All language subtitles for genius.s02e03.picasso.chapter.three.1080p.web.dl.hevc.x265.rmteam_[eng]

Previously on Genius...

CASAGEMAS: Picasso and I,
we are the future.

I wish I had a place like this.

MAÑACH:
You can work here if you want.

I could give you
150 francs every month.

In return, I own everything
you produce.

-To Picasso.
-ALL: To Picasso!

I am in love with Germaine.

I'm not in love with you.

-Why? Why not?
-Because you cannot satisfy me.

Carles, wait.
You cannot go back to Paris.

CASAGEMAS: No, I'm going
back to Barcelona.

-PICASSO: Carles, no!
-(gunshot)

It's my fault. I should
never have believed him.

GENEVIEVE:
She's his mistress?

-How many does he have?
-How many women has he painted?

-So you're finished with Dora?
-Of course not.

PICASSO:
She's brilliant.

I can't remember

the last time she made me

want to pick up a brush.

I need something new.

FRANCOISE:
I want to be a painter.

You will become a lawyer.

Matisse is the greatest painter
in the world.

But Picasso is much
better-looking.

FRANCOISE:
We're having a joint exhibition

at a very
well-respected gallery.

You must come
and visit me sometime.

To see some of my work.

You are going to paint her,
aren't you?

*

(whimpering)

You're my wife.
You will do what I tell you to.

Get away from me!

(cries out)

-(whimpers)
-(grunts)

(crying)

Shh.

That's all I have.

Is it enough to get me to Paris?

(horn honks)

(soldier whistles)

Bastards.

Yes, charming, aren't they?

Well, no one can charm you,
Françoise.

Except, perhaps,
a certain Spanish painter.

He probably
won't even remember us.

Maybe not me,

but he certainly
hasn't forgotten you.

(knock at door)

Good afternoon.

We've come
to see Monsieur Picasso.

Of course you have.

(indistinct chatter,
music playing)

(door closes)

Oh.

What a surprise.

We thought
you would be expecting us.

Yes.

Days ago.

We've been busy with our show.

-You should come.
-(Picasso scoffs)

(indistinct chatter, laughter)

You mentioned you might show us
some of your art.

-It would be a thrill for us.
-Uh, no.

I-If you want to see art,
you go to a gallery,

an exhibition, a museum.

You go to the Louvre.

Well, it seems
we've disturbed you after all.

-Ah.
-Thank you for the invitation.

You're welcome

to return, of course.

But if you do,
don't come like, uh,

worshippers to the Holy Land.

Come because you want to see me.

-Outside.
-Yeah.

Apparently they are having
some kind of a show.

Find out where it is.

WOMAN:
The artist's name

is Françoise Gilot.

She's a most intriguing

young discovery.

Don't you agree,

Monsieur Picasso?

Thank you for allowing me
to work here.

No money for models?

No. But the real world

is a better subject
for art, anyway.

Christ is the only real subject
for art.

What you do,

they sell in alleys to perverts.

-But it is not my business.
-(woman sobbing)

I must warn you.

The whores
wearing the bonnets...

Have syphilis. I know.

Yes. Well...

best to keep your distance.

Will you paint me
without the bonnet?

I don't want anyone seeing me
like this.

What if I paint you
in a beautiful white veil?

No one wants to buy pictures
of dying whores.

I make the art, you sell it.
If you can't,

-that's your problem.
-I thought you were headed
for greatness.

Why else would I dole out money
to you every month?

-I'm painting, aren't I?
-Blue hags

-and corpses.
-Van Gogh and Lautrec...

Paint flowers, showgirls,

anything people
can eat dinner under

without losing their appetite.

I can only paint what I feel.

No one else wants
to feel like that.

You look like

you're the one who died,
for Christ's sake.

My closest friend put
a bullet in his brain.

Yes.

It's terrible.

But you must learn

to separate your life
from your art.

-I can't!
-Then find someone else

to tell your sad stories to,
because I'm done with it.

(door closes)

Germaine.

Pablo.

PICASSO:
I should have tried harder.

It wasn't your fault.

I shouldn't have believed him.

I knew he hadn't

really let you go.

But I never thought he'd...

(sighs) It was horrible.

Blood all over the walls.

Manuel told me that Carles...

I moved just a second
before the bullet hit.

(exhales)

Now I feel like his ghost
is following me.

I know.

I've tried to paint
other things, other people,

but-but every face...

...every face becomes his.

You are the only one
who understands.

You don't have to run off.

I can't go back to Mañach.

I need to find new lodgings.

You're welcome to stay here
as long as you want.

It's nice not to feel so lonely.

How could we have done this?

It's what we both needed.

What about what Carles needed?

He adored you.

-But it was so suffocating.
-Because he worshipped you.

Why couldn't you
just have loved him?

You think I don't
ask myself that every day?

Germaine, I...

You've said enough.

You should go.

(Picasso sniffles)

(carriage rattles past)

(indistinct chatter)

Another coffee, mademoiselle?

No.

Put it on my bill, Lucien.

And bring her a bowl of soup.

Thank you. I'm not hungry.

Oh, well, next you're gonna
tell me you're not cold,

but I've been watching you
shiver for half an hour.

May I join you?

My husband would not approve.

Ah. Is he the one

who gave you
that charming little memento?

Please.

I don't accept charity.

You're looking for work, then.

Yes.

As it happens,
I could offer you work.

As a model.

I'm a sculptor.

I don't do that sort of thing.

What don't you do?
Sit on a stool

while someone stares at you?

You're doing it right now.

Perhaps.

But I have my clothes on.

My name is Laurent.

In case you reconsider.

Paris gets, uh...

horribly cold in the winter.

JACOB:
It is fascinating.

-Who is the artist?
-He calls himself Picasso.

He had his own show here
a few months ago.

Do you have more
of his paintings?

Well, unfortunately,
he has not brought me

anything worth showing
in months.

But I can offer you a good price
on this one.

Well, I'm not usually inclined

to, uh, begin collecting
an artist

until I am more familiar

with his work.

Do you know where
I might find him?

(Jacob clears throat)

-(knock at door)
-Pardon me.

I am looking
for Monsieur Picasso.

-If I owe you money...
-No, no, no.

Ah, nothing of the sort.

Uh, Monsieur Vollard
only had one

of your paintings
in his gallery,

and I was hoping that you might
show me some more.

I am Max Jacob.

Uh, please,

come in.

I shipped several
of my paintings

back to Barcelona,

but I do have many works here.

Um, give me a moment.

I-I wasn't expecting
a collector. (laughs)

Oh, no, I... No, no. No, no.

I am afraid you misunderstood.
I am not a collector.

What are you, then?

Well, on most days, I am a poet.

(laughs)
A poet?

Oui.

That's even worse
than being a painter.

(laughs)

So, why are you here?

To retreat from the banal.

To bask in the brutal beauty

of existence.

Mortality.

Everyone hates them.

(gasps)

I think they are...

extraordinary.

I may not be able

to afford a painting, but, uh,

at least let me buy you a meal.

PICASSO:
What if Vollard is right?

I had one chance
to make something of myself.

What if it's all over?

Mm.

Give me your hand.

Why?

Because...

I am a mystic of all trades.

A poet, a critic, and,

shh, a fortune teller.

Oh, a glowing childhood.

Oh, but life will bring sorrow.

What is wrong?

What if you tell me
I'm about to die?

Pablo,

no one can escape death.

But I can see in your eyes
you want to know what lies ahead

even as much as you fear it.

Yeah?

Hmm?

(sniffs)

(gasps dramatically)

This is promising.

By the time you are 30, you
will have a very big fortune.

And this line,

that tells us

that love will play a great role

in your art.

Perhaps too great.

FRANCOISE:
What did he think?

No one knows. Madame Beaureande
said he walked through,

looked at each painting-- yours

much longer than mine--
then walked out.

And he didn't say a word?

He's interested in you.

If he was interested in my work,
he would have said something.

Françoise,
a door is opening for you.

Go through it.

SABARTES:
You have a guest.

Well, whoever it is,
just send them away.

Very well. I shall tell
Mademoiselle Gilot that

the great Picasso

is too busy to see her.

For you.

I can't tell where the petals
end and the dress begins.

Just so you know,
I came to see you.

Not your paintings.

Then, by all means,
let's go and...

see my paintings.

-FRANCOISE: Who's she?
-Dora Maar.

FRANCOISE:
The woman you were dining with

-the night we met?
-Mm-hmm.

I wouldn't have known
it was her.

You saw her once, across a room.

An artist must always see
below the surface.

This one.

This one is enchanting.

The-the colors, the immediacy...

That's a Matisse.

Forgive me.

(chuckles)

(sighs)

No, not many people
have the courage

to tell me
what they really think.

Don't apologize for it.

Are you going to tell me what
you thought of my paintings?

Oh, there it is.

The real reason you came.

No.

-I...
-You want the truth?

Yes.

You have talent.

I think
you should continue to paint.

DORA:
You are lying to yourself.

-(groans)
-Pretending to show interest

in this girl's art because

the bloom is off one muse

and you have decided
to pluck another.

(chuckling):
You're just jealous.

I'm also right.

You want to paint something new,

and you think
getting this young girl into bed

will help you do that.

But do you really think
she wants to wake up

next to an old man

like you?

But I am not too old
to make you beg for more,

now, am I?

GRANDMA RENOULT:
Emile.

-Hmm?
-When are you going
to Françoise's show?

Art is a pastime.

One that I've allowed Françoise
to indulge in.

But now that there is an end in
sight to this godforsaken war,

you must resume your studies,
Françoise.

If you would just go
and look at what I've done,

you would see
that I'm a serious artist.

Hmm.
Haven't I made myself clear?

You're not going
to be an artist.

Pablo Picasso thinks
I'm one already.

Oh, and how do you know that?

He came to see the exhibition.

-And invited me to his studio.
-(chuckles)

And you think it's because
he is interested in your art?

Is that so hard to believe?

Everyone knows
the man is a lecher.

If he has any interest in you
at all, Françoise,

it lies between your napkin
and your chair.

Emile!

EMILE:
The Nazis are right

about him. He's a degenerate.

(chuckles)

You're siding
with the Nazis now?

Picasso will ruin you!

I forbid you
to ever see him again.

(indistinct chatter)

(knocking)

(sniffs)

Good afternoon, monsieur.

(chuckles)
A pleasure to see you again,

Mademoiselle...?

-Fernande.
-Fernande.

Are you still in need
of a model?

Come in.

My.

You can see... everything.

But it's quite good.

-(chuckles)
-Really.

Unfortunately, in Paris,

"quite good" isn't good enough.

But maybe your arrival
on my doorstep is a...

divine intervention.

(chuckles)
I only came here for a wage.

I'm not able to pay you
at the moment, but, um...

if you're in need of a bed...

I'm so stupid.

No, no, no, no, no.
I-It's not what I meant.

It would simply be a way
of paying you.

I would sleep on the settee.

And you have food?

Bread? Coffee?

I live a-a meager existence,
not an uncivilized one.

Where would you like me?

Stand over there and,
uh, take off your clothes.

You only have one bed.

Well, I write all night,
sleep all day.

So, we take shifts.

-(scoffs)
-It's, uh, primitive, but, uh,

it's warm, it's clean.

And you can't afford
where you're living now.

-I'm not looking for charity.
-Uh-uh.

But I told you,
you are going to be rich.

So you will pay me back.

You need a new place
to paint what you want.

A new life, new inspiration.

So, what do you say?

"And when I try to shrug away

"my decrepitude, and, uh,

"populate the night
with my shrill cry,

"I hear the death-cough
of mortality

"choked under corpses
in a lake of blood--

my unhinging effort to die."

(book shuts)

Poe?

No.

Baudelaire.

(chuckles)

Oh.

Don't make me take this journey
alone tonight.

I saw how that journey ended
for Carles.

Nah!
(chuckles)

That was opium.

Ether is...
(chuckles)

(inhales)

(exhales, inhales)

...an entirely different magic.
(chuckles)

(exhales)

It is...

it is like, uh...

(chuckles)

Oh, it's dreaming
when you are awake.

S-Such beauty.

Ah, but then it is like...

trying to catch smoke
in your hand.

Read me another poem.

"If that which I love

"weighs upon my wound,

"it pains it;

"if it weighs only upon summer,

"it is the field that suffers.

"What will feed summer
and my love

"if not that sorrow,

since my love and summer
can no longer feed on joy?"

Baudelaire again?

Mm, no.

Max Jacob.

You wrote that?

-(groans)
-(chuckles)

Yes.
(chuckles)

Oh, it's beautiful.

Huh?

-You think so?
-Yes.

It sounds
like you've fallen very hard.

Who is "my love"?

Uh, someone I have not met yet.

You're soaked.

I want to show you something.

Come.

FRANCOISE:
It's a lovely view.

Yes, it is.

You didn't kiss me back.

But you didn't shy away either.

You're a confusing young woman.

I should probably go.

No, no, no, no.

(clicks tongue)
Hey.

You came to show me your art.

So, show me your art.

Her nose is broad
like a sailor's.

The colors are confusing.

Fingers so tangled,

all eight of them.

I was hoping you would tell me
how to improve it.

Just admit it.
You are not here for me at all.

You just want me to help you.

You told me I had promise.

Well, it takes more than promise
to be an artist.

Because the only way
to be a true artist

is to work day and night.

Lose yourself in it completely.

Do you have any idea
how lonely that is?

And yet, without great solitude,

no serious work is possible.

I'm sorry. I didn't...

You want advice?
I'll give it to you.

The ugly truth is this:

no one can help you.

You have to do it on your own,
just as I did.

(loud knocking)

Is she here?

-No.
-It's all right, Grandma.

What is the meaning of this?

I'm not going to law school.

Oh, so you can dedicate
your life to art, and

-waste what I have given you?
-I put my thoughts on paper

because I knew
you wouldn't listen.

This is not how I raised you!

This is exactly
how you raised me.

To stand up for myself.

I warned you
to stay away from Picasso.

This is his influence.

It's got nothing to do with him.
It's what I want.

Not while I'm supporting you.

No! (grunts)

Emile!

-(Françoise yelps)
-Emile!

Stop! Get out!

Don't expect another centime
from me.

You are both on your own now.

(panting)

(door closes)

I hope I haven't made
a terrible mistake.

You fought for your freedom.

Don't look back.

But without your father's money,

I cannot offer you much more
than a shoulder to lean on.

You will have to find a way
to support yourself.

(neighing)

Mademoiselle Gilot,

I didn't know
you were coming to ride today.

I, um...

I haven't come to ride.

I...

I've come for a job.

(sighs)

Sorry. My neck.

I need a few minutes.

(Laurent sighs)

Why put that back on?

Because it's cold,

if you haven't noticed
under your wool shirt.

(chuckles softly)

You said
you wouldn't ask for that.

Well, that was before

I'd been staring at your lovely
breasts for days on end.

That wasn't our agreement.

If you don't like it, leave.

(wood clattering on floor)

(woman singing
Puccini's La Bohème in Italian)

(soft grunting)

(woman singing in Italian)

(man singing in Italian)

PICASSO:
It's like

he punched a hole
right through my heart.

JACOB:
No. No.

That hole already existed.

Puccini just reminded you
that it was there.

It's unfair.
He has... he has so many notes,

voices, instruments,
to make his music.

All I have are canvases
and a few colors.

You are every bit
the artist that he is.

When I look at your paintings,

I feel such...

in...

...intensity that...

uh, I-I need a release.

Don't you?

It will make you feel
so much better.

(inhaling deeply)

*

JACOB:
Pablo!

What?! What are you doing?
Get down!

I know--
I-I know why Carles did it now.

He just wanted to escape.

From his broken heart,
his-his failure.

That-that-that is just the...

the ether whispering
in your ear. Do not listen.

You are on a path,

holding onto someone's hand,
going someplace... glorious.

And then
the hand just slips away.

Suddenly, you're on the edge...

(whimpers)
with no one to hold onto.

I-I will. I will hold onto you.

You feel yourself...

falling.

If you take a step,
then so will I!

Why would you do that?

Because I-I cannot bear
the thought

of living in this world
without you.

(crying):
What?

(sniffles)

(Picasso sniffles)

(panting)

(Françoise chuckles)

Did you get lost on your way
to the Champs-Elysées?

Here I thought
you'd been walled up

somewhere
painting a masterpiece.

I don't have time to paint.

Wasn't that the whole point
getting away

-from your father?
-I don't have much of a choice.

Picasso could help you.
He's rich.

He can get your work noticed.

I'm not sure
it's my work he's interested in.

Give him what he wants. I would.

(chuckles)

You like him, don't you?

I suppose.

-But...
-But what?

He may be old, but he still
has women lining up for him.

He must be doing
something right.

Françoise,

you can't stay a virgin forever.

DORA:
How is your new

girlfriend?

As a matter of fact,
I haven't seen her in weeks.

Don't tell me Pablo Picasso has
been rejected by a little girl.

-Yeah.
-Don't worry.

She'll soften.

They always do.

In six months,

you'll be painting her
like a horse, too.

I'm trying to work, huh?

I got a letter from Max.

How is the stubborn old dog?

Refusing to leave
his little sanctuary, convinced

no harm can come to him,
even though

they have sent the rest
of his family to the camps.

Go see him, Pablo.

You are the only one who can

persuade him to get out
before it's too late.

You've been at that for hours.

Well, why don't you rest?

It's your turn to sleep.

There's plenty of room.

Here.

Come. Lie down.

Yeah.

Max?

(sighs)
I love you.

But not the way you want me to.

No. No, no, no. No.

That... that-that... No.

I don't judge you.
I just... I just don't...

feel the same, and I'm sorry.

(chuckling nervously):
No, no.

I...

I am...

-I... I am disgusting.
-No, Max.

It's nothing to be ashamed of.

(laughing):
Oh, it...

Tell that
to the priests and the rabbis.

And they say
that it's a perversion.

I-I don't believe that,
and neither should you.

Even if I didn't,
what then? Huh?

What then? What? I have to...

I have to just hold it all in.

Just... Oh, my God.

Just once, just once...

...could-couldn't someone
love me back?

Oh, Max.

Someone will.

I promise.

Oh.

You're going to leave,
aren't you?

(sighs)
Um...

Maybe that would be...

easier for you.

But we'll always be friends.

(Jacob quavers)

You say that now and...

maybe you even think that
you mean that, but...

Oh, it's just never how it ends.

Just go.

Go.

-Oh.
-(Picasso chuckles)

Oh. It is good
to see you, old friend.

I am worried about you, Max.

It's not safe for you.

Well, I am not a Jew anymore.

In case you haven't noticed,

I have not been one
for decades, but...

There are other reasons
the Nazis could come after you.

Oh, you mean
because I am a homosexual.

I am not ashamed of who I am.

Not anymore.

I appreciate your concern,
Pablo, but I am not leaving.

This is my home, here with God.

(Jacob chuckles)

PICASSO:
I told Dora you were stubborn.

Oh. How is she?

Growing tired of me.

Just as I am of her.

How old is she?

Who? Dora?

No... the new one.

Twenty-one.

(laughs)

She's a painter.

Oh? Is she any good?

She could be.

But it's
the only reason she seems

to be interested in me.

So I can help her with her work.

Can you blame her?

Well, everyone wants something

from "the great Picasso."

I suppose I wish
she wanted me...

...for me.

Art. Picasso.

You cannot separate the two.

Offer her one sincerely,

and perhaps
she will want the other.

(phone ringing)

Allô.

PICASSO (on telephone):
Good afternoon,

Mademoiselle Gilot.

I-I would like for you
to come see me again.

I'm not sure that would be...

Not to be with me.

To make art.

I-I could show you how to etch.

FRANCOISE:
That's very kind of you,

but you don't owe me anything.

PICASSO:
B-B-But I do. An apology.

I lied to you.

People say I am a genius,

that it all came easily to me,

b-b-but the truth is,

I didn't do it alone.

Many people helped me.

I would like to help you.

If you'll let me.

SABARTES:
She's here.

-Again.
-(Picasso grunts)

But if you ask me,
this will not end well.

PICASSO:
Jaime,

you are an
excellent gatekeeper,

but you're no clairvoyant.

I don't need to know the future.
I know you.

(chuckles)

(clears throat)

Well, that's not what you wear
to an etching class.

No, it isn't.

But you didn't invite me here
for that.

I told you, I...
I don't expect anything else.

Well, that's
exactly why I decided to come.

*

(clatters)

Are you sure you're ready?

Yes.

I've made up my mind.

Being willing is
a very different thing

than being ready.

Don't you want me?

Very much.

But I am willing to wait.

(Picasso sighs)

PICASSO: I couldn't wait
to get to Paris.

Back when I was your age.

Here, to Montmartre,

where everything important
was happening.

Uh... give me a moment.

Would you?

Hello?

WOMAN:
Who's there?

PICASSO:
It's me.

WOMAN:
Pablo?

(sighs)

Hello, Germaine.

I wasn't sure
if I would see you again.

I wanted to say good-bye.

I'm going back to Barcelona.

(sighs) I'm sure it'll
be good to be home, hmm?

(chuckles) I hope so.

I don't blame you for leaving.

I still can't sleep.

I-I came to apologize.

For what I said to you;
it was cruel.

No, you did not say
anything I didn't already feel.

-It was my fault.
-No.

No. I was wrong.

I didn't understand before,
but...

I do now.

Understand what?

No matter how much you care
about someone,

you cannot force yourself
to love them

the way they want you to.

So, please, Germaine.

Stop blaming yourself.

Thank you, Pablo.

(sniffles)

I hope someday
you forgive yourself, too.

GERMAINE:
I still think of Carles.

Nearly every day.

So do I.

If only I could have given him
what he deserved...

...what he wanted.

Pablo.

You did.

FRANCOISE:
Who was that?

(exhales)

The love of my close friend,
Carles.

He took his life because of her.

And I almost took mine
because of him.

What stopped you?

(birds squawking)

*

CASAGEMAS: Well, if it isn't
the Leonardo da Vinci

of the whorehouse!

I am in love with Germaine.

I can't paint.

I can't paint-- not until
I know Germaine is mine.

It's not bad
for a whorehouse sketch.

It's time for you
to pick up a brush.

And for me... to go.

PICASSO: I found a way
to give him in art...

what he couldn't have in life.

I thought I would never
come back to Paris.

But after I finished
that painting, I...

I felt the pull to return.

So I came to this place.

For a new start.

And I was happy here...
until I wasn't.

I wanted you to see it,
so you'll understand.

-Where you started.
-No, no.

That it's better we don't
see each other too much.

I thought...

L-L-Love can be... dangerous.

I watched it destroy Carles.

Then I learned it myself.

Right here.

Right here.

Love can rage so strong...

...that it burns itself out.

LAURENT:
Fernande!

PICASSO:
You start as lovers...

but if you are not careful...

...you become victims
of your own passion.

Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH