♪
[María screaming]
[panting]
MARIA: What?
What is it? Huh?
God has taken him.
-[crying]: No. No, no, no, no. -We will pray for him.
Give him to me.
I'm sorry, my love.
MARIA [crying]: No. No, no.
WOMAN: Shh.
No.
What are you doing, brother?
[coughs]
[baby cries]
He sounds... very angry.
[gasps]
[crying and laughing]
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,
I baptize thee José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno
María de los Remedios
Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.
[audience cheering]
[bull bellows]
[audience cheering]
[bull snorting]
[grunts]
ALL: Olé!
JOSE: You see how brave the matador is?
But what if the bull kills him, Papa?
He is an artist, Pablito,
and he is willing to risk his life
to do something truly beautiful.
ALL: Olé!
[bull snorting]
PICASSO: It doesn't look right.
MARIA: Nonsense. You're a great artist.
One day, your paintings will be on the walls of the Prado.
Maybe I should be a soldier.
Well, then you will be general.
And if you're a priest, you will be Pope.
[laughter]
Look what our Pablo has done, Papa.
Hmm?
Oh.
My horse doesn't look real, Papa.
Not like your pigeons.
I want to paint like you.
Then I will teach you, Pablito.
-Hmm? -[chuckles]
[sighs]
You are a genius, Maya.
A true surrealist. [chuckles]
Look.
Mi papá taught me how to paint pigeons.
What do you think?
[laughs]
-Maya, no! -[laughing]: No, it's...
Papa's paintings are very precious.
Oh, well, you know, she's a critic,
the only one I have ever loved.
I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you.
-Come here. Come on. -[giggling]
[Picasso imitates chewing]
MARIE-THERESE: She is so happy when you are here, Pablo.
Can't you stay the night?
PICASSO: Marie-Thérèse,
you know I have to work.
-You can work here. -No.
With this little devil savage, you know, my ideas...
but I'll be back next week.
The roses are exquisite, Hervé.
Thank you, monsieur.
Cut me a stem, would you?
You should let them grow wild.
Too much pruning destroys the beauty.
Yes, monsieur.
Vámonos, Marcel.
To Grands-Augustins?
I want to make a stop first.
Yeah.
[gasps]
[exhales] You frightened me.
[laughs] Nonsense.
You're fearless.
You're experimenting with double prints again.
DORA: What do you think?
You're a brilliant photographer, Dora,
but there's a painter trapped inside of you.
[Dora chuckles softly]
You should set her free.
Well, perhaps I will.
There are thorns.
Be careful.
Never.
SERT: We need a passionate statement from you, Pablo.
Something to capture the world's attention.
What do you have in mind?
We want you to make a painting
to fill
this entire wall at the Spanish Pavilion
at the Universal Exposition.
I have never made a painting that large.
I wouldn't know where to begin.
Franco and his fanatics are winning the war
in our beloved Spain,
spilling the blood of those who defend democracy.
Fascism's spreading across the continent.
The threat is enormous,
so the picture itself must be enormous
-to move the public. -Tens of thousands of people
will attend the exposition--
from the rest of Europe, from America.
AUB: A bold, artistic declaration
from Pablo Picasso,
the most famous of all Spanish artists,
would alert the world to our plight
and help us raise awareness and money
to save the Republic.
Franco has Hitler and the Nazis on his side, Pablo.
We need you on ours.
DORA: How can you refuse?
I don't take commissions.
I paint what I want and what I feel.
-Not what someone else tells me to. -This is a chance
-to make a real difference. -Even if I had an idea--
which I don't-- a picture is not going
to stop a war.
No matter how gigantic it is.
It could move people to stand against Fascism and violence.
But I am not a poster artist. You know, I...
I don't make propaganda.
Do you want to know what I think?
-No! -[chuckles]
But I am certain that you are going to tell me anyway.
I think you are scared.
-Scared of what? -Mm-hmm.
Scared that if you make such a...
gigantic painting and it's met with silence,
you will have failed.
That's ridiculous.
Or if it makes too much noise,
the Fascists might come after you,
and you might lose your nice, easy...
bourgeois life.
You live like a king, Pablo.
With your fancy automobile and your fancy apartment.
What happened to the rebellious young artist
who used to spit in the face of authority?
Where has he gone?
Hmm?
CONCHITA: I want to see, Pablo.
I want to try another one.
Now, sit still.
I can't.
[sighs heavily] Come here.
I look pretty.
PICASSO: I draw what I see.
[children chattering in distance]
Y-You feel warm, Conchita.
It's diphtheria.
MARIA: Please, God, no.
Is there anything to be done?
DOCTOR: There is a serum.
But I will have to send to Paris for it.
Go back to bed, son.
Everything is all right.
-[thunder crashing] -PICASSO: Please, God,
spare my sister, María de la Concepción.
If you save her,
I will never again waste my time with painting
and drawing.
♪
In Jesus' name, I swear it.
PRIEST: To you, O Lord, we commend the soul
of María de la Concepción, your servant.
In the sight of this world, she's now dead;
in your sight, may she live forever.
Forgive whatever sins
she committed.
In your goodness, grant her everlasting peace.
We ask this...
♪
MARIA: You were a good brother to her.
I killed her.
Why would you say such a horrible thing?
I made a vow to God
that if he let Conchita live, I-I... I would give up painting.
Oh, Pablo.
But God knew I could never keep my promise.
I love painting too much.
[sighs]
[crying]: Maybe more than I loved Conchita.
So, to punish me... [sniffles]
he took her.
[María sniffles]
God was not punishing you.
He was telling you that you have a great gift.
One that he has given you.
He wants you to know that you must never stop painting.
[sighs]: Come back to bed.
-I can't. -Because you are too old?
[chuckles]
You know, it takes a very long time to become young.
[knocking]
Not now!
Sorry to bother you, Pablo, but...
What is it, Jaimé?
DORA: "Guernica,
"the most ancient town of the Basque,
"was completely destroyed yesterday
"by insurgent air raiders.
"A powerful fleet of airplanes,
"consisting of three German types,
"Junkers and Heinkel fighters,
"did not cease unloading on the town
"bombs that targeted defenseless citizens
"on a busy market day, leveling buildings
and setting roaring fires."
[people screaming]
[explosion]
♪
[bomb whistling through air]
[distorted neighing]
"The fighters, meanwhile, plunged low
"to machine-gun those of the civilian population
who had taken refuge in the fields."
♪
Women and children?
Ripped to shreds!
Those Fascist bastards.
Franco rutting with his Nazi pigs.
They can't be allowed to get away with this.
They attacked your people.
I know... you didn't want to make a painting
for the Spanish Pavilion, Pablo.
But now you must.
[clears throat softly]
I am going to need a...
very big canvas.
♪
[whirs softly]
♪
Where did you learn to draw like that?
My father.
-How old are you, anyway? -14.
Jesus Christ.
It's Pablo, actually. Pablo Ruiz.
Manuel Pallarès.
Well, maybe you're not Jesus, but...
the way that you shade the folds of his skin,
there is something goddamn holy about it.
To be honest, I'd...
I'd rather be drawing a beautiful woman's ass.
[chuckles] You've never seen a woman's ass before, have you?
PALLARES: Five pesetas...
for whichever one of you wants to cure my young friend here
of his acute virginity.
[indistinct chatter]
[woman laughs]
You can go now.
Are you deaf?
Can't... can't I look at you?
You have done more than look.
-Now out with you. -No.
I mean...
without your dress.
[laughs softly]
Your friend didn't pay for that.
[coins jingling]
That's not enough to peek at even one bare thigh.
Please, j-just for a moment.
Oh. And that will be enough for you?
Enough to remember what you look like.
I am not so pretty in the light.
Not anymore.
I think you are very beautiful.
You do, do you?
Yes.
And I want to paint you.
♪
[church bells ringing]
SALVADOR: It is extraordinary, Pablo.
PICASSO: It's a gift, Uncle,
to thank you for everything you've done for me.
And such a touching subject.
PICASSO: It's a story inspired by my sister's death.
JOSE: We are calling it Science and Charity.
I sat for Pablo, but the figure of the doctor--
he's inspired by you, Brother.
To think such a marvelous work could come from...
such a young hand.
Yes. Pablo has far exceeded his peers.
There's nothing left for him to learn in Barcelona.
I'm hoping to study at the Royal Academy in Madrid.
JOSE: But...
-it's quite expensive. -[Salvador chuckles]
Now I see the charity you allude to in the painting.
JOSE: I'm ashamed to ask for your generosity again,
-Salvador, but... -SALVADOR: Nonsense.
It will bring honor to the Ruiz name
to have a true artist in the family.
DEGRAIN: You will not be an artist
until you have mastered the rules of linear perspective
and orthogonal lines,
the laws of drawing and precise contour.
You will not be an artist
until you have copied the masters,
studied anatomy, and...
learned the language of geometry.
No, Ruiz.
How many times must I tell you?
Your technique is all wrong.
I'm drawing what I see, Maestro.
Well, then you are seeing it incorrectly.
You must use straight lines,
so that your figure
is properly proportioned...
and... positioned.
You have talent, Ruiz, but no discipline.
And without discipline...
you will fail.
♪
Ruiz?
Maestro.
DEGRAIN: So this is where you've been spending your time.
Yes. Or sketching at the Prado.
And when was the last time you attended class?
[chuckles] You only teach rules and imitation.
I want to do something... original.
-Original? -Unique.
Your uncle has written to inquire after your progress.
-What shall I tell him? -Whatever you like.
He knows even less about painting than you do.
He pays your bills, your tuition.
What does that have to do with anything?
Do you suppose he will continue to do so when I inform him
that you have made a mockery of his generosity?
JOSE: How could you humiliate me like this?
-Degrain is a fraud. -His approval could have won you commissions.
I don't want to paint what everyone else tells me to.
I want to be free to paint what I like.
Freedom is for rich men.
You see how many students I must take on,
just to scratch out a meager living?
Pablo.
You could be a master at the Academy.
[laughing]: You want me...
You want me to be a teacher?
[sighs]
I'm sorry, Papa.
You... You have taught me all I need to know.
That's why I don't need any more school.
I can barely feed your mother and her sisters. Hmm?
And your uncle will not give you another peseta. Hmm?
-What will you live on? -I don't know.
But I would rather starve
than let someone force me to paint inside a box.
I am going to be a great artist one day, Papa.
But I will do it...
in my own way.
-♪ -[cheering, whistling]
MAN: Spain is at war with America.
Every able-bodied man must report for duty.
We must protect our colonies:
Cuba, Guam, Puerto Rico, the Philippines.
We must defend the empire.
Report for duty.
[indistinct chatter]
Well, if it isn't the prodigal Pablito.
-Manuel. -[Pallarès chuckles]
You know, I thought you were at the Academy in Madrid,
teaching everyone how to draw women's asses.
[chuckles] I need somewhere to stay.
I can do illustrations to help pay the rent.
You'd have to pay the rent on your own.
I'm going back to Horta.
Horta? Why?
I don't want to get ripped to shreds by American bullets
or die of yellow fever in some godforsaken Cuban ditch,
just so the damned imperialists can get cheap sugar
for their coffee. [sighs]
You were drafted.
You're lucky you're not old enough,
-or tall enough. -[chuckles]
Won't they find you at home?
I'll go back to the farm for supplies,
then I'm camping in the Santa Barbara Mountains.
The Spanish army is far too lazy to climb all the way up there.
Let me come with you.
Please, please, Manuel.
I can't go crawling back to my father.
♪
[sheep bleat, dog barks]
♪
PALLARES: Just over the next rise.
PICASSO: That's what you said after the last rise.
[Pallarès laughs]
♪
[both whooping and laughing]
PICASSO: P. Ruiz?
PALLARES: No.
-PICASSO: P. Ruiz y Picasso? -PALLARES: No.
[sighs] What is wrong with just Ruiz?
It's so damn... common.
It's also your father's name.
[chuckles] Exactly.
I need my own.
Something people will remember.
I tried my other names:
Diego José Ruiz, Juan Nepomuceno.
-You don't strike me as a Nepomuceno. -[laughs]
What do I strike you as?
I know you, Pablo.
[chuckles] You're not gonna let me
or anyone else tell you who you are.
[laughs]
PALLARES: It's perfect,
isn't it?
PICASSO: Yes.
And someday...
I'm going to paint the perfect painting.
[animal hoots in distance]
That sounds stupid, doesn't it?
No.
It sounds quite brilliant, actually.
Let's never go back.
-[laughs] What? -We have everything we need here.
Food from my family's farm, nature, art, friendship.
What about girls?
There's a whorehouse in Gandesa.
[laughs]
We could stay here.
[scoffs]
No rules, no teachers, no government.
You could paint your perfect painting, Pablo.
Here.
[thunder rumbles]
The paintings!
♪
PICASSO: These paintings,
they were the best work I've ever done.
I'm so sorry, Pablo.
The rains never come this early.
[sighs]
It's a sign.
A sign?
Like when my sister died.
God is telling me...
...I'm wasting my gift here.
No, that's c... that's crazy.
We'll, uh, go back to the farm.
We get more supplies and we come back.
-This time, we build a shelter. -No.
If I stay here,
even if I paint the perfect painting,
no one will ever look at it and see what I see.
No one will know my name.
Whatever the hell it is.
And Conchita...
...she will have died for nothing.
[Pallarès sighs]
DORA: Why have you stopped, Pablo?
[sighing]
It's been so many years since I tried to make a painting
that tells a story.
What if I cannot do it anymore?
Of course you can.
No.
It's not violent enough, it's not...
angry enough.
So make it angrier.
I wasn't there.
I don't know how the flames felt on their flesh,
how their screams sounded.
[doorbell buzzes]
I need to see him.
-He's working. -He was supposed
to come Tuesday. It's Thursday.
You'll just have to wait with everyone else.
I need to see him.
Mademoiselle, please.
Please.
Listen to me...
I had an appointment for an interview
-three hours ago. Why does she get to go in? -[stammers]
It is the same for everybody, sir.
[door opens]
Pablo?
Who is this woman, Pablo?
Sorry, I told her you were working, but...
I am Dora Maar.
And you must be Marie-Thérèse?
Yes. The mother of his child. The woman he is going to marry.
[sighs]
Perhaps you should pay a visit to his wife,
the mother of his other child,
and inform her of this... expectation.
MARIE-THERESE: Tell this woman to leave.
-Now. -I'm not going anywhere, Mademoiselle.
One of us is leaving, Pablo.
Which one is up to you.
You know what, you settle it.
Yep.
[grunting]
Ladies!
Ladies, please!
Are you insane?!
♪
You make us all look so lovely, Pablo.
Will you do me next?
If you let me stay another night, I'll decorate your walls.
[giggles]
[sighs]
It's not bad for a whorehouse sketch,
but I've seen much better.
-Have you? -Yes.
Nonell, Casas,
me.
You're an artist, are you?
Yes, and I see you're trying to copy our style.
You've obviously been to Els Quatre Gats.
I can't afford Els Quatre Gats.
And I don't copy anyone's style.
Are you going upstairs or not?
Not!
-Out with you, then. -[scoffs]
Well, you should come by sometime.
I'll buy you a beer.
-Huh? -Let's go.
My name is Carles Casagemas, by the way.
What is yours?
Picasso.
DORA [distorted]: They can't be allowed to get away with this.
"Guernica, the most ancient town of the Basques,
"was completely destroyed by insurgent air raiders.
1,000 pounds... 3,000..."
Women and children ripped to shreds.
♪
[Marie-Thérèse grunting]
♪
DORA: Those Fascist bastards.
They can't be allowed to get away with this.
YOUNG PICASSO: What if the bull kills him, Papa?
♪
[neighing]
♪
[soft chatter]
GENEVIEVE: He's calling it Guernica.
Everybody's talking about it.
It's brutal.
Isn't it?
Perhaps even ugly.
I read that he said,
"Painting is not meant to decorate apartments.
It's meant to be a weapon."
But there should be beauty in it,
even when the subject is painful.
I think it's powerful.
As a work of propaganda, maybe.
Perhaps you should write a review, Françoise.
I'm sure a scathing critique of the greatest painter
in the world will do wonders for your art career.
Matisse is the greatest painter in the world, Genevieve.
Maybe.
But Picasso is much better looking.
[chuckles softly]
♪
[door opens]
[door shuts]
Don't say you were at school.
I phoned them.
I went to the exposition.
You skipped class.
To, what, watch the boat races? With some boy?
No, I went with Genevieve to look at the architecture
and the paintings.
I don't understand you, Françoise.
I have given you every opportunity.
I want to be a painter.
You think I raised you to starve in Montmartre?
Making caricatures for English tourists?
I won't. I'll do serious work.
You will go to university.
You will become a lawyer or a professor.
Do I make myself clear?
Yes.
Consider yourself fortunate, Françoise.
Not many fathers in this world
expect more from their daughters than to find a husband.
[laughing]
Something funny?
My good friend, el Caudillo,
Generalissimo Francisco Franco,
has just decreed that divorce is no longer legal in Spain.
Your painting must have wounded him gravely, Pablo.
PICASSO: Well, then it was worth the struggle.
DORA: I'm proud of you. Truly.
You think he created a new national law
just to get back at me?
Your canvas was so big,
-after all. -[chuckles]
Well,
it will certainly make my wife want to get up and dance again.
No divorce in France, no divorce in Spain.
She can remain Madame Picasso until the day she dies.
Olga will be thrilled.
But I'm afraid your poor Marie-Thérèse
will be positively devastated.
And you, my dear,
aren't you even a little bit disappointed?
Now you can never be Madame Picasso either.
I would never marry you.
Wouldn't you?
Of course not.
Marriage is a bourgeois convention
supported by priests and lawyers.
And, uh, Fascist dictators.
[laughing]
And besides,
wives, by definition,
are boring creatures.
[chuckling]: Oh, I could never be bored by you.
Where are you going?
The light is perfect.
[camera shutter clicks]
No, let's go back to the hotel.
I want to paint you.
[Dora laughs]
[Picasso laughs]
[Dora laughs]
It is extraordinary, Pablo.
Yeah.
Dora is whatever I need her to be--
a mouse,
a bird,
an idea, a storm.
[chuckles]
She makes me wish I was 18 again.
[loud chatter, upbeat piano music playing]
MAN: Oh! Oh! [laughs]
Well, if it isn't the Leonardo da Vinci of the whorehouse!
Come. Come have a drink.
NONELL: Toulouse-Lautrec is an inbred dwarf.
Oh, Toulouse-Lautrec is a genius!
Mm. Look at this.
No one can touch him when it comes to capturing real life.
CASAGEMAS: I think Nonell here is just as good as Lautrec,
maybe better.
Stop kissing my ass, Casagemas.
You're going to give me a venereal disease.
[laughter]
UTRILLO: You can't judge Lautrec without seeing the colors.
And to do that, you have to go to Paris.
NONELL: If you're going to Paris, forget Lautrec.
See Degas, Cezanne.
Now there is a genius.
You've been to Paris?
He keeps a studio there.
I am going to Paris.
NONELL: Are you?
Well... as soon as I can sell enough work to afford a ticket.
[laughter]
Don't laugh. He's very talented. I've seen his work.
They are accepting submissions for the Spanish Pavilion
at the Paris Exposition next year.
Paint something for that, Picasso.
The only pictures chosen
for that bourgeois pageant of prettiness
will be nauseating landscapes
and dying saints painted to please the tourists.
[whistle blows]
Everyone stay where you are!
Don't move! Stay in your seats!
-Stay! -[indistinct shouting]
-Come on. -POLICEMAN: Hey!
-Come on. -[man speaking Spanish]
Hey!
[indistinct chatter]
Hey.
[Casagemas giggles]
Bastards!
[panting]
What the hell was that?
Ah, they're rounding up anarchists.
This happens two or three times a month.
Are you an anarchist?
Of course. And a Decadente.
-And a Catalaniste. -[laughs]
Aren't you?
I don't know much about politics.
Oh. Well, if we're going to talk about politics,
I need another drink.
-Oh. -[laughs]
-Whew! -[bottle opens]
CASAGEMAS: All government institutions
must be abolished entirely,
and all systems of authority vigorously opposed.
Is this gouache and charcoal?
Yeah. Yes, it's much less expensive than oils.
I wish... I had a place like this.
Oh, you can work here if you want.
Sleep here, too.
There are no whores to keep you company, but no bedbugs either.
UTRILLO: You've got a confident line, Picasso.
Or should I call you "le petit Goya"?
CASAGEMAS: Goya?
Goya's a rotting corpse.
Picasso and I-- we are the future.
If you and your partners were smart,
you'd give us a show here.
Have you got anything for me to look at?
What about you?
How many of those have you done?
Give me a museum, I'll fill it.
NONELL: "A young man, almost
a child, Picazzo..."
[chuckles] He spelled your name wrong.
Of course he did.
"Picazzo displays an extraordinary ease
in his handling of a pencil and brush."
Oh. That's excellent!
NONELL: "But as one examines the work,
"one notices mistakes,
"lack of experience, and hesitation
"about which path to follow.
"In order to achieve personality in art,
"one must not base it on that of others.
"One must take a different direction
to avoid gathering the master's crumbs."
-[scoffs] -This reviewer is an idiot.
NONELL: "Only the painting which portrays a young girl
"praying at an altar, painted with natural ease,
"demonstrates qualities
"which we hope will reach maturity the day when
"Señor Picazzo brings richer experience
-and study than he shows today." -[turns page]
You're right for once, Casagemas.
This reviewer is an idiot.
He thinks Picasso's worst picture is his best.
Hey. You're a bastard, Nonell.
-Don't listen to him, Pablo. -No.
He's right. It's...
sentimental.
It's-it's... old-fashioned.
And it's going to get me to Paris.
I submitted my painting, and it's been accepted
to be shown at the Spanish Pavilion
at the Universal Exposition in Paris.
[all laugh]
Oh, we are so proud of you, Pablo.
Aren't we, Papa?
Very proud.
Mm.
I knew when I saw it.
The girl praying in your picture--
it's Conchita, isn't it?
Yes, Mama.
This is the kind of work you should be doing, Pablo.
Noble subjects, formal compositions.
Yes. Of course, Papa.
Imagine how you will feel
standing amongst all those people,
thousands of them, staring at your painting.
[chuckles] Oh, that would be wonderful, but...
...I can't afford to go to Paris.
We'll give you the money, won't we?
But you can't afford it, either.
Ah, we'll manage. Don't worry.
[desk opens]
Thank you, Mama.
Thank you, Papa.
Be careful how you spend it.
[laughs]
We need two fashionable suits.
-We're going to Paris. -[laughs]
Can you make them button all the way to the collar?
We can't afford waistcoats.
[sighs]
♪
[door opens, bells jingle]
Monsieur Vollard?
-Yes. -Carles Casagemas.
I'm sure Isidre Nonell has mentioned me.
No.
I-I'm residing in his studio with my friend Picasso here.
He has a painting displayed
at the Spanish Pavilion in the Universal Exposition.
-Perhaps you've seen it. -No.
Oh. Well...
we're told you have an affinity for Spanish painters,
and we thought we would give you the first opportunity
to show our work.
-No. -Uh... [scoffs]
Monsieur, you-you have not even seen our paintings...
And have you even looked at the work I sell here?
It's a Cezanne.
Can either of you paint something
as extraordinary as that?
Come back when you can, hmm?
MAN [on radio]: Germany has invaded Poland
and has bombed many towns.
General mobilization has been ordered in Britain and France.
What is all this, Rosi?
I'm shipping what I can to London.
For safekeeping.
Putting the rest in the vault.
That's it, then? You're just, uh,
closing up the shop? Surrendering?
The Nazis are coming.
I'm getting my family to safety.
-You should do the same. -[grunts]
Barr can get you all visas.
And what about my paintings,
my sculptures, my etchings?
Can he get me visas for those, too?
-Pablo... -Perhaps
you-you can stuff some in your vault,
but-but I've got thousands all over France,
at Grands-Augustins, at Le Tremblay, even La Boétie.
And the Nazis have labeled every bit of it as "degenerate."
What do you suppose they do to degenerates?
Do you think I'm gonna run away
and let them confiscate it or burn it?
You think you can stop them?
[chuckles]
Guernica made them very angry, Pablo.
[indistinct shouting over radio]
I've had my work destroyed before.
Know what it feels like.
I am not going to let it happen again.
You can always make more paintings, Pic.
What if I can't, Rosi?
You have children,
women you love.
Some things are more important than art.
No.
Not to me.
[indistinct shouting over radio]
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH