Original subtitles

Vincent!

Dinner's ready.

Vincent!

Omata!

Hey, Michelangelo.

This ain't the Sistine Chapel.

It's a freaking gate.

You don't understand.

I have to do it right.

Do it right?

That's always your excuse.

Takes you an hour to scrub out a damn toilet.

I'm an artist.

What you are, asshole, is fired.

Wait, you can't.

Get outta here.

How many jobs has it been now, Vincent?

Ugh! You're kidding me.

Nah. Pedro, he comes in for his shift this afternoon,

then, all of a sudden, he says he's feeling sick, and he just drops.

Jesus. That sucks.

Sucks more to be his wife and kids right now.

At least he had a wife and kids.

What have you got, Vincent?

No money, no job.

A life wasted chasing dreams that are always just beyond your reach.

You don't know anything about me!

What the hell, Vince?

Sorry.

I gotta hit the head.

Oh!

Those things will kill you.

That's the least of my problems.

Shitty day, huh?

I said, shitty day, huh?

Yeah, I, uh...

got fired.

I mean, I was working at Arkham Asylum.

So, I should be happy I'm no longer there, right?

Now, at least I can focus on my painting and...

Let me guess. Struggling artist?

Couldn't have picked a more lucrative cliché?

Yeah.

Wow.

You're...

Yeah?

There's something about you.

Something...

If I could just capture it on canvas.

You're saying you wanna paint my portrait?

He's saying he'd like to get you

back to his apartment for a good screw.

No! It's not like that.

Like what?

I've gotta go.

But... will I...

I'll see you around.

Ready?

Translation,

"Piss off, loser."

Talent? Perhaps a modicum.

But enough to succeed?

Absolutely not.

If I were you, I'd abandon art entirely

and seek out a profession that's more practical.

Gotham University has an excellent dental school.

Blew your last paycheck on booze, huh, Vincent?

How are you gonna pay your rent now?

Not too late, you know.

Get rid of all this crap.

Get your ass back to school if--

And what? End up like you?

A miserable failure who hates his life?

Hates his family.

You never understood me.

You never appreciated what I've--

It's always someone else's fault, isn't it, Omata?

Don't go there, baby.

You know you've been an even bigger failure with women

than you've been with your art.

Charlotte, I'm begging you. Don't leave me.

I've given you six years of my life, Vincent.

- Six years. - I know.

I've supported you emotionally, financially,

and I'd probably still do it, but I just...

I can't watch you wreck yourself like this, I--

Then go.

And when my artwork's selling for millions,

and when the whole damn world knows who I am, don't come crawling back.

I miss the man you used to be.

So do I.

Hey, what the hell?

You can't do this.

You don't really have a choice in the matter.

Who do you think you are?

- This is a load of crap. - Listen,

there's no reason to get upset.

Unbelievable.

You can't do this.

Hey, leave her alone.

I called the cops.

You two better get the hell out of here.

You didn't call the police, did you?

No, I, uh, don't even have a phone.

Well, I appreciate it anyway.

Yeah, well, good night.

Wait, you're the artist, right?

From the bar.

Don't you want to show me your work?

What do you think?

She thinks you're pathetic.

- Failure. - Amateur.

You'll never make it.

Most of them aren't finished. Why?

I, uh...

- Excuses. - Talentless.

- All talk. - You're scared.

You've got a real gift, Vincent.

But there's something missing from your work.

Some essential spark.

Something perhaps you had once?

And lost along the way?

When I was a kid, I'd spend hours all day

on my bedroom floor, drawing.

It was like time just stopped,

and the only thing that existed in the whole damn universe

was the picture.

Pure creativity.

Pure joy.

Yes.

Look, it wasn't just a pickup line before

when I said I wanted to paint your portrait.

- Liar. - Shameful.

- Pathetic. - Obvious.

I...

I see something in you.

Beauty, but with an incredible sadness beneath it.

So young.

But somehow so very old.

I've been waiting for this moment, this chance, my entire life.

Maybe you have.

Of course I'll pose for you, Vincent.

It would be an honor.

- Hey, Michelangelo. - Talentless.

Failure.

Gave you six years of my life, Vincent.

Amateur.

How dare you think you are an artist?

Can't even paint a damn gate without screwing it up.

- Talentless. - Worthless.

- Embarrassment. - You're scared.

Are you happy with it?

"Happy"? That's too small a word, I...

It's... It's still evening.

How can that be? I've been painting for hours.

What's happening?

Time. Time has stopped.

But how?

We are standing in a place beyond time now, Vincent.

It may have reality for them,

but it has no meaning

to the dead.

I'm dead?

I'm dead.

And you are...

Look at him.

Dear God.

My life hasn't been worth much, has it?

But at least there's that.

I've left behind something of real value.

Now, I'll finally know who I...

No.

No! No! No, it can't burn.

How can you be so cruel? How can you do this to me?

I'm not doing anything, Vincent.

The end of your story was written in the Book of Destiny

before you sucked in your first breath.

I'm begging you. Just save the painting.

Please. Grant me this final gift before I...

You...

You already have, haven't you?

You've given me an extraordinary gift.

Thank you.

Shall we go then?

Into the mystery?

Hell of a thing, huh? Everything burned.

Except that.