All language subtitles for Van.Gogh.1991.FRENCH.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-VXT

- Taking them?
- No.

Dr. Gachet's place?

He only gets here
on the 7 p.m. train.

- Know a cheap boarding house?
- Ravoux's.

That's the only one.

You needed the next stop.
Ravoux's closer to Auvers.

- Glass of wine?
- I don't drink.

Wait! Don't go like that.

No suitcase?

I'll store all this and go with you.

- You're no talker.
- I am...

- What are you doing in Auvers?
- Nothing.

That's restful.

You're in Auvers for the air.

I'm the railroad company agent

in Chaponval.

Whole family's on the railroad.
Trains rocked me to sleep as a baby.

Dad was a station-master.
I couldn't pass the test.

There's Ravoux's.

If there's a vacancy,
she'll take you.

- But it's simple.
- I'm not picky.

Buddy here needs a place.

3.50 francs room and board,
drinks extra.

- I don't drink.
- He lives off his rotgut.

Want to see the room?

Bread and wine...

Here you are. Clean.

Fresh sheets once a week.
You make your own bed.

A big closet for your stuff.

- A view on the sea?
- Lean out, you see the beach.

Pretty port.

Auvers-sur-Oise is a charming town.

Vessenots St.

There's Dr. Gachet.
Tightwad took a cab!

A hansom went trotting along...

Hippety-hop...

A hansom went...

- Taking it?
- It's fine.

- Going to Gachet's?
- Yes, where is it?

- Vessenots St. And the bags?
- I'll send for them tomorrow.

Still the right hand...

Change your pedal...
Hold it...

There! Then it shifts...

Right hand...

There...

Let up on the note... softly...

Very good, Marguerite.
You have talent.

Too bad you stopped.

I stopped when mother died.
I'll resume it.

- I hope so.
- Marguerite!

Play Lakméfor me.

I can't play Lakmé.

Play Lakmé, Marguerite.

You won't play it?

It makes me cry.
I had a monkey named Lakmé.

And...? It's gone?

Dad put it in a zoo,
said it was too dirty.

- Let the teacher play it.
- No.

Odd, to love a monkey.

- It was always on me.
- They stink.

I bathed her every morning.
Like a baby.

Let's go on.

We'll do staccatos.

- You're a bit late.
- I took the 3 o'clock train.

I mean late in the season.

The lilac's going to leaf.

Come in.

Sit down.

I expected you in my office...
in Paris.

I don't see patients here.

I have a note from my brother.

I'm not set up here.

We'll manage
with what's at hand.

Undress.

- My drawers too?
- Keep them on.

Need a napkin, Dad?

Smells good. Stew?

- It's not for tonight.
- No, tomorrow.

Lie on the couch.

Sit on the table.

Stare at me.

Describe your fits.

Well?

They vary.

- Recall the strongest?
- The last one.

- How long ago?
- Nearly 3 months.

Time of day?

At night. 2 or 3 a.m.
I'd just fallen asleep.

- How long ago?
- Half an hour.

I woke with a raging headache.

Where?

There. I'd never felt such pain.

It lasted at least 20 minutes.

A cold compress helped a bit.

- Did it return?
- Not entirely.

Bearable. And now?

I have a steady dull ache.

Now and then it vanishes,
for a while.

No pain behind the eye?
Back of the neck?

Always on the side you showed me?

Yes, there.

I have others, like everyone,
but they're different.

How do you know?

Who's that guy?

I'm not kept informed.
A painter, I think.

That so?

Here for rest and treatment.

- Can't he rest here? We have room.
- Must I spell it out?

Great engraving. First printing.

See how the blacks stand out? Superb!

And the central figure...

Remove him
and it's a routine picture.

But of course you know that!

It's by Meryon.

I'd like to have treated him.
He was really sick.

- Dad, I swiped some of your books.
- My son, Paul. "Coco" to us.

Do I inform your brother?

- What do I owe you?
- I'll settle it with him.

- He's not here. How much?
- 7 francs alright?

- Need lodgings?
- It's done.

- Where, if I may ask?
- The café near the station.

Ravoux's? It's simple. How much?

- 3.50 francs.
- I understand.

Let's eat.

Your sister's late, as usual.

He's odd.
I showed him my Renoir...

- What's for dinner?
- Rabbit.

- Where's the wine from?
- Vidal's.

It's not the greatest.

I was saying, he ignored my Renoir.

A doctor shouldn't always
discuss painting.

- He should think of other things.
- What?

You haven't eaten?

- I can serve you some soup.
- I'd like that.

Dinner here's at 7 p.m.

Sit on the other side,
it's quieter.

- You still here?
- I haven't budged.

I don't drink.

Your napkin ring.
It's the prettiest.

You don't dose it?

People think that means pouring wine
in the soup and stirring.

No, you save just a bit of broth,

and a good spoonful of wine.

That's how I do it.

It's called dosing in my Mom's town,
spiking in my Dad's.

Yet they're only 20 miles apart.

Dad calls a funnel a "fontel".

In my Mom's town it's a "tunner".

Where's your Mom from?

She's dead and buried.

Life's funny.

My brother's...

first post was at Penglon,
near the grave site.

The big curve before the river.

There's a grade crossing.

The Clermont express roars by.
Every year...

it runs over someone.

- No, don't.
- I thought you were asleep.

No, I needed some air.

- What'll I do with this?
- You'll see.

Got any soap?

Here's some.

It's easier to wash
at the pump in the yard.

Did you hear me?

I heard you.

I'm Adeline. I'm 13.

I'm Vincent.

- What're you writing?
- To my brother.

You write often?

May I read it?

Too bad...

My grandson wants to chat...

My grandson wants to talk to you.

I'd like you to do my portrait.

- What?
- I want you to paint me.

Go home, grandpa.
Come have a drink.

- Your health.
- And yours.

- To health and wealth.
- Wealth.

Here he comes...

What's up?

- What?
- My portrait.

Like it? The blue?

Want your portrait in blue?

Smile.

Life isn't so bad:

there's even room
for the village idiot!

- It'll cost you 2 sous.
- I got no money.

Take it and scram.

Scram!

Cézanne can't stand me.
Called us "Gauguin & Van Gag".

- Among artists, that's mild.
- I don't call him "seize-ânes".

"16 asses".
I never thought of that.

That's my house.

Cézanne throws a lot away,
like all great painters. Do you?

Never. My family does it for me.

My Guillaumin,
but I have no frame for it.

- You don't paint nudes, right?
- I can't afford models.

A little Seurat...

How'd you get it? He doesn't
let sketches out of his studio.

It's a copy I made.
In secret.

I'm proud of it.

- The secret or the work?
- Both.

The hanged man's house.

It's called that,
but no one has hanged himself.

It had to do with the owner's name.

- He's improved since then.
- I'll show you...

the finest...

- That's really painting!
- And how!

Cézanne was about to scrape it.
I stopped him.

I never scrape. Only once:

a Christ in the Garden of Olives.
- That so?

- My daughter, Marguerite.
- Nice flowers in your room...

- What?
- The painting.

- I want one of yours soon.
- Well, they're cheap.

- Mrs Chevalier?

My Paris friend let me down tonight.
Come to my room?

You get what I mean?

- What's this dirt?
- It's a spot.

I can see that!

It's rust.
Don't worry, you can't see it.

I can. A new dress!

Lovely old lace from Aunt Francia.

Hand-me-downs.

You're pretty as a princess.

- If only your Mom were here.
- She's not!

Want some tea?

I don't like it.

We never see you.
It's so long since you came.

2 days ago.

Seems like ages to me.
You're so hesitant.

I've watched you.

You hesitate over the simplest thing.

In fact, you do as you please.

How do you want me?

Like that. Play.

- I've a headache.
- Want some quinine?

Bring Mr. Van Gogh some quinine.

Alright. Let's go on.

- Don't feel like painting?
- No, I don't.

- Yet I was told...
- Who told you?

- I'm not a machine.
- Sorry.

I mean it.
Your simpering bored me. Play.

At least you don't pull faces
like a virtuoso.

- Maybe because you're not one.
- You mean I play badly?

That's not for me to say.

My sister Mina plays well.
Or so I thought at home.

Is she pretty?

What do you care?

Feminine rivalry:
"She's prettier than me"?

You're cranky with everyone.
Must be a strain.

No, I'm happy as a lark.
Now play.

Hold that pose.

- You smiling?
- Yes.

Not too much.

Why are you here?

Simplicity is so difficult.

We'll lunch outside... in 15 minutes.

Never changes!

At home, my mother and sister
always interrupted my work.

To eat their lousy Dutch chow.

Mother yelled
"It's cold" or "It'll burn!"

My sister came for me,
never looked at my work.

Women only care
about material things.

Don't be unfair.

My late wife valued painter's work.

She adored Cézanne.

It hurt her
that I was just an amateur.

The "chow" here's not bad.

Mrs Chevalier's the best of cooks

but for my mother.

It's ready.

Marguerite's posing,
Mr. Van Gogh's painting.

Eating's more important
than painting.

You can live without painting,
but without food... you die.

If I had a cook, I'd let her cook.

I'd rather listen to you.

So you say, but it's not true.

When the food's ready,
you champ at the bit.

Lunch is served!

Come anyway.

Coming.

Each year, he takes Coco and me

to the company fair.

The railroad band plays classics.

It's a bit boring.

Last year there were ballet stars
from the Opera.

They danced
to Grieg's Solveig's Song.

- You like Grieg?
- Don't know him.

My life's silly.

I've the right to read,
Dad's liberal.

Using what I learn is another matter.

A girl's called a tomboy
on her looks,

not how she feels.

We have to hide our feelings.

Men are lucky.

They aren't restricted.

We spend all those days shut in,
waiting to live.

All we can do is...

Is...?

Embroider.

Painting's my embroidery.

Go on, make fun!
idle rich girls are the worst.

At least working girls work.

You've lived in England.

Seen those suffragettes protest?

I don't like those marching women.

I don't like biting or being bitten.

I wage my revolt in private.

Much good it does me!

I'm tired of playing.

Take the pose!

No more piano!

- Take the pose.
- Then it's no pose.

- Want to know what I think?
- I don't care.

I love grouchy painters!

My dress isn't like that.

You made it leaden.

The train drags
and my hands are claws!

It's all nonsense.

The colors are like puke!
And your landscapes! You serious?

Is this a pictorial disagreement?

Pose and shut up.

Models have no say
in how pictures are executed.

The very word!

You're a pest! Our guest
kindly offered to paint you...

- I'm not talking to you!
- Enough!

Sure, treat me like your dog!

Hot-blooded, like her mother.

My late wife treated
our painter friends better.

This generation is hopeless.

Admirable! That's the word!

The muted mauve,
the rhythm, background,

hands, the swirling skirt...

It weighs a ton!

Like a wave, Vincent...

May I call you Vincent?

Painting is making
a great leap with you.

How can we keep up with you?

Good news: at the gallery
I invited your brother.

The whole family is coming Sunday.

I met your sister-in-law, Johanna.

Theo's a lucky dog. Admirable woman!

Such a gentle look,
yet strong, almost violent.

In a positive sense, of course.

I venture to think
their marriage troubles you.

You fear it may affect
your close relations,

with your brother,
so fruitful for your work.

But I say Johanna's presence...

...will strengthen your ties.

Or, in fact, restore them
in a calmer, more ample situation.

I truly feel this.

It's what I wish
for the three of you.

I don't like mauve.
I wasn't wearing mauve.

Neither was the wall.

You paint me from behind.
You never look at me head-on.

Why not from the front?

Don't I inspire you?

I'm no goddess, but even so...

Am I that purple lump
on a purple ground?

Look who's here!

We meet again!

We met in Arles.

I'm glad to see you.

- Stop, that's mine!
- Yours? Impossible.

It is. I just paid her for it.

All the more reason...

She forgot her belt.

It's a small world.

When I heard about you,
I thought "it must be him".

- How's your illness?
- It's OK, Cathy.

- I'm glad.
- It's OK...

How we talked!
I love talking to you.

You bored, here?

I can come and see you.
It's better in the country.

Am I still so stingy?

Give me another, that one's...

It's wet. Want your shirt?

There...

Want some help?

Leave the bottle.

It's Tokay.

But warm.

I put it in the spring,
but the heat...

Here.

What've you been up to?

A 5-year Legion hitch.
4 really.

I was invalided out.

I tried to enlist in the Legion.

You wouldn't have lasted a week.

And if I'd signed up for 5 years?

They wouldn't have taken you.
Would they?

- You like bang-bangs.
- I like weapons. You scared?

Gives me a laugh.

Best thing for blowing
your brains out.

For cowards.

It depends...

My captain,

Captain Longot,

surrounded by Germans,

with the dead around him,

knowing what they'd do to him,

he didn't hesitate!

What's going on?

You scared me.

Takes guts!

Coming?

Big-hearted.
Most whores rush the client.

I'm no whore.

Three lays at my age,
the monster's tired.

- How old are you?
- Guess.

- 40-45.
- 37.

- You burned yourself out.
- And how!

You put it all into your work,
left nothing for the rest.

The rest counts most!

You a philosopher, too?

Not at all, but...

I've my way of talking.

- And Sonia, in Arles?
- You liked Sonia.

- Well?
- She went like that, phtt!

- You mean...?
- She's dead.

I love being naked in the country.

Especially in summer,
the rain's warm, I roll in the grass.

It's terrific!

The leaves stick to the skin.

I didn't want to tell you in Arles...

What?

Spit it out!

But that night when you...

I got a bad name!

But I know how you really are.

And last year, remember?
When you scared me so?

I shouldn't have let you go
like that.

I wonder how you got home.

I do, too.

You were alone.

I remember nothing.

You could've let me know.
I thought you'd died.

We do nothing for fear of scandal.

We're cowards, it makes me sore!

That's how the worst things happen,
which you regret forever.

But you can't always
face up to trouble.

I'm not the remorseful type,

but when I think of it...
I'm ashamed.

Never mind, it's over now.

- Were you on something?
- I said it's over.

- Hey, I can't see a thing!
- I just went...

Aren't you ever happy with a man?

Why not?

- My husband...
- Your husband?

Yeah, I was married.

It was fine, now it's over.

I can't do it
with the guy I live with.

You're the only one.

I'd like to.

All men want that.
They all want that with whores.

But women hate that,
they hate men.

- You never liked men?
- I don't give a shit.

- That's the way I live.
- You can't always live like that.

- I can.
- Well, what's it to me?

At least you're genuine.

- Looking for someone?
- No, thanks.

- How did you find this place?
- Everyone knows it.

- Men do. But women?
- Depends which ones.

How can they manage?
All those costumes!

And they take them off
with such ease...

You think I'm silly, like all women.

I don't know you.

You probably don't get to talk much.

True. Dad says I'm introverted.
I don't speak for hours.

There are no trains at night.
It's a local line.

I often hear the last train,
but not the first.

When I sleep poorly, I rise late.

In Arles, I lived by the station.

I love trains, like a kid.

You're still a kid in many ways.

Lots of trains went through Arles.

Shall we sit or stand?

- We'd rather lie down!
- It's not the time.

- I have to get my gear.
- I have to go too.

Won't you join us for lunch?

Friends are coming...

Sorry, I can't.

I have a family lunch.

A pity, I would have loved to.

I'll play you something.
You have a lovely voice.

That's going too far.

You should visit me more often.
We could sing that.

I can't read music.
I never studied it.

You sing wonderfully.

My dad wouldn't let me.
And I work in the bar.

You have some free time.

- See, they want me!
- Adeline!

I've made a spot.

Bye.

Hurry. What are you doing?

You've got work to do!

I know.

Chaponval! Chaponval!

Next stop Auvers, Valmondois, Creil!

All aboard!

Here he is.

Vincent. How are you?

- Fine. I wanted to rent a carriage...
- You got no money...

It's not far.
Jo, give him to me.

I'll carry him.

Chocolate!

Here they come!

My daughter Marguerite.

My son Paul.

He got little or no care there.

The doctor at St-Rémy wrote me

that he got no specific therapy,

nor regular supervision.

I can't believe
he had epileptic fits.

That word is used
to cover up ignorance.

Your brother was exhausted,

overworked.

He works too much,
still now.

It was drink, too.

Absinthe. And bad food.

That's all it takes
with over-sensitive people like him.

His pulse is good,
as are his circulation,

blood pressure, and arteries.

He's tough and in good shape.

But any over-excitement
becomes an attack...

I'd say of hysteria.

It's not confined to women.

He's too concentrated,
monomaniacal...

The seating layout!

It's on the sideboard.

- You crazy?
- It was harmless...

Well, lovebirds?

She connived to serve here today.

Keeps tabs on you.

You painted the pest?

Yes, why?

She's cute, but a bit vulgar.

She's an innkeeper's daughter!
Not your class!

You're mean!

It's the champagne.

To little Vincent!
I like him very much.

And to the complete recovery
of big Vincent.

Vincent the great.

- Let's be serious...
- Homeopathy isn't a serious topic.

Homeopathy has one great virtue:

it put an end to...

the barbaric practice of draining.

That sounds good.

But I read an unconvincing
homeopathic treatise:

it listed 350 types of headaches.

I only know of one.

There's a remedy for the fear
of being cuckolded!

Charlatanism!

A very widespread fear!

Come on, that doesn't exist.

In allopathy,
we did little to cure patients.

I soon realized
and I wasn't alone,

that we hadn't learned

enough to heal the sick.

- Has that changed?
- I've changed.

The war of 1870 did it.

I saw real suffering.

Not just the usual hypochondriacs.

Men who'd been butchered.

We had to do something.

We couldn't handle these men

in real pain

with the usual phony palliatives.

Someone in pain is alone.

Good intentions won't help.

Sorry, madam, we're boring you...

Not at all.
I'm never bored with painters.

Painters?
I'm not much of one...

Theo must become a painter.
I insist.

We're all talented...

Why else did I marry him?

He'll paint.
We got our talent from Mother.

We shouldn't have become
art dealers.

You're right, but for yourself.

For a simple man like me...

Not so simple, Mr Van Gogh.

You've carved a name
in the art market,

almost cornered it.

There's a Durand-Ruel.

- You have more taste and courage.
- But less money.

- You sponsor the Impressionists.
- Except his brother.

You've imposed Monet and Renoir.
Others will follow.

I can't wait! Right, Theo?

Enough laces. OK? Not too tight?

Not too tight... Wait... Don't move.

One, two...

My name's Toulouse-Lautrec
I'm an handsome wreck

I get my inspiration
In places of damnation

Although I'm short of leg
All the ladies beg

So hide your wives from the meanie

They all want to taste my wienie

In front of my kids!

I'm choking!

Once more?

Shall I do a number?

After he entered a monastery,

the King of Beggars...

It's not really Quasimodo:
but it's quasi him!

Dad, do the camel!

The little mountain dwarfs...

Do all the dirty work
While the shepherds sleep

From the witch they save the sheep

The Auvers ballet.

I'd have liked a poem.

- There are lovely ones.
- I don't know any.

Then a song.

Jo sing us Cherryblossom time.

Don't insist, Theo.

- You, Madame.
- I don't dare.

Please do.
You can't turn us down...

A little song.

- I'll need the first note.
- We'll accompany you.

When we'll sing of cherryblossom time

All the nightingales and blackbirds

Will come out to rejoice

Lasses will have

Ribbons in their hair

And lovers

Sunshine in their hearts

When we'll sing

Of cherryblossom time

But who of us can match

The blackbird's song?

- What about my poem?
- I know none.

It can't be.

Is that true, doctor?

No, she just won't recite one.

- Search your memory.
- I can't remember any.

Let's go for

a walk by the river.

Why not...
But the train's at 5.50.

You've time.

It'll do us good.

You'll see, it's a lovely spot.

That's why so many painters come.

Jo has a fine face.
My brother's lucky.

- So paint her.
- She scares me.

Meet my fiancée.

She's fallen for him.

Idle girls fall easily.

If Vincent was a chic painter,
Gachet would...

Let's get back to homeopathy.

It's all contradictions.

You can interpret it
any way you want.

Like your brother's fine works.

People reject them today

as an outrageous, clumsy, mess.

Soon those same "learned" people

will claim they're sublime.

But they are now!

I hope you're right.

Shall we dance?

He's so clumsy.

You wonder if he really
does those things...

His many weaknesses
add up to strength!

So do ours.
How can you stand him?

You don't dance?

My father disapproves.
I practice secretly.

- Don't kiss a girl's hand!
- He's a bumpkin!

We sorely missed you for lunch.

Still want me to coo?

A friend, Mrs de Marigny.

You've been hiding her?

I don't recruit for anyone!

I didn't mean that...

Are you a lady killer?
As with Lakmé?

Good idea.

Sing Lakmé.
The pianist will accompany you.

Our friend has a lovely voice.
She'll sing Lakméfor us.

- Accompany her?
- Absolutely.

That was wonderful.

Remarkable voice.

It's hard to find a woman,
at least for me.

For everyone.
You're a wild man.

I'm shy, especially with women.

Meaning?

I don't dare.

- But I can also be bold.
- Really?

You never paint water?

No, I don't like to.

It's too fluid,
the reflections are tricky.

It's one thing, then another...

Cézanne can't paint the sea.

It looks like cardboard,
but people dote on it.

In a short time,
the gentlest of men

has become irritable and bitter.

There are constant fights.
Within a year...

Sorry to tell you...

My husband isn't
the Theo I once knew.

He's more like you.

The way he says you are.

- You don't love him?
- Are you mad?

I love him more than ever.

To see him like this...

He tries to be cynical...
He forces himself...

He's sick, that must be it.

Something's going on.
But he won't tell me.

He always was fragile.
But, unlike me, never complains.

I can feel it...

He's still considerate, but...

You'd better...

I feel like a stranger...

He rejects me.

As for our child...
He's worried

by the tiniest bruise...

But he's also distant...

At times, wholly absent...

What's wrong?
Is it another woman?

Not his style...

Don't say that...

He told me of your sprees,
the three of you.

- Ages ago!
- I was forewarned.

All that's past.
Theo's faithful as can be.

I'm sure of it.

You don't see him that much.

One's faithful or not.

I don't agree.

But he feeds the whole family!

You, the baby, our mother,
one sister, and me.

- That's a lot of worries.
- Not you, Vincent. You work.

- If you say so.
- I do.

But he's wearing himself out.

I tell you, it can't go on.

Things must change.
Listen to me:

I don't want my brother's death
on my conscience.

He can't die for my smudges
that'll never be worth a cent.

No, I say that things will change.

I must do something.

Theo, you and the baby
can't go on this way.

What can you do?

What's he doing?

Don't worry.

He did it on the ferry with Mom.

Can he swim?

He did it all through our youth.

There...

Pretty good.

He really upset Mom.

Come along...
You'll catch cold...

How smart of you!

You'll catch cold...

Very clever!

I'll get in first.

Mrs Chevalier, my hat.
Thank you.

Thanks, Marguerite.

Hope to see you soon.

Thank you.

We spent a nice day, right kids?

Come back, I'll paint the baby.

- You'll be a monster.
- Come visit.

- Come to Paris soon.
- On a Sunday.

- Where is he?
- Gone. He always does that.

We can't abandon him.

Who said we will?

We never discuss things.

Don't bother to ask!

Now I've got to go refill it!

You could say thanks.

He gets on my nerves!

- Now you water the wine!
- So who taught me?

Shut up!

You did!

Hear how she talks to me?
So much laundry!

I told my husband

we need bigger vats!

He never listens!
I'm sick of it!

That's too much... Shit!

Thank you.

It's musty in here.

I thought it might storm.

Not a breath of air.

Is the baby restless?

No, he didn't get much champagne.

You're being so nice.
Can't you always be this way?

It won't last.

You haven't had a real talk
with your brother for a year.

All last year...

Never.

You were around.

Yes, I was.

But I was selfish.

I thought only of us.

That's all I ever do.

When Vincent starts to paint,
I sell other painters.

That's what destroys him.

You can't deny it:

his life's a disaster.

You're part of it.

Your life's a disaster, too.

You don't love me?

Of course I do.

If you don't understand that...

I can't explain...

You sling a lot of mud at me!
Why?

I don't know.

Let go of me.

Some water? It's cool.

Can I take it?

How will you paint?

No.

Wait!

The milk's boiling...
You leaving?

I've got things to do.
Back later.

- You won't eat with us?
- No.

- I lost.
- Six and one, seven. Almost eight.

- Eight?
- Yes.

There.... No, a nine...

A nine would be nice.

Five and four is nine!

Your turn.

Call it.

- What number?
- One.

Will you draw
the sand-merchant for him?

Mr Van Gogh will draw you
the sand-merchant.

- Come beside me.
- Go on.

Well?

It's nice.

Thanks, Mr Van Gogh.

Come along.

Look!

See the nice sand-merchant?

You're not kind.

- What's it for?
- What?

Kindness.

To get on with people...

To live happily, have friends...

- Some more?
- No.

Bread and butter?

I never eat mornings.

I was looking at this...

She's like my mom in her youth.
You did it?

No, Gilbert did.

That's not like your other work.

More like paper for books.

Mom used to say one loves
only one person in life.

It's true: Mom loved Dad,
Dad only loved her,

Coco only loves Dad.

- And you?
- I don't know yet.

And you?

You love no one.

Strange, my fire's lit!

Who lit it?

Did you?

So do it every day,
and bring me breakfast.

I'm not Gilbert!

Don't joke.
He had a fever last night.

How do you know?

Snooping again?

I never get to see you.

I should've brought my embroidery.

Garlic sausage. What a treat!

- Want some?
- No.

I needed a pick-me-up.

I enjoy a rest.

Mountain guides eat slowly,
in silence.

You don't need a rest.
You haven't started work.

- I'm all done.
- So paint me...

- If Dad knew, he'd kill me.
- Him? No chance!

- You think everything's funny.
- No, I don't.

You've got strength.

Who, me? A real strongman...

Your arms aren't very muscular.

A woman's shouldn't be.

Well, a little shape...

Only Dad exercises in our family.

Glass of wine? C'mon.

Coming?

Good wine
from my brother's vineyard...

We'll soon see.
If we don't drink too much!

- It's nice here.
- Yes.

You want another?

Seen my daughter?

Ah, doctor...

I see it's a real party...

Sort of...

Can I have a shot?

Well, 'bye...

- Can't I come with you to Paris?
- I was waiting...

I'm left at home
alone like a little kid.

And me at Ravoux's,
staring at a grey wall?

So why live there?

The beginning of the day is cold...

"Week" takes two e's.

There's also "w-e-a-k"...
That's what I am with you two!

This is "w-e-e-k".

What's got into him?

Think he doesn't know?

You were gone all day.
It's not done!

Look at you!

- You'll get pregnant.
- How would you know?

I had a baby boy at your age.

Really? You never told us.

He joined the Commune in 1870.

We never saw him again.

When it was over,

the army moved into Paris.

He didn't come home.

They summoned me:

I saw his body laid out
with the others.

He was 15.

Poor you...

- That's all past.
- No, nothing's ever past.

It's past...

But Van Gogh may
not be a reliable man.

- I was behind you. Where'd you go?
- Had me a drink.

King size. Overdoing it again!

Damn fairy!

You could help me.

- Your folks out?
- Dunno where they are.

- It's paid.
- I owed you for one.

Go right ahead!
Want my wife too?

No. Your daughter maybe.
But she helps herself, like us.

- You're some level-crossing keeper.
- What?

The train nearly ran a man over.

Ran a man over?

In 20 years I never saw it happen.

I was going to tell you...

Hello, maestro.

Hello.

Could I?

I wanted a peek...

- If you don't mind...
- It's in the back.

One more, and I'll be there.

What changes since you left Paris!

Such a daring approach
to pointillism.

It's exquisite!

My paintings are there.

I'm relieved:
I was being hypocritical.

As if I told you that thing

was the future of art.

But that...

I can be sincere.

If I could do that...

Look, your St. Rémy self-portrait.

You often finish
paintings in the studio?

Happens... Bits and pieces...

That's my garden and Marguerite...

Coco's favourite acacia...

That's good too.

Hello, doctor.

Hello. Are you better?

Yes.

The oozing stopped?

Two portraits of me?
I'm honoured.

I always do a copy.

- Which do I prefer?
- You'll only get one.

- What a treat!
- My models always get a copy.

Really?

Teach me your cut reed technique.

It's simple: you just cut a reed.

Your brother doesn't push your work.

Dear Theo is being retentive.

- I know.
- No.

You laugh, but it shatters me.

- I told him to see you.
- Is he ill?

I meant your career.

It's coming along.
Aurier's piece on you was fine.

He's an idiot.

Very literary.

Writers don't understand painting.

My daughter said you were worried...

That stinging pain...?

Please, I'm her father...

- I'm here to help you.
- No, to cure me.

You're in fine health,
but a hypochondriac.

At St. Rémy
you thrived on your illness.

I'm no expert.
But my fits weren't imaginary.

You doctors aren't patients.
When you are, then what?

We cease to be doctors.
You should be on a diet.

I'll wrap it up.

I'll parade with your masterpiece.

- You're muscular, like me.
- Exercise!

I don't laze in my studio:
my legs go in my art, too.

Your painting hasn't found its price,
only its pace!

What the hell are you doing?

That pink haze there
upsets the balance...

I'm removing it.

It's a big mistake.

That's much better.

I like fluidity,
airy things like Turner.

I soar above this earthbound art.

Earthbound...

Those mechanical strokes...

Your paintings are too big!

They're too big!

Too big?

How come you copied them 5 times?

Mine are ecstasy... fluidity...

Look!

Look what you do? It's so thick,

the leaves are like the water
or the sky. It's all the same.

Look at it.

There's no glaze.
You don't know how to glaze.

All those layers,

all those strokes.

It's all bunched up.

- There's no feeling...
- You through?

- Look at that...
- You through?

I saw his paintings... Superb!

I'm proud, he's like family.

He always will be.

We have 6 rooms:
you won't take him in.

His room isn't a room.

- You've seen it?
- No, but I can imagine...

You'd like him
to sleep nearer to you.

The insane can be
dangerous company.

- What do you mean?
- I mean in general.

You say he's normal, in good health.

He cut his own ear.

The fits at the asylum in St. Rémy...

Lock me up: I'd have fits too.

His brother never visited him.

His real trouble

is the syphilis he's had for years.

Mom had it too. She died of it.
You gave it to her.

Don't talk like that!
Not in that tone!

His influence again!

They said she'd go blind:

she was put in a dark room.
Aunt Francia told me.

I was sent away to Lille.

Your mother was always
in poor health.

What is this?

I read bits of your medical books.
You hid things from us.

I was young: kids notice things.

Unhappiness affects them.

What's got into you?

You're hysterical, like your mother.

To you Vincent's hysterical,
we all are.

It's fashionable.

You aspire to liberal thinking,

but you wind up a bigot.

You can't cure him.
You do nothing! He came to be cured.

It's as wrong to say he's mad,
as to say he's not mad.

I'm in love with him!

- What?
- I'm in love with him!

- You'd marry that...
- Who said marriage?

You'd live with a madman...

No madder than you. He loves me,
wants to live with me.

- He told you?
- No, but I know it.

So much for your liberalism!

You apply it to others, not to me.
You're like everyone else.

I have no set ideas, but this...

In theory, you're considerate,
modern... free love and all that...

But in practice, forget it.

You're a coward.

That's why you can't paint!

What you just said is unforgivable.

Good news. I convinced Theo:

Jo and the baby will spend
the summer here.

Glad?

It's unfair to slave
and earn no money from one's work.

You earn something
from your work.

You're going to support me?

I know Theo
won't help me any more.

Some days painting revolts me.

Maybe it's just as well.
I write Theo that all's fine.

He doesn't realize what I'm doing.

Maybe he does.

What can he tell you?
That it's no good? He can't.

You always defend him!

- I try to understand.
- I know what's up.

Don't talk about things
you don't know.

The Van Goghs aren't
an artistic family.

The way my father looked at me:

My work had to be really
ugly and dirty to him,

for me to get that look.

I just went on painting
in my own way.

That's all.

I keep at it...

But what's the use?

True, things are changing.

- You help me more than Kate...
- Thanks a lot!

If I'd met you instead of her...

You're lucky she didn't work out.
People say

her rejection of you
drove you to paint great art.

I say, with a decent girl
you'd have done even better work.

- If that's what you think...
- Yes, I do.

- If that's what you think...
- Stop complaining!

You're gifted!
Forget your brother and his wife.

Forget all that.

Only you can make
the name Van Gogh famous!

We married?

- You sound like wifey.
- Look,

they're not pushing you,
you're towing them all.

They're jealous
of what you've got.

Nothing was good enough
for your Kate.

Those women always marry
the idiots they deserve!

And you're moping over her.

Why are you going to Paris Sunday?

- To get sloshed.
- You can't do that here?

To get sloshed!

- Notice anything?
- I know them by heart.

We're out of the woods.

Theo will smother you with jewels.

I'll settle for less.

There's only 30.
And the rest?

At Tanguy's.

I'll go to Clauzel St...

Watch out if you run into people.
You scare everyone.

He picks fights in Paris.

He's a grown man.

He's eccentric...
But like anyone else...

he needs help...
- We can't do anything

except relieve our own guilt.

Like charity,
that makes the donors feel good.

Those 50 franc bills...

they relieve you more than him.

Am I right?

- Get rid of this for me.
- What?

- There.
- I hate that...

Go on squeeze...

That's it.

He should've been
one of the best painters of his time.

But he started late
and rushed things.

He always does.

Like when he wanted to be a priest.

He never learned.

I don't understand him.

The truth is:

deep down I don't like his painting.

I wish he painted like Renoir.

I'd love that.

No, I don't want him
to paint like Renoir.

Not that, either.

But if Renoir painted like Vincent...

I'd like it because
my brother hadn't done it.

- See?
- What nonsense.

You complicate everything.

Life just happens, that's all.

- Shall I rinse you down?
- Yes.

Vollard's wrong to play
the crafty dealer.

Clever people act dumb.

No,

people prefer
to deal with the craftiest.

Come here...

Look at these marvels.

- Frost.
- Very nice.

That painting grows on me.

All those shades of blue.

As perfect as a Tiepolo.

He painted it when the baby was born.
It's there so I can see it

from my bed when I wake up.

Here's to both Vincents.

In a Japanese mode,
like the painting!

René is so talented.

I know, it's superb.

That awful sun, the green sky...

Who are those creeps?

- They help sell you!
- I doubt it.

Remove my paintings from Tanguy's.
It's a pigsty. They'll rot!

Where do I put them?

Under your bed!
Or can't the maid sweep?

- Jo sweeps.
- If Saint Jo does it...

- Why are they in there?
- I don't know.

I'm a pain, right?

No, Vincent.

Théo's not well.

Dr. Gachet's not good enough for him.

How will it all end?

You're the only one
I feel close to.

One must be selfish.

Théo doesn't know how to be.

That's what I am: selfish.

I can't whistle.

Pity you made two holes
in the painting.

You touched my wife?

And you're so out of touch...

You don't paint ones like her.
You like sluts!

And you...?

Thank you so much. See you soon.

We'll settle it all...
Thanks for coming.

You're awful.
You quarrel with everyone.

Even Gachet. You fought with him.

- You're rude to Aurier.
- Still drinking?

You know,

critics like Aurier sell art.

Buyers are more influenced by what
they read than what they see.

- You know it.
- Yes,

they read a lot of gibberish
about beauty,

and have their minds all set.

Critics praise good and bad,
so buyers lap it all up...

- It's called eclecticism.
- Shit!

You got it made!

And you neglect
the best painter of our time!

- You're the best?
- Yes, I am.

You sleep on my work.
It's under your bed.

- Where do I put it?
- Show it!

You wrote me not to!

All my work! You got it for nothing!

How can you say that? You're awful.

- One day I'll stop supporting you.
- Don't make me laugh!

You're just a dealer
who exploits artists, a slave driver.

You buy cheap, anyway.

From me you get 20 works a month

for the price
of one second-rate impressionist.

You're vile.

You must be revolted
by your own words!

You've ruined our relationship.

Good. I'm not scared.

I'll be better off.
I've been sponging.

All those paintings are yours.
Forever!

Fine words! "Forever"!
If I died, who'd get my paintings?

Who? You might destroy them,
like Mother did at home!

No one in the family believed in me.
No one!

"Get rid of these", she said.

She didn't! Who told you that?

I happen to know it.

I was a coward to accept your money.
I became a drone.

What's worse, I feel I'm being kept.

The shame!

Better to be a dock-worker.

One can't work and paint.
Those who tried stopped painting.

Gauguin painted for years
as a stockbroker.

You smothered me.

I'd have worked harder and better.
I've done nothing great.

And life's too sad.

I'm at the end of my tether.

Haven't you noticed?

My painting is shit.

Seen my portrait
of Marguerite Gachet? Crap!

It's a transition.
Don't exaggerate.

You've been there 2 months.
Can't always be on top.

On top?
You've never liked what I do.

A kind word here and there,

but I know your taste.

You've never spoken this way. Never.

I'm sick.
I can't keep this up for long.

No, not for long.

I've never had pains like this.

Seen a doctor?

He didn't understand me.

You in pain now?

You are harder to bear.
We've had our problems,

but your present mood...

What?

You're healthy
and close to success!

But my painting's worse!

Aurier's piece has made you.
And your fits... They're over!

Listen, Théo.

There are no fits.

I never had any.

They were tricks
like a squid spurts ink to hide.

I'm telling you, it won't be a fit:

a calm decision, if I can...

to put an end what's unbearable
for me and all of us.

I'm not as selfish as you say.

I do think of others.

I didn't come to settle a score,
just to say hello.

Lautrec's always late.
Never on time.

True.
Vincent? Come eat.

Really!

- Hare?
- Yes, it is.

Will you stay in Auvers?

- I'll leave.
- Where? With no money?

Who do we paint for?

Rich collectors, connoisseurs,

assholes... the worst.
We paint for them.

Dump all my stuff.

You've got over 200,
that's 20,000 francs.

I can't unload all that,
by an unknown artist.

- Who's to blame?
- Make up your mind.

I'm off.

Hear of Schubert?

- What about him?
- Yes, Schubert.

Didn't you know?

All his friends dumped him

to avoid catching his disease.

- What's the connection?
- Don't you see?

You notice too late
you have no friends...

if you can still notice things.

Just as well.

You're crazy!

Stop that!

It's weakness, Vincent.

When there's no more hay,
horses fight.

I can't stand them.

Find some buyers.
I can't stand them. Get rid of them!

Look,

I didn't do that!

Did I paint that eye?

Those shaded greys,

the contour of the eyes...

I did that? Impossible.

I paint receding chins
in banal complementary colors.

Dump them or sell them:

selling is dumping for money!

I can't.

You can't?

No one wants them, right?

- What?
- Nothing, Vincent.

"Nothing, Vincent".

I bet if I throw them
out the window,

they'll be there tomorrow.

No one'll touch them.

Even garbage men and bums.

Here, Mr Van Gogh, your onion soup.

You well, Vincent?

- What's up?
- I'm having my soup.

Nice you're back in Paris.

- What're you up to?
- Having my soup.

Here's big Suzanne V.

Back in Paris?

I just want to eat my soup.

You know I paint now.

Dear Suzanne...
Everyone paints now, even women.

- How would he live without you?
- Maybe he'd die!

He'd die!
He'd get a job like everyone else.

I've known men as talented as he,

who wanted to live off their art.
They took jobs. Like everyone.

Real jobs.

Being an artist is a luxury.

You must be able to afford it.

I'm sick of hearing
of their sufferings.

The poor really suffer.

They have no work, no food.

Vincent is your showgirl!

You can't afford him!

- I've managed.
- It has to change.

You have a family now.

Not just yours. Ours!

You'll support that wreck
all your life?

- Shut up!
- Stop that!

- You're vulgar, Johanna.
- Yes, I am!

Stop that!

Coming!

- What's happened?
- He wasn't on the train.

He's not back. Where is he?

- You must have crossed him...
- He's not back. I'm sure.

He can only be one place.

You know it. Take her there.

- A drink?
- No thanks.

- You eaten?
- I'm not hungry.

Let's go.

It'll be like the good old days.

You're heavy!

You look contented.

You're new here. I don't know you.

You're married, right?
Brought your wife?

She was too tired.

She had her baby?

- 3 months ago. He's big.
- Should've brought her.

She's teasing.

She'd love it here!

- Your name?
- Cathy.

Pretty name.

You have nice rings, pretty hands.

- How are things, Suzanne?
- All right.

How's Puvis de Chavannes' kid?

- He's now 7.
- Time flies.

Did you wipe out Henri?

He always naps after.

- Not wearing socks?
- I left in a hurry.

- Your wife kicked you out?
- Sort of...

Play something more...

more...

- Here I am.
- I'm busy.

I came to Paris just for that.

You with her or me?

Don't touch me.
That's all you ever think about.

You crazy?

I looked for you in Auvers,
left you a note.

- Can we meet?
- Hands off!

- Tomorrow... the day after...
- Sure... You can't be bothered...

Let go...

Hands off!

Your sweetness is phony.

Asshole! Go home!

Who needs you!

The whore with the heart of gold.

You're so romantic,
you're a goner!

She's shy.

Don't you want to?

This makes me dizzy!

Sing "Red Hill".

It's called Red Hill

And here's why

All who fought there
were doomed to die

Now it's a vineyard
Like so many others

But when you drink its wine
You drink the blood of your brothers

There were no pretty maids
On that hill

No swains, no laughter and mirth

It's far from Montmartre

And Paris, the hub of the earth

That hill is soaked in the blood

Of farmers and workers
Who answered a call

Those who start wars

Never die of them
Only the innocent fall

Red Hill is its name

And here's why

All who fought there
Were doomed to die

Now, it's a vineyard

Like so many others

But when you drink its wine

You drink the blood of your brothers

May I?

Here, taste...

- It's good.
- Drink.

More...

You love me?

Say it.

You love me?

Come, brother.
Time to parade! Look sharp!

- Will you buy my paintings?
- I did... Which ones?

Those I paint.

You're known as a model!
No one wants your paintings!

Bastard!
Now you're like all dealers.

I need sleep
before I open the gallery.

I'll go snooze with my old lady.

Third class is narrow!

Sure, the poor have smaller asses.

This is living.

Tickets please.

Kiss again, it's the milk-train!
Have a nice trip!

What's wrong?

I so wish you loved me...

I know you don't.

Doesn't matter.

What have I done?

Answer when I talk to you!

You can't take paintings
to the grave!

Painting! It's a disease.

You're sick, you hear!

You grovel in your shit!
Your shitty paintings!

From your sick mind!

Let go of me!
You're not normal!

You're insane! Stay here!

Sit down!

Here.

You're alone? Where's my daughter?

- Your ugly face!
- She vanished yesterday.

- What happened?
- Nothing.

- What did he do to you?
- Nothing.

Answer. Are you ill?

There's no need to destroy to create!

You sow despair.

A great artist, but a loathsome man.

You're twice her age!
Aren't you ashamed?

I've known many painters.
They weren't like you.

You're vulgar.
It's in everything you do!

You don't love me.
You don't care.

If you knew how I love you...

You forgot your package.

Go out on the platform.
The young lady's unwell.

- Get help.
- A doctor?

I'm a doctor, idiot! A carriage.

Take her feet...
Climb up and lift her...

- What are you eating?
- A bun.

Can I have some?

Good, huh?

Here, take that.

Come on...

- Where you off to?
- To watch him paint.

Matching loonies!
Why's that here?

Do other hotels
let 'em paint indoors?

Soon it'll be in the bar!

It won't be a bar, but a paint store!

You didn't do my ear.

Move over.

Some day we'll do this for free.

- Normally...
- Right, it'll be nice.

- Let's start now.
- What?

- For free.
- Really?

That excite you?

- What?
- When I kissed your neck...

Well it does me. So do it.

You eating me?

Thank you for waiting.
Where's La Mouche?

In Paris.

Hurry. I'm bushed.

Faster!

It'll be all right.

Don't want any?

She doesn't.

Why not? What's wrong?

Glass of wine?

Who was that?

Mr. Van Gogh.

Why isn't he eating with us?

Go look.
See what he's up to.

Coming?

Go see what's up.

Eat!

Wants none.

Just like your sister.

Mom, come quick!

What is it?

Suicide's great for a hotel!

Some hotel! Three rooms!

Is it a bullet?

Yes, it is.

Does that hurt?

Help me turn him over.

Gently.

Adeline...

You in pain? Want a shot?

No shots.

They scare me.

Shall we operate?

Well, doctor?

He needs hot compresses.

And clean his bed.

Very well, doctor.

An overdose of barbiturates

is easier to deal with.

When your daughter
said it was suicide,

I brought my stomach pump.

We'll look after you.

- Doctor, where were you?
- I was away. Where is he?

Upstairs.

- May I?
- Go ahead.

- Sorry...
- The casualty's next door.

You won't let me examine you?

Well, doctor?

He's breathing normally.

- As if he wasn't hurt.
- I'll open the door.

- They're doing nothing?
- Don't say that.

But they aren't!

Little one...

Dear Theo...

You shouldn't have come...
till I'd croaked.

- Is that position all right?
- He chose it. Leave him in it.

No, don't...

It's good for him.

Isn't drinking bad for him?

Don't give him a thing.

They've readied a room for you.
Get some rest.

I'll watch him.

How is he?

Get me a brandy.

He must be moved to a hospital
in Paris.

And operated.

Never... He can't be moved.

It'd kill him.

But he'll die if he lingers here.

We can't do nothing and let him die.

He'll die of nothing!

If he's alive 12 hours after:
his organs are intact.

Even a surgeon
would damage his organs

extracting the bullet.

The journey alone may kill him.

I agree with my colleague:

I think it's hopeless.

Alright?

I'm hungry.

It's all over.

I'll settle up.

Board and lodging for June is due.
And Dr. Masery's two visits.

Of course.

- He gave you any paintings?
- Two.

Keep them. They're yours.

Run along. Don't tell your sister.

I'll return the paintings
he left with me.

My portrait and my daughter's.

We were just storing them...

You must keep them.

He'll get known
through your collection.

If you mean it...
I'm very touched.

Mr. Van Gogh,
I've done the death certificate.

- My foot!
- I didn't mean to!

My foot's crushed: you laugh!

- I'm not laughing!
- Doctor!

My foot!

I'll massage you.
I have a healing hand.

- Better?
- Feels good.

So good...

I never let anyone touch my feet.

- That's much better.
- I'll help you.

Help me up.

It'll take months to heal.

Hi. You from here?

This the hanged man's house?

No, it's on Pylon St.
No one hanged himself there.

- First time you painted here?
- No.

I come often.

It's like the greats are still here.

Pissarro, Cézanne,
Daumier, Millet...

Millet never came.
Daumier lived in Valmondois.

He painted a studio door here.

The owner will show it to you.

What's the motif?

Don Quixote...

- Van Gogh liked it a lot.
- You knew Van Gogh?

Yes. He was my friend.

Subtitling: Eclair Group