Previously on Genius...
CASAGEMAS: Picasso and I, we are the future.
I wish I had a place like this.
MAÑACH: You can work here if you want.
I could give you 150 francs every month.
In return, I own everything you produce.
-To Picasso. -ALL: To Picasso!
I am in love with Germaine.
I'm not in love with you.
-Why? Why not? -Because you cannot satisfy me.
Carles, wait. You cannot go back to Paris.
CASAGEMAS: No, I'm going back to Barcelona.
-PICASSO: Carles, no! -(gunshot)
It's my fault. I should never have believed him.
GENEVIEVE: She's his mistress?
-How many does he have? -How many women has he painted?
-So you're finished with Dora? -Of course not.
PICASSO: She's brilliant.
I can't remember
the last time she made me
want to pick up a brush.
I need something new.
FRANCOISE: I want to be a painter.
You will become a lawyer.
Matisse is the greatest painter in the world.
But Picasso is much better-looking.
FRANCOISE: We're having a joint exhibition
at a very well-respected gallery.
You must come and visit me sometime.
To see some of my work.
You are going to paint her, aren't you?
*
(whimpering)
You're my wife. You will do what I tell you to.
Get away from me!
(cries out)
-(whimpers) -(grunts)
(crying)
Shh.
That's all I have.
Is it enough to get me to Paris?
(horn honks)
(soldier whistles)
Bastards.
Yes, charming, aren't they?
Well, no one can charm you, Françoise.
Except, perhaps, a certain Spanish painter.
He probably won't even remember us.
Maybe not me,
but he certainly hasn't forgotten you.
(knock at door)
Good afternoon.
We've come to see Monsieur Picasso.
Of course you have.
(indistinct chatter, music playing)
(door closes)
Oh.
What a surprise.
We thought you would be expecting us.
Yes.
Days ago.
We've been busy with our show.
-You should come. -(Picasso scoffs)
(indistinct chatter, laughter)
You mentioned you might show us some of your art.
-It would be a thrill for us. -Uh, no.
I-If you want to see art, you go to a gallery,
an exhibition, a museum.
You go to the Louvre.
Well, it seems we've disturbed you after all.
-Ah. -Thank you for the invitation.
You're welcome
to return, of course.
But if you do, don't come like, uh,
worshippers to the Holy Land.
Come because you want to see me.
-Outside. -Yeah.
Apparently they are having some kind of a show.
Find out where it is.
WOMAN: The artist's name
is Françoise Gilot.
She's a most intriguing
young discovery.
Don't you agree,
Monsieur Picasso?
Thank you for allowing me to work here.
No money for models?
No. But the real world
is a better subject for art, anyway.
Christ is the only real subject for art.
What you do,
they sell in alleys to perverts.
-But it is not my business. -(woman sobbing)
I must warn you.
The whores wearing the bonnets...
Have syphilis. I know.
Yes. Well...
best to keep your distance.
Will you paint me without the bonnet?
I don't want anyone seeing me like this.
What if I paint you in a beautiful white veil?
No one wants to buy pictures of dying whores.
I make the art, you sell it. If you can't,
-that's your problem. -I thought you were headed for greatness.
Why else would I dole out money to you every month?
-I'm painting, aren't I? -Blue hags
-and corpses. -Van Gogh and Lautrec...
Paint flowers, showgirls,
anything people can eat dinner under
without losing their appetite.
I can only paint what I feel.
No one else wants to feel like that.
You look like
you're the one who died, for Christ's sake.
My closest friend put a bullet in his brain.
Yes.
It's terrible.
But you must learn
to separate your life from your art.
-I can't! -Then find someone else
to tell your sad stories to, because I'm done with it.
(door closes)
Germaine.
Pablo.
PICASSO: I should have tried harder.
It wasn't your fault.
I shouldn't have believed him.
I knew he hadn't
really let you go.
But I never thought he'd...
(sighs) It was horrible.
Blood all over the walls.
Manuel told me that Carles...
I moved just a second before the bullet hit.
(exhales)
Now I feel like his ghost is following me.
I know.
I've tried to paint other things, other people,
but-but every face...
...every face becomes his.
You are the only one who understands.
You don't have to run off.
I can't go back to Mañach.
I need to find new lodgings.
You're welcome to stay here as long as you want.
It's nice not to feel so lonely.
How could we have done this?
It's what we both needed.
What about what Carles needed?
He adored you.
-But it was so suffocating. -Because he worshipped you.
Why couldn't you just have loved him?
You think I don't ask myself that every day?
Germaine, I...
You've said enough.
You should go.
(Picasso sniffles)
(carriage rattles past)
(indistinct chatter)
Another coffee, mademoiselle?
No.
Put it on my bill, Lucien.
And bring her a bowl of soup.
Thank you. I'm not hungry.
Oh, well, next you're gonna tell me you're not cold,
but I've been watching you shiver for half an hour.
May I join you?
My husband would not approve.
Ah. Is he the one
who gave you that charming little memento?
Please.
I don't accept charity.
You're looking for work, then.
Yes.
As it happens, I could offer you work.
As a model.
I'm a sculptor.
I don't do that sort of thing.
What don't you do? Sit on a stool
while someone stares at you?
You're doing it right now.
Perhaps.
But I have my clothes on.
My name is Laurent.
In case you reconsider.
Paris gets, uh...
horribly cold in the winter.
JACOB: It is fascinating.
-Who is the artist? -He calls himself Picasso.
He had his own show here a few months ago.
Do you have more of his paintings?
Well, unfortunately, he has not brought me
anything worth showing in months.
But I can offer you a good price on this one.
Well, I'm not usually inclined
to, uh, begin collecting an artist
until I am more familiar
with his work.
Do you know where I might find him?
(Jacob clears throat)
-(knock at door) -Pardon me.
I am looking for Monsieur Picasso.
-If I owe you money... -No, no, no.
Ah, nothing of the sort.
Uh, Monsieur Vollard only had one
of your paintings in his gallery,
and I was hoping that you might show me some more.
I am Max Jacob.
Uh, please,
come in.
I shipped several of my paintings
back to Barcelona,
but I do have many works here.
Um, give me a moment.
I-I wasn't expecting a collector. (laughs)
Oh, no, I... No, no. No, no.
I am afraid you misunderstood. I am not a collector.
What are you, then?
Well, on most days, I am a poet.
(laughs) A poet?
Oui.
That's even worse than being a painter.
(laughs)
So, why are you here?
To retreat from the banal.
To bask in the brutal beauty
of existence.
Mortality.
Everyone hates them.
(gasps)
I think they are...
extraordinary.
I may not be able
to afford a painting, but, uh,
at least let me buy you a meal.
PICASSO: What if Vollard is right?
I had one chance to make something of myself.
What if it's all over?
Mm.
Give me your hand.
Why?
Because...
I am a mystic of all trades.
A poet, a critic, and,
shh, a fortune teller.
Oh, a glowing childhood.
Oh, but life will bring sorrow.
What is wrong?
What if you tell me I'm about to die?
Pablo,
no one can escape death.
But I can see in your eyes you want to know what lies ahead
even as much as you fear it.
Yeah?
Hmm?
(sniffs)
(gasps dramatically)
This is promising.
By the time you are 30, you will have a very big fortune.
And this line,
that tells us
that love will play a great role
in your art.
Perhaps too great.
FRANCOISE: What did he think?
No one knows. Madame Beaureande said he walked through,
looked at each painting-- yours
much longer than mine-- then walked out.
And he didn't say a word?
He's interested in you.
If he was interested in my work, he would have said something.
Françoise, a door is opening for you.
Go through it.
SABARTES: You have a guest.
Well, whoever it is, just send them away.
Very well. I shall tell Mademoiselle Gilot that
the great Picasso
is too busy to see her.
For you.
I can't tell where the petals end and the dress begins.
Just so you know, I came to see you.
Not your paintings.
Then, by all means, let's go and...
see my paintings.
-FRANCOISE: Who's she? -Dora Maar.
FRANCOISE: The woman you were dining with
-the night we met? -Mm-hmm.
I wouldn't have known it was her.
You saw her once, across a room.
An artist must always see below the surface.
This one.
This one is enchanting.
The-the colors, the immediacy...
That's a Matisse.
Forgive me.
(chuckles)
(sighs)
No, not many people have the courage
to tell me what they really think.
Don't apologize for it.
Are you going to tell me what you thought of my paintings?
Oh, there it is.
The real reason you came.
No.
-I... -You want the truth?
Yes.
You have talent.
I think you should continue to paint.
DORA: You are lying to yourself.
-(groans) -Pretending to show interest
in this girl's art because
the bloom is off one muse
and you have decided to pluck another.
(chuckling): You're just jealous.
I'm also right.
You want to paint something new,
and you think getting this young girl into bed
will help you do that.
But do you really think she wants to wake up
next to an old man
like you?
But I am not too old to make you beg for more,
now, am I?
GRANDMA RENOULT: Emile.
-Hmm? -When are you going to Françoise's show?
Art is a pastime.
One that I've allowed Françoise to indulge in.
But now that there is an end in sight to this godforsaken war,
you must resume your studies, Françoise.
If you would just go and look at what I've done,
you would see that I'm a serious artist.
Hmm. Haven't I made myself clear?
You're not going to be an artist.
Pablo Picasso thinks I'm one already.
Oh, and how do you know that?
He came to see the exhibition.
-And invited me to his studio. -(chuckles)
And you think it's because he is interested in your art?
Is that so hard to believe?
Everyone knows the man is a lecher.
If he has any interest in you at all, Françoise,
it lies between your napkin and your chair.
Emile!
EMILE: The Nazis are right
about him. He's a degenerate.
(chuckles)
You're siding with the Nazis now?
Picasso will ruin you!
I forbid you to ever see him again.
(indistinct chatter)
(knocking)
(sniffs)
Good afternoon, monsieur.
(chuckles) A pleasure to see you again,
Mademoiselle...?
-Fernande. -Fernande.
Are you still in need of a model?
Come in.
My.
You can see... everything.
But it's quite good.
-(chuckles) -Really.
Unfortunately, in Paris,
"quite good" isn't good enough.
But maybe your arrival on my doorstep is a...
divine intervention.
(chuckles) I only came here for a wage.
I'm not able to pay you at the moment, but, um...
if you're in need of a bed...
I'm so stupid.
No, no, no, no, no. I-It's not what I meant.
It would simply be a way of paying you.
I would sleep on the settee.
And you have food?
Bread? Coffee?
I live a-a meager existence, not an uncivilized one.
Where would you like me?
Stand over there and, uh, take off your clothes.
You only have one bed.
Well, I write all night, sleep all day.
So, we take shifts.
-(scoffs) -It's, uh, primitive, but, uh,
it's warm, it's clean.
And you can't afford where you're living now.
-I'm not looking for charity. -Uh-uh.
But I told you, you are going to be rich.
So you will pay me back.
You need a new place to paint what you want.
A new life, new inspiration.
So, what do you say?
"And when I try to shrug away
"my decrepitude, and, uh,
"populate the night with my shrill cry,
"I hear the death-cough of mortality
"choked under corpses in a lake of blood--
my unhinging effort to die."
(book shuts)
Poe?
No.
Baudelaire.
(chuckles)
Oh.
Don't make me take this journey alone tonight.
I saw how that journey ended for Carles.
Nah! (chuckles)
That was opium.
Ether is... (chuckles)
(inhales)
(exhales, inhales)
...an entirely different magic. (chuckles)
(exhales)
It is...
it is like, uh...
(chuckles)
Oh, it's dreaming when you are awake.
S-Such beauty.
Ah, but then it is like...
trying to catch smoke in your hand.
Read me another poem.
"If that which I love
"weighs upon my wound,
"it pains it;
"if it weighs only upon summer,
"it is the field that suffers.
"What will feed summer and my love
"if not that sorrow,
since my love and summer can no longer feed on joy?"
Baudelaire again?
Mm, no.
Max Jacob.
You wrote that?
-(groans) -(chuckles)
Yes. (chuckles)
Oh, it's beautiful.
Huh?
-You think so? -Yes.
It sounds like you've fallen very hard.
Who is "my love"?
Uh, someone I have not met yet.
You're soaked.
I want to show you something.
Come.
FRANCOISE: It's a lovely view.
Yes, it is.
You didn't kiss me back.
But you didn't shy away either.
You're a confusing young woman.
I should probably go.
No, no, no, no.
(clicks tongue) Hey.
You came to show me your art.
So, show me your art.
Her nose is broad like a sailor's.
The colors are confusing.
Fingers so tangled,
all eight of them.
I was hoping you would tell me how to improve it.
Just admit it. You are not here for me at all.
You just want me to help you.
You told me I had promise.
Well, it takes more than promise to be an artist.
Because the only way to be a true artist
is to work day and night.
Lose yourself in it completely.
Do you have any idea how lonely that is?
And yet, without great solitude,
no serious work is possible.
I'm sorry. I didn't...
You want advice? I'll give it to you.
The ugly truth is this:
no one can help you.
You have to do it on your own, just as I did.
(loud knocking)
Is she here?
-No. -It's all right, Grandma.
What is the meaning of this?
I'm not going to law school.
Oh, so you can dedicate your life to art, and
-waste what I have given you? -I put my thoughts on paper
because I knew you wouldn't listen.
This is not how I raised you!
This is exactly how you raised me.
To stand up for myself.
I warned you to stay away from Picasso.
This is his influence.
It's got nothing to do with him. It's what I want.
Not while I'm supporting you.
No! (grunts)
Emile!
-(Françoise yelps) -Emile!
Stop! Get out!
Don't expect another centime from me.
You are both on your own now.
(panting)
(door closes)
I hope I haven't made a terrible mistake.
You fought for your freedom.
Don't look back.
But without your father's money,
I cannot offer you much more than a shoulder to lean on.
You will have to find a way to support yourself.
(neighing)
Mademoiselle Gilot,
I didn't know you were coming to ride today.
I, um...
I haven't come to ride.
I...
I've come for a job.
(sighs)
Sorry. My neck.
I need a few minutes.
(Laurent sighs)
Why put that back on?
Because it's cold,
if you haven't noticed under your wool shirt.
(chuckles softly)
You said you wouldn't ask for that.
Well, that was before
I'd been staring at your lovely breasts for days on end.
That wasn't our agreement.
If you don't like it, leave.
(wood clattering on floor)
(woman singing Puccini's La Bohème in Italian)
(soft grunting)
(woman singing in Italian)
(man singing in Italian)
PICASSO: It's like
he punched a hole right through my heart.
JACOB: No. No.
That hole already existed.
Puccini just reminded you that it was there.
It's unfair. He has... he has so many notes,
voices, instruments, to make his music.
All I have are canvases and a few colors.
You are every bit the artist that he is.
When I look at your paintings,
I feel such...
in...
...intensity that...
uh, I-I need a release.
Don't you?
It will make you feel so much better.
(inhaling deeply)
*
JACOB: Pablo!
What?! What are you doing? Get down!
I know-- I-I know why Carles did it now.
He just wanted to escape.
From his broken heart, his-his failure.
That-that-that is just the...
the ether whispering in your ear. Do not listen.
You are on a path,
holding onto someone's hand, going someplace... glorious.
And then the hand just slips away.
Suddenly, you're on the edge...
(whimpers) with no one to hold onto.
I-I will. I will hold onto you.
You feel yourself...
falling.
If you take a step, then so will I!
Why would you do that?
Because I-I cannot bear the thought
of living in this world without you.
(crying): What?
(sniffles)
(Picasso sniffles)
(panting)
(Françoise chuckles)
Did you get lost on your way to the Champs-Elysées?
Here I thought you'd been walled up
somewhere painting a masterpiece.
I don't have time to paint.
Wasn't that the whole point getting away
-from your father? -I don't have much of a choice.
Picasso could help you. He's rich.
He can get your work noticed.
I'm not sure it's my work he's interested in.
Give him what he wants. I would.
(chuckles)
You like him, don't you?
I suppose.
-But... -But what?
He may be old, but he still has women lining up for him.
He must be doing something right.
Françoise,
you can't stay a virgin forever.
DORA: How is your new
girlfriend?
As a matter of fact, I haven't seen her in weeks.
Don't tell me Pablo Picasso has been rejected by a little girl.
-Yeah. -Don't worry.
She'll soften.
They always do.
In six months,
you'll be painting her like a horse, too.
I'm trying to work, huh?
I got a letter from Max.
How is the stubborn old dog?
Refusing to leave his little sanctuary, convinced
no harm can come to him, even though
they have sent the rest of his family to the camps.
Go see him, Pablo.
You are the only one who can
persuade him to get out before it's too late.
You've been at that for hours.
Well, why don't you rest?
It's your turn to sleep.
There's plenty of room.
Here.
Come. Lie down.
Yeah.
Max?
(sighs) I love you.
But not the way you want me to.
No. No, no, no. No.
That... that-that... No.
I don't judge you. I just... I just don't...
feel the same, and I'm sorry.
(chuckling nervously): No, no.
I...
I am...
-I... I am disgusting. -No, Max.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.
(laughing): Oh, it...
Tell that to the priests and the rabbis.
And they say that it's a perversion.
I-I don't believe that, and neither should you.
Even if I didn't, what then? Huh?
What then? What? I have to...
I have to just hold it all in.
Just... Oh, my God.
Just once, just once...
...could-couldn't someone love me back?
Oh, Max.
Someone will.
I promise.
Oh.
You're going to leave, aren't you?
(sighs) Um...
Maybe that would be...
easier for you.
But we'll always be friends.
(Jacob quavers)
You say that now and...
maybe you even think that you mean that, but...
Oh, it's just never how it ends.
Just go.
Go.
-Oh. -(Picasso chuckles)
Oh. It is good to see you, old friend.
I am worried about you, Max.
It's not safe for you.
Well, I am not a Jew anymore.
In case you haven't noticed,
I have not been one for decades, but...
There are other reasons the Nazis could come after you.
Oh, you mean because I am a homosexual.
I am not ashamed of who I am.
Not anymore.
I appreciate your concern, Pablo, but I am not leaving.
This is my home, here with God.
(Jacob chuckles)
PICASSO: I told Dora you were stubborn.
Oh. How is she?
Growing tired of me.
Just as I am of her.
How old is she?
Who? Dora?
No... the new one.
Twenty-one.
(laughs)
She's a painter.
Oh? Is she any good?
She could be.
But it's the only reason she seems
to be interested in me.
So I can help her with her work.
Can you blame her?
Well, everyone wants something
from "the great Picasso."
I suppose I wish she wanted me...
...for me.
Art. Picasso.
You cannot separate the two.
Offer her one sincerely,
and perhaps she will want the other.
(phone ringing)
Allô.
PICASSO (on telephone): Good afternoon,
Mademoiselle Gilot.
I-I would like for you to come see me again.
I'm not sure that would be...
Not to be with me.
To make art.
I-I could show you how to etch.
FRANCOISE: That's very kind of you,
but you don't owe me anything.
PICASSO: B-B-But I do. An apology.
I lied to you.
People say I am a genius,
that it all came easily to me,
b-b-but the truth is,
I didn't do it alone.
Many people helped me.
I would like to help you.
If you'll let me.
SABARTES: She's here.
-Again. -(Picasso grunts)
But if you ask me, this will not end well.
PICASSO: Jaime,
you are an excellent gatekeeper,
but you're no clairvoyant.
I don't need to know the future. I know you.
(chuckles)
(clears throat)
Well, that's not what you wear to an etching class.
No, it isn't.
But you didn't invite me here for that.
I told you, I... I don't expect anything else.
Well, that's exactly why I decided to come.
*
(clatters)
Are you sure you're ready?
Yes.
I've made up my mind.
Being willing is a very different thing
than being ready.
Don't you want me?
Very much.
But I am willing to wait.
(Picasso sighs)
PICASSO: I couldn't wait to get to Paris.
Back when I was your age.
Here, to Montmartre,
where everything important was happening.
Uh... give me a moment.
Would you?
Hello?
WOMAN: Who's there?
PICASSO: It's me.
WOMAN: Pablo?
(sighs)
Hello, Germaine.
I wasn't sure if I would see you again.
I wanted to say good-bye.
I'm going back to Barcelona.
(sighs) I'm sure it'll be good to be home, hmm?
(chuckles) I hope so.
I don't blame you for leaving.
I still can't sleep.
I-I came to apologize.
For what I said to you; it was cruel.
No, you did not say anything I didn't already feel.
-It was my fault. -No.
No. I was wrong.
I didn't understand before, but...
I do now.
Understand what?
No matter how much you care about someone,
you cannot force yourself to love them
the way they want you to.
So, please, Germaine.
Stop blaming yourself.
Thank you, Pablo.
(sniffles)
I hope someday you forgive yourself, too.
GERMAINE: I still think of Carles.
Nearly every day.
So do I.
If only I could have given him what he deserved...
...what he wanted.
Pablo.
You did.
FRANCOISE: Who was that?
(exhales)
The love of my close friend, Carles.
He took his life because of her.
And I almost took mine because of him.
What stopped you?
(birds squawking)
*
CASAGEMAS: Well, if it isn't the Leonardo da Vinci
of the whorehouse!
I am in love with Germaine.
I can't paint.
I can't paint-- not until I know Germaine is mine.
It's not bad for a whorehouse sketch.
It's time for you to pick up a brush.
And for me... to go.
PICASSO: I found a way to give him in art...
what he couldn't have in life.
I thought I would never come back to Paris.
But after I finished that painting, I...
I felt the pull to return.
So I came to this place.
For a new start.
And I was happy here... until I wasn't.
I wanted you to see it, so you'll understand.
-Where you started. -No, no.
That it's better we don't see each other too much.
I thought...
L-L-Love can be... dangerous.
I watched it destroy Carles.
Then I learned it myself.
Right here.
Love can rage so strong...
...that it burns itself out.
LAURENT: Fernande!
PICASSO: You start as lovers...
but if you are not careful...
...you become victims of your own passion.
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH