All language subtitles for The.Price.of.Desire.2015.1080p.WEBRip.x264-FGT

Three million,

three million two,
three million five.

The next bid is 19.

Nineteen million
is the next bid.

Merci beaucoup.

Oui.

...in the room, at 19.5 million.

I remain one of his most

passionate admirers.

Le Corbusier.

An architect
must be more

than just a man of knowledge,

but a man of heart.

A scientist...

as well as an artist.

If only
he had understood.

Ms. Gray deliberately amended

my modernist mandate

to suit her own willful whims.

She resolutely refused
to follow

my five-point plan
frame working four.

We'll try to save her house.

If only for the sake
of my murals.

But where on earth
was the rooftop terrace?

Marie-Louise!

Ah. Well...

It is my intention

to preserve the property
and, uh, to...

restore it
to its original state.

Mon dieu, no.

That graffiti's got to go.

You have to be joking.

You are joking, right?

Are you telling me

I paid the price for a large
luxury yacht

for this dilapidated plant-box?

No! No!

Marie-Louise!

Probably among
her least luxurious pieces.

But when I first saw
her exhibits

at the Salon des artistes
in 1923...

the innovation filled me

with jealousy
and awe in equal measure.

Not that we were contemporaries,

Le Corbusier is still
a struggling painter,

with architectural ambition
was barely born.

Eileen Gray,

the great creator
of luxurious interiors

had already arrived.

Our careers

were about to collide.

Jean envied
my architectural achievements

our entire adult lives.

But I could never compete
with this prodigious advantage

when it came to women.

Which is why my own
occasional publication

is dedicated
to modern architecture.

Le Corbusier
is a regular contributor

to L'Architecture Vivante

And you want a picture?

A picture of you.

All, all your work,
I mean to say.

For Wendingen.
It's a Dutch publication.

One of the most advanced
architecture--

Yes, I know.

I had a very nice note
from J.P Oud at De Stijl.

Well, they would very much
like to dedicate

an entire issue to you
and your work.

If you'd be so kind
as to permit me

to understate the article.

An entire issue of Wendingen?

It's to be an in-depth piece.

And during isolation...

is the price of my freedom.

I immerse myself
in my work, you see.

To escape the perils of life...

drowning the people around me.

Well...

Perhaps if we were to find
the time to work together.

Ah.

I will...

collaborate on your article.

Would you mind
if I asked you something?

If it's not too indiscreet?

Not at all.

I can't promise response.

Is it a self-portrait?

More of a personal piece.

I called it "The Knight...

of the dark days of the war."

It's very beautiful.

The world's a very
different place since the war.

We were frivolous then.

Oh, the folly of our ways.

Now, I find functional form
is refined,

and defined as art.

It's a question of intention,
of function,

what's the use?

How would you use this?

Luxuriously, the bed,
for example.

It is not originally designed
for any purpose,

but, rather for effect.

Ah.

Quite the pose.

Don't you think?

Post-war, those pieces
were almost priceless...

preserved of the rich
and famous.

I even promoted her myself,

at the expense of my own
architectural projects.

The mad musings of a man
still struggling

to find himself on the left bank
of self-belief,

of the soundness of mind.

Still struggling to find clients

sufficiently courageous
to execute my plans.

Le Corbusier

was barely born...

Eileen Gray had arrived.

I was...

delirious...

desirous...

But why women were not
for going to bed with?

There is much uncertainty
about sex.

Unless it's paid for.

And so much certainty
about the work...

even when it isn't.

I long to act...

recklessly.

And I could hear your heart was
singing a different symphony.

In art, I can see clearly.

In love, not so well.

To me, they were incompatible
and confused.

To you, they seemed...

utterly, intrinsically infused.

Life and art seemed to...

coexist.

Intellect and instinct...

artfully combined,

in a perfect sense of harmony,

setting all their senses
at once.

Was there ever...

never, a more...

conventional suitor?

Marriage has never
appealed to me.

Or... a non-conventional suitor?

I do tend to distinguish.

I mean...

...a male lover?

I need freedom to think, to...

work.

To create.

"Freedom."

Freedom can be lonely.

Lightly.

There.

Draw down.

Stroke.

Do you know that you have
the most beautiful profile.

C'est magnifique.

A triumph of modern living.

It's my piece of value
for women.

"Spiritual content,

form, and matter fuse

form a unity of rare delight."

It's fabulously
comfortable.

As an indoor and outdoor idea.

I could call it the "transat."

Inspired by our first
transatlantic trip.

Her art is on the contrary,
cerebral.

It is born of a strong
and powerful land.

It shows a willingness

to build purely, ideal spaces.

I often wonder where
there's art, there's analysis.

As it's a form
of analysis in itself.

What am I looking for?

I'm looking...

I'm looking for love.

Is it drive or desire...

that most motivates
the creation of meaningful work?

You're so impassioned
by architecture.

Why don't you work
or at least write more?

You could write a new edition
of L'Architecture Vivante.

What more could I add?

There's so much more to say.

You could dedicate
an entire issue

to local musée for example.

Wouldn't that be more
about what is good to say?

I just feel like you're putting
away your talent in furniture.

You're 46 years old.

Why don't you build a thing
that will last?

A boat?

More of an architectural legacy.

Like a house.

Maybe I can ground
an ocean liner.

Not just an interior,
a whole house.

Mm-hm.

For you.

For us.

A house by the sea.

Where?

Here.

On this coast.

A perfect site
for the perfect house,

as daunting as it was beautiful.

Where it would, all of us
come to feel like one,

with... the forces of nature.

Eileen.

Naturally, I assumed,

that my elegant friend
and admirer

Jean Badovici
would commission me

to design and construct
his villa.

And that the independently
wealthy Eileen Gray

would pay.

A modern villa.

While he had
some architectural ambitions,

he had not an ounce
of the experience required

to undertake such a project.

I very much enjoy the work

of incorporating some
of the tendance

into my drawings, thus far.

- Which ones?
- Well...

the side lines itself very well,

to the erosion
of differentiation

between the indoor
and outdoor space.

On the contrary,

I think it matters very much.

The external design
is integral to the site

which in turn, impacts
on the interior.

Surely, so long
as it's on structural stilts,

with non-supporting walls,

an open interior
with floor to ceiling windows,

an intensive roof terrace,

the plan subscribes.

For me, that's nothing.

Life is everything.

Simultaneously, mind and heart.

Excuse me.

Never for
a moment, did I imagine

that the elegant designer
of interior, Ms. Eileen Gray,

would have the autodidactic
arrogance

to attempt
such a project herself.

There are buildings
which are mute,

buildings which will talk to you
and then...

If you prefer Corbusier
to design the house that--

It's a house for us...

Not for him.

And anyway it does reference
the five point plan.

It's to be my gift to you.

If we are designing it
then--

We should sign it
as us together.

The Gray-Badovici residence.

Maybe just initial it.

How?

Villa B-G?

The Badovici-Gray Villa?

Oh, Gray-Badovici. Villa G-B.

As in Gray Britton?

E-G, J-B.

E-G. J-B.

For example Jean Badovici.

J-B, E-G.

Uh, Jean Badovici for example.

Oh, I'm trying to think
of something more subtle.

We could use numerical code.

- Ten for "J", two for "B"...
- Mm-hm.

"G" is the seventh letter
of the alphabet.

What happened to "E"
for Eileen?

Ten, two,

"E" for Eileen. Seven.

Ladies first, you know?

"E" then ten.

Two, seven...

ten, twenty-seven.

We are all entangled now.

To adjust.

Mm-hm.

Perhaps proof,
if proof were needed

that ornamentation
can serve a function.

Always elegant, demure.

And dignified.

Oh, did I detect
the look of disdain?

Hm?

I have no objection
to a women's touch.

But then again,
apparently that cheap.

Machine for living.
Machine for living.

Did I rue the day I was
required to defend that remark?

But where is a machine?
A motor?

Why not a house?

And is it not due call
of a house

to make life easy and agreeable?

So what is the world is saying?

That our family roof,
the a sacred shelter

of our household guards

the villa of our relaxation

and the castle of our dreams
are all just machines?

Well, for a man with your
proclivity to entertain

I can't imagine you alone.

In any event,
the guest room is downstairs.

And if desired entirely alone.

I could have
caressed her that moment.

In my murderous mind,

the act of love and the making
of buildings were...

inextricably bound.

Hm?

It's a manhole.

Circular, rounding off

at the top of the spiral
staircase.

This is the fifth.

The only Corbusier terrace
you missed.

The gift of a garden to replace
what the building stole

I didn't necessarily see
the point.

What would you do up here?

It's a roof terrace.

Le Corbusier's fifth tenant,

if one wants to adhere absolute.

I wonder why one
would climb up here,

what, with the wonderful
terraces below.

Our sentiments exactly.

Nature has its own language.

I found him disquieting
on the point, Le Corbusier.

An organic challenge to the
spread of formalism

Eileen has personalized
the project

in a very particular way.

Much more than advisory.

Let me take you on the tour.

You must come in
by the front door

to get the right effect.

Thank you.

And what's this?

Ah.

Ah.

There's also a separate
sleeping area...

with a reading lamp, bookshelf,

vide poche.

For the man
who likes to read in bed.

For the man who likes
to breakfast in bed,

an adjustable side table.

For the modern man,

who like to work, play sport,
and entertain.

Designs with independence

and style in mind.

A room of one's own.

I adore you.

I was all for you.

For your amusement, you see.

I meant it at the time.

And on this page,
I was thinking...

I should color these in.

I would leave them
in black and white.

Mm-hm.

Is that how it's done?

Perhaps you are
on the left hand side.

We can print this how we like.

As long as the publisher

and date of publication
appears somewhere.

It's us.

As you wish.

Your road or the high road.

And so it began.

By signing his name
to the editorial.

Technically attributing

authorship of the article
to himself

as was his moral right.

He failed to specify the
architectural credit due to her.

So we threw a party
to celebrate publication,

my publisher
promoting her designs

over my architecture.

And for what? For the price
of the villa on Le Corbusier.

Designed, as if in my name
and registered in his.

Yes, it was his house,
her gift to him, but...

his misattribution whether
it was intentional or not.

It was a magnificent omission.

I'm not sure which of you
flatters me the most.

I can't imagine
whether you find the position...

I think the perfume is gone.

What distracts
all sense of smell?

I wonder for which
of your many accomplishments

you'd be most remembered.

I gather there's been
some dispute

as to whether or not I invented

the first piece
of tubular steel furniture.

Marcel Breuer says
he was struck by the idea

while riding a bicycle.

Is that so?

The steel handle bars.

The handle bars.

A bicycle. Hmm.

We've been completely ignored
by the press.

Darling,
well, you are the press.

I suppose it's because
of the depression.

Everything is affected.

I'm going to have to close
the gallery.

Is it suffering too?

More from neglect
and economic crisis.

Oh, we really are just keeping
the best of times.

I'm gonna miss you.

Adieu.

Nonsense.

Nobody bought
because nobody liked it!

Simply not good enough.

Out it goes.

- Hello.
- Hello, sir.

Eileen.

Why don't we take a trip...

just to cheer ourselves up.

Mm. I never peek at everyone
else has been doing.

Who?

We could pay a visit
to Le Corbusier at Villa Savoye.

See what he's up to.

He still hasn't finished.

The owners have taken
the crew to court.

The roof leaks when it rains.

An inconvenience I admit

but hardly a crime.

I still contend
we were the first

to commence construction
on the modernist villa.

Ah, Le Corbu?

That it was first to complete.

Has he invited us?

He would if he thought
of right about it.

Hmm.

Le Corbusier

is not the only architect
you could be promoting.

Yes.

I mean, no.

There is something
I wanted to show you.

Mies van der Rohe.

It's his pavilion in Barcelona.
Look.

He calls it "skin and bones,"

skeleton structure.

Less is more.

"God is in the details,"
he says.

Over here.

Photographs...

of Pierre Chareau's glass house.

No?

You were right about her.

Very serviceable, very.

I refuse to be
a card carrying member

of this boys only club.

Eileen.

And I won't be traveling
to Athens.

I don't recall
that you are invited.

Exactly.

That's why.

Louise?

Oui?

What's the old French
for proverb?

"Figs mature...

in straw, with time."

Time and straw.

Oui.

Really?

Oh. Oui.

Oui.

Please, Eileen.

Some other time.

What's with all the urgency?

You never know I just draw--

This is an endless exercise
of futility.

Open the door.

This is so uncalled for.

Where is the folding chair?

What?

Louise said, that you asked her

to send the "S" shaped
transit chair here.

When I had expressly requested
that it be thrown out.

I have a perfectly pretty house

of my own now.

It's called Tempe à Paille.

It means everything.

Everything but yours,
with time.

You're working too hard.

We never see you.

People go to work
when life gets too easy.

L'architecture Vivante
has ceased publication.

Morancé shut it down.

I'm out of a job.

You have my sympathy.

But in my view, success requires
a life of solitude.

Maybe I should go up
to isolate for a time

to think things through.

I've taken an apartment
in San Tropez

for the summer
to be near Natalie and Roman.

Mm.

There is nothing so urgent

than the charge
to commit to canvass.

No more complete rejection
than an unsuccessful exhibition.

So from here on in,

we only practice
painting privately

on the walls of friends.

Intellectual women are incurably
complex addiction

engaging in enormous burden
of emotion and effort

in exchange
for little in return.

Expressive painting, I find,

provides for some...

sexual relief in recompense.

"I genuinely regret
having arrived here too late,

to been able to spend some time
with you in your house.

I hope that you will give us
the pleasure

of paying us a visit in Paris."

"I would be delighted
to relate how much

those few days mainly appreciate
the rare spirit

inside and outside."

A rare spirit.

Which has given the modern
furniture and installations,

such a dignified, charming,

and witty shape.

Hm?

I would have been the first
to raise a glass

were they to reconcile.

But in truth, Jean
was drinking himself to death

and his womanizing was more
waring than appealing.

Eileen just couldn't cope
with his communal lifestyle.

If never either of them
understood.

The house with the shell
on the land.

His extension, his release,

his emanation.

Hm?

Hm?

Ah.

He was ill prepared

for the manner of her departure.

No drama, she simply left

taking the moral high-ground
a little further up the hill.

And equally ill prepared
for her reaction

to my wonderful wall murals.

Furious apparently.

It's just such a shock.

Why would he do
such a deliberate thing?

A fellow architect,
a man I have admired for years.

There's got to be something
you can do legally.

After all it is your house.

Technically, actually,
it's Jean's house.

I registered it in his name
at the time of building...

as my gift to us.

But, darling,

So arrogant and I minded of you.

But you're intellectual
property rights

have been utterly undenied.

Not just your right
to the property title,

but also you are more right
to be recognized

as just the architect
of your work.

You should take up
residence again.

I can't imagine
I could ever go back now.

Why would she ever again

spend a night in the house?

But then war did intervene.

Is it late?

Or is she?

How was Vézelay?

As good a place
to sit out the war as any.

Corbusier was kind, um...

of torturous.

Didn't he pass some time
in Vichy?

There are some who say,
he might have collaborated.

He played the Pétain card
for a while.

But, you know, Le Corbusier
doesn't have a political bone

in his body beyond
self-interest.

We're all communists
in Vézelay.

What will you do now?

I've been appointed

adjunct chief architect
of reconstruction.

In Maubeuge and Solesmes.

But that's marvelous.

Well,

if I had any actual experience
in architecture.

Hmm.

I was rather wondering

if you would work with me
on some of my proposals?

Unless you have other plans.

I need to rebuild...

like everyone else in Europe.

I should be taking sole credit
for this project.

Perhaps you'd like
to participate.

Just a little.

Just say the word.

I need your eyes on this.

No, you don't.

No one needed my eye
or anything.

Sure I do.

I'm going blind...

and I'd like to see the house
before I do.

Let me go first.

I was thinking,
of taking a trip south...

just to see how the house
has survived.

I'm coming.

Ah.

- Right?
- Cobu...

Is that a Helen O'Riley?

Mm-hm.

"The Badovici

and Helen G-r-e-y house

at Cap-Martin.

Mirrors free of charge."

No more periodicals,
do you hear me?

I wish the Germans had burned
the whole lot of them.

Well, at least
if the Italians had just...

painted over it.

And the
attribution

remained uncorrected.

As time went on,

the ownership, authorship,
and architectural credit

further confused the points.

So that over the years the world
perception was of a house

called Villa Badovici,
built by Le Corbusier.

Constructing the Cabanon here,
right beside it

probably contributed.

As I catch the plane,
45 minutes.

A low cost masterpiece
for minimal lodging

in honor of my wife's innocence

and simplicity.

Good architecture
combine with art and nature

in equal measure

is the perfect medicine.

Of course, I had.

"Come, I won't be well.

Liver cancer.

Happy to see you
before treatment.

Jean."

I was on my way to Dubrovnik

and got as far as Venice.

They brought me back
on a stretcher.

And what did the doctor say?

He'll operate.

And then two to three months,
if I'm lucky...

I need to put my affairs
in order.

Of course.

I want to put back the house
into your name...

quickly.

Can you arrange it for me?

Don't fuss about that now.

There be time for that later.

I always say that word.

And I need to make a will.

So much to do.

She has the keys to the house.

I painted that, free of charge,
for the original owner.

I'll prove from political right,
wherever I can.

Chirst it hurts!

That after 40 years
of architectural excellence,

I do not possess
the purchase price of the house!

No. No.

It was I who protected her

priceless pieces of art,
like music.

Each a unique act of love
invested with her

signature sensuality.

My murals
for all their diversion,

my mode of self-expression,

fresco's of my sexual...

obsessions.

The legacy of my work, they say,

was to fundamentally alter

the way in which we live
in the world.

The legacy of her work,

was that the world
in which I worked

was fundamentally altered

by the gift of this house.

The house that I and Gray...

built...

here I have truly lived.

Here I have loved.

And died.

Never shedding lights
on the shadow I cast

over her legacy in the past.

I remain one of his most
passionate admirers,

Le Corbusier.

If only he had understood.

There is a road
which leads upward

and there is a road
which leads downward.

Both are one and the same.

Whoa, why don't you...

This is Bruce Chatwin, Eileen.

The Australian writer
I mentioned.

He'd like to interview you
about the auction.

Congratulations, Madame Gray.

One hundred and seventy-six
thousand francs.

- Phenomenal achievement.
- Thank you.

It doesn't necessarily mean
it was a good piece.

Just that it was expensive,
that's all.

So, what do you think of it?

I'd really need to sit in it.

Please.

Lift one centimeter here.

- Okay.
- And...

Hmm.

Three centimeters, at least,

- here and here.
- Okay.

Sorry, um...

what is this?

It's a place
I've always wanted to go.

A map?

Of where?

Pategonia.

You should go there.

- Nah, I'm too old to travel.
- Hm.

Why don't you go for me?

Poppycock.

To create...

one must first question
everything.

The future projects light.

The past only shadows.

The value of a thing

is determined by how much love
was invested

in the creation of it.