So, was it difficult?
- Hmm?

To finally leave Norman?

I have a current work entitled

"The Menstruation
of the Lonesome Mistress."

I thought of you.

Oh, yeah,
I have not left Norman.

Oh, I'm sorry about that.

No, in actual fact,
we are experiencing

a sort of renaissance.

I think you'd be quite surprised
by Norman.

A renaissance?
Are you creating?

You must be creating
something meaningful

to declare a renaissance.

No, that's not right.

Otherwise, you're just blissful.

Then we're blissful.

We're just fucking blissful,
okay?

Blissful with a tinge
of defensiveness, I see.

Still your sissy here, Mary.

You give this note directly
to Nora Bayes

and tell her she can have
whatever she wants.

You heard that directly from me,
yes?

- Yes?
- Yes, sir.

8 pm sharp.

Tell her 8 pm sharp.

I don't think Nora Bayes
winters in the country, sir.

She's having an affair
with the gardener next door.

She's having an affair with
more than just the gardener.

See, she's having an affair
with all sorts of people.

Good for Nora Bayes.

Great for us tonight.

Sir, I have but a single working
appendage at the moment.

Yes.

Oh, my God.

Oh, Fernand, you shouldn't...

I'm not entirely sure

I'll make to Bayes'
residence in time for 8 pm.

- Ferdinand, please.
- Sir.

Put it away, Fernand.

I'm begging you,
please, put it away.

- Put it away.
- Ice water.

It's pond water.

That's fucking pond water.

Pond ice chipped from the rocks.

I'm having
a panic attack.

I think I'm having
a panic attack.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Please.

Please, please,
somebody get my wife.

- Please get my wife.
- She's with her sister.

I have to go fetch her.

No, no, no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no, no!

Not if she's with
her fucking sister.

Please. Please, help me.

Please. Please, help me.

Please. Please, help me.

- Okay.
- Where are you going?

Uh, nowhere.

- I'm just going...
- Let me come with you.

No, no, no, no,
you stay here.

I'll have them bring you some
refreshment, you know.

I can fetch my own glass
of water, Mary.

I'm a single woman living
in the village.

I know, I know,
but not here, go.

- Sit down.
- I hate this room.

Shut up.

Fuck!

Norman!

All right.

My chest... my chest... my chest,
my chest feels weak.

My chest.

Call the doctor.

Please help me.

Help me, please!

- I'm so sorry.
- It's not a heart attack.

You're not having
a heart attack.

Call a doctor.

A bucket!

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die, please!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I can't do it.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry, please.

Oh, my God.

You seem to be
in a bit of a state.

Oh, Lord.

Is that your... your professional
assessment?

I worry for you.

Are you lurking
in the halls now?

- I said, "I worry for you."
- Yes, yes, I heard you.

But then, instead of answering
your question,

I sort of pivoted to
one of my own.

I do not lurk.

You're scaring us.

Because I feel things.

Because I'm a man
who thinks with his heart.

A man who will devote
every second of every day

to setting you free.

Oh, God. You're an imbecile.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

- Ma Marian.
- No, no.

Mrs. Henry.

Damn it, Edgar.

- Come on, it's Mrs. Henry.
- Please.

Let me approach you a few steps

so that I may make out
your figure in the light.

Yes.

I will say this once,
and then I shall leave.

Yes, yes, you need to leave.

Edgar, you need to leave.

Look, I will arrange
a promissory note.

That's, you know, it's as good
as cash on the Henry name.

But you must leave.

- You really... you must leave.
- Please hear me.

Oh, I hear you, Edgar. I do.

I hear you.

- Please hear me!
- Shh!

I have never, ever
felt my heart swoon so.

Never, ever in my life.

It is quite concerning.

My passion has always come from
the control of my stroke.

I have always been in control
of my stroke.

- Marian...
- Yes. Thank you.

Thank you, Edgar. Thank you.

Yes. Yes. Halt.

Halt!

No, halt!

Halt.

I suddenly realize
that the poodles

are a metaphor for my life.

I am but a trained hound
in the hand of their master.

Edgar, I'm not your master.

I do not love you.

I do not have secrets
that only you can decipher.

I... I... you've created this
narrative of delusion,

and that's what
artists do, right?

So, congratulations,
free thought.

But I am a married woman.

And, you know, I mean,
we shared a moment

in a... you know, a bedroom

where you were
as blind as a bat,

and you couldn't even

make out the contours
of my fucking cheekbones.

So it's over, all right?

It's over.

Stop.

I will not accept
a promissory note!

I explained to your husband
that I will not say... ah.

- Halt. Halt!
- Please, hear me.

- Shh. Halt.
- Do you hear me?

Come. Come.

I will not accept it.

I'll be right back.

Would you be... just go away.

It appears as if you're being
chased by a gardener...

No, no, it's just the help.

...or a murderer.

You shall have me
curse you as a wicked witch.

Au contraire. Au contraire.

Will you leave us alone?

I'd rather be a widow
than have you set us free.

A widow, did you say?

I trusted you.

We're very
sorry for your loss,

but golly,
it's the winter months

and the ground's frozen solid.

What do you do?

Introducing the new temporary
receiving vault system.

This state-of-the-art design
allows your local cemetery

to store up to five bodies
with limited decomposition

just until the ground thaws.

No more burning tires
or formaldehyde.

The receiving vault system,
coming to a cemetery near you.

Norman.

Norman. Wake up.

It is time to go to your party.

Service!

- Service!
- Norman.

Norman.

You have your party.

Norman.

Service!

Service!

Service!

- I'm tired.
- Take it. Here.

Oh, my God.

Which is what
they don't tell you

about a two-humped cowboy.

Positively orgasmic.

Do you remember the bathhouse?

No, you shut your mouth.

May I produce Mr. Norman Henry?

Oh.

- Normie.
- Hi.

Normie, you look positively tempestuous.

Look at this one.

Tempestuous.

- Am I right?
- Very good.

- Hello, Rosie. Hello.
- Loosen up.

Do you know
what your problem is?

- Do you meditate?
- No.

You need to loosen up.

It'll bring back
that old Henry charisma.

May I present the one, the only,
fresh off her world tour...

- Oh, it's Brooklyn.
- ...Brooklyn.

Hello!

- Hello, hello!
- Hello.

It's Nora Bayes.

Yes, she's fabulous.

She has fabulous tits,
am I right?

Rosie!

She's straight off
her world tour.

I've heard, Norman.

Your geriatric maid
just told me.

She told everyone here
in this room.

- Shall I begin?
- Lord, have mercy.

Yes, yes, begin.

This is art.

Don't let anybody tell you
otherwise.

I see clearly.

Tonight...

I will set her free.

One day, we will all be free.

But tonight... tonight
is her night.

♪ There was a certain lawyer
in a certain town ♪

- You're flat.
- ♪ Who got the name ♪

- You're flat.
- ♪ From always snooping brown ♪

Higher.

♪ He was the most peculiar man

- ♪ I'd ever seen ♪
- Give a note higher.

♪ I'll give you a description
of the man I'd seen

- ♪ Oh, snooped ♪
- Ah, there it is.

Right to it, girl.

Would you shut up
and let her sing?

♪ Snoop ♪

Well, if you're going to
spend money on an act,

might as well have her
put the diaphragm into it.

- Rosie, it's Nora Bayes.
- Are you having a stroke?

Do you even know
what a diaphragm is?

- That's a diaphragm.
- What is wrong with you?

♪ Snoop, the lawyer
never wore a collar

♪ Snoop, the lawyer... ♪

For fuck sake,
I've had enough of this.

Stop.

- Oh, my God.
- Dizzy. Dizzy.

- I'm dizzy.
- Could you get him some ice?

No, no.
No ice for me.

- No ice for me, please.
- Don't be so silly.

Suddenly, a man of the people...

Rosie, would you
please just simmer?

- He has anxiety.
- I'm not anxious.

I don't suffer from anxiety.

Eyes wide open, darling.

Let's just call it what it is.

He's stressed about money.

- Rosie.
- Norman.

Rosie, don't do this.

Clearly, this is a fucking charade.

You're to have me believe
that you willfully moved up

to the country
to hear Nora Bayes

sing bedtime stories.

We have not moved up
to the country.

- You are broke, Norman.
- Rosie, don't do this.

You just bend over and take it.

You always have.

You don't talk
to my wife that way.

I do not bend over and take it.

Don't talk to my wife that way.

Come on.
What was I supposed to do?

It's not what
they expected you to do.

It's what you expected
of yourself, Mary.

We are not broke.

- Yes, we are, Norman.
- Yes, you are.

Will I be paid?

- You'll be paid.
- Probably not.

We are Henrys.

I can assure you,
you will be paid, my darling.

You know, she was a genius.

She built things, contraptions.

Did you know that?

Your stupid name means nothing

compared to what
she could have been.

I've worked very hard
for my stupid name, Rosie.

A junk man.

I built my fortune through
diligence and hard work.

I have built it
out of absolutely nothing.

And you still have nothing.

You're a middleman with nothing,
no skills, no talent, nothing.

Nothing.

Well, that's not what
Thomas Edison said.

Oh, really?

Thomas Edison?

Oh, really?

Yes, Thomas Edison and I
are changing the world

because I mean something.

You understand?

- I mean something.
- What did you say?

- Wow.
- I don't know what I said.

- What did you say?
- What did you say?

Rosie, shut up.
What did you say?

I don't know what I said.

I made a deal.

I made a brilliant deal.

A brilliant,
brilliant deal.

Marian.

Marian.

Marian, please.

Please, Marian, let me... can you
please... can you... can you

just let me explain?

You...

Well, it seems my work here
is done.

That's how you take a bow, honey.

Gretchen!

Gretchen!

Get my valise, my hatbox,
my easel, my luggage,

and call my carriage.

Yes, ma'am.

Marian! Marian!

It's all about spite.

Spite, Marian.

It's all about spite.

Sorry.

I'm sorry.

Oh, God.

You don't have any...

Will you let me explain?

Please, will you let me explain?

I wouldn't do this to you?

I don't know
what to say.

Fuck!

I forgave you.

I've forgiven you
our whole life.

Nothing's equal.

How could I have been
so stupid...

Not fair.

...to cast aside
all inhibitions

and believe that something might
have changed within my husband.

He left, Marian.

You can quit the charade.

He's gone about his business.

There'll be other deals,
I promise.

No, he still saw me as a pawn.

That was
eventful.

Oh, what's this?

So, are you ready to make more
money than God?

A chess piece
that he could simply move aside

for the betterment
of the Henry name, of course.

Oh, my God.

I prayed for you, Marian.

I prayed for this deal.

I prayed for this deal
every day.

I don't think I made a mistake, Marian.

You just have to trust me,
for God's sake.

I'll wait you out, girl.

I'll wait you out.

I'm standing there trying
to make a meal, now,

I'm trying to... he comes in,
and he says,

"Oh, you are an artist.
I'm an artist."

Oh, the stupid idiot.

And I say to him,
"Look, what? What?"

He takes the knife, he says,
"I'm going to save her.

I'm going to save my Marian."

And he stands up there,
and he goes walking away.

And I say [speaks Italian].

- Who is this?
- Who? Who?

The fucking French artist,
you know who.

He's on his way.

Edgar, don't do this.

Where are you?

Marian, I'll leave you
alone if you just come in here.

Marian, talk to me.

Marian, please.

You just have to trust me,
for God's sake.

Shut up!

Shut up!

Like with the painting...

Will you stop feeling sorry
for yourself?

You are not the fucking victim.

Oh, just because you had an
onslaught of guilt doesn't mean

that you get to, you know,
make this moment about you.

Darling, take your time.

Take your time. Take your time.

This is not about that.

Whatever this is, it's not that.

And I am not forgiving you.

Could you just... your robe, Norman.

Please, could you have
a shred of dignity?

I'm trying to
tell you something.

It was unintentional.

Of course, it was unintentional.

Everything you do
is unintentional, Norman.

That's not true, Marian.

- That's the problem.
- That's not true.

Just because
you know... you know... you...

Oh!

Of all the nights you could
have snuck your whore

into your bedroom.

Oh, golly.

Marian.

- I'm feeling quite queasy.
- I bet you are, Norman.

I bet you are.

Oh!

I think I need to
call... call on the doctor.

Call on the doctor.

I think I need
to call on the doctor.

It doesn't work.

- Doctor.
- Gretchen!

Gretchen!

Get the doctor.

Get the doctor!

Take your hands off her,
you cocksucker.

Oh!

Get help. Maids!

Gretchen!

Fetch the doctor.

Gretchen, would you fetch the doctor?

Help.

Get your fucking hands
off my husband's cock.

Oh la la!

Put that cock down,
you fucking... get back!

Get out
for fuck's sake.

- Help.
- What is it?

Fetch the doctor.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't love at all.

It was simply a...

Fucking damn it, Norman.

Why couldn't you keep
your underwear on

just this one night?

- It wasn't him. It was me.
- Shut the fuck up.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I'm so... I'm sorry.

I can't feel my legs.

Fuck's sake,
don't you fucking die on me.

Don't you dare.

Norman, don't you dare die on me.

You are a coward.

Don't you dare.

You know... no, no, no, no, no.

You know I am.

I'm gonna speak the truth,
Norman,

if it is the last thing
that I ever say to you.

I am gonna say this to you.

Yes, I am.

I'm your wife.

And I invented the...

I do see you.

I do.

Is he fucking dead?

Did you fucking die?

Did he die on me?

Did he?

Norman, you fucking louse.

How could you die on me
right then?

You... fucking hell!

I just... this... this right here.

This is worse than Edison,
you know that?

You... you had the last laugh,
didn't you, Norman?

You... you... just... oh, Norman.

Oh, Norman.

Oh.

Oh, Norman.

Oh, Norman, you cunt.

Do you ever
imagine your life

a hundred years from now?

Oh, of course.

- What young lady doesn't?
- Wow.

You're different
than most young ladies.

Oh, because I'm educated?

No, because you're different
than most young ladies.

A cantankerous painter
once said that the bones

of an artist
would live on forever.

Whilst the prick of a rich man
like you shall fade to dust.

Ah!

The day
Norman Henry died,

it was frigid.

The ground was frozen solid,

too frozen to dig even
the shallowest of graves.

And so I would sit
and contemplate

what was to become of my husband
after he would fade to dust.

And in turn,
what would become of me?

My name is Marian Morsch Henry.

Marian Henry.

Marian Henry?

Marian Henry-Morsch.

My name is...

As I told you on
the first page of this journal,

this was never a story
of murder.

It was always a cautionary tale.

You see,
if you're lucky enough to have

ideas and passions,

you must embrace them
at all costs.

Because it is
these ideas and passions

that push the world round.

You see, there's a big, tall
tightrope, right?

And I'm at a circus.

And I'm... I'm wobbly up there
in the sky.

I know I'm gonna fall.

And on one side
of the tightrope,

there is a beautiful life
as a mother.

And on the other side
of the rope, a career.

Both very hard.

- In different ways, I imagine.
- Exactly.

I, for one... I don't believe
in compromise.

Yes, well, you're not a woman.

Now, I'll have you know
that while I am indeed a woman,

I will no longer
be compromising.

You see,
I am a woman of invention.

I always have been,
and I always will be.

Hi.

I'm looking for the records of
a student you had here in 1867.

This would be it.

It's very delicate works.

What I have learned,
dear reader,

is that against all odds,

you must stay true to who
you are or risk fading to dust.

For a moment in time,
I had forgotten my very name.

And like all those around me,
the artists...

...the craftsmen...

...the creators...

...while sometimes
we might lose our way,

we will never, ever lose
our sense of purpose.

I am Marian Morsch,

college graduate,
loyal wife...

...and the one and only
inventor of the light bulb.

Now, perhaps take a moment

and imagine
what I might do next.

Whoop [chuckles].

What's he digging for?

Oh, my God.

Come on.

Come on!

- Janice!
- Mm?

Janice, look at this.

Aw.

Those look like
your poodles.

Oh lord,
may they rest in peace.

Oh, gone too soon.

Hey, you should get this.

You see that?

It says "Degas."

Degas.

What a sense of humor
you all have.

But we're not paying $5
for this.

Okay, what do you want to do?

I have $3 left on me.

- Will you take that?
- Three bucks?

It's a picture of poodles.

This is not a Degas, honey.

I'm an art history professor.

It's not a Degas.

Three bucks.
Yeah, three bucks.

Whatever.

- Enjoy.
- Thanks.

So cute.