Goya in Bordeaux (1999) - full transcript
Francisco Goya (1746-1828), deaf and ill, lives the last years of his life in voluntary exile in Bordeaux, a Liberal protesting the oppressive rule of Ferdinand VII. He's living with his much younger wife Leocadia and their daughter Rosario. He continues to paint at night, and in flashbacks stirred by conversations with his daughter, by awful headaches, and by the befuddlement of age, he relives key times in his life, particularly his relationship with the Duchess of Alba, his discovery of how he wanted to paint (insight provided by Velázquez's work), and his lifelong celebration of the imagination. Throughout, his reveries become tableaux of his paintings.
To my brother ANTONIO
Where am I?
Where have they put me?
Who brought me here?
The spiral...
is like life itself.
Get out of the way!
Are you crazy?
Let's go! Hurry up!
Where am I?
May I help you, sir?
Cayetana.
Cayetana.
What did those animals do to you?
- Watch where you're going!
- I'm sorry.
Forget it, Rene.
He's just a crazy foreigner.
You can't just bump into people!
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
I already told you I'm sorry.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
So what?
Rosarito.
What are you doing here, Father?
Come on.
Let's go home.
If the doctor told you
to stay in bed...
then you should stay in bed.
And if you do get up,
then stay indoors.
If you survive this,
you were born lucky.
How could you go out
in your nightshirt in the rain?
Oh, Francisco.
You must've been the laughingstock...
of the whole town.
That's all she worries about.
What people will say.
I'm fine. I'm fine.
Am I?
Normal, just normal.
Leandro.
As we were saying...
I don't share your optimism.
As long as Ferdinand VII
is in power...
pigheadedness and corruption...
will continue along
their respective paths...
and for us Liberals,
they'll make our lives impossible.
"It's the same everywhere."
It's the same everywhere...
No, no.
I'm staying here.
If I die, let them bury me.
I'm fine here in Bordeaux.
I like the city,
the countryside, the climate.
The food is good.
The people are hospitable.
And the wine...
fantastic.
And you're all here,
my old friends.
The only thing I miss...
is my villa in Madrid.
And your lithographs?
They're coming along slowly.
My eyes get tired.
I've decided to call them
"Prints of Bulls."
What do you think?
"The Bulls...
of Bordeaux."
What are you doing here, Rosarito?
Go on, get out!
I like it.
Bathtime's over, gentlemen.
That's it?
Can't I even have a peaceful
conversation with friends?
Sit down, Leandro.
I'll come back to say good-bye.
Good-bye...
- Leocadia.
- Good-bye, Leandro.
You know you're always welcome.
You abuse me because I'm old!
You're wrong if you think...
you'll get away with it.
I'm warning you.
I'm not going to die!
I'm going to live
at least 99 years...
like Titian!
God willing!
Come now.
Settle down.
No more tantrums.
You're becoming an old grouch.
What would I do without you, Leocadia?
That gentleman
is staring at you, Cayetana.
Who is she?
The one laughing with Godoy.
The Duchess of Alba.
Be careful.
She's a dangerous woman.
My greatest ambition
was to be the Court Painter.
But the other candidates
had powerful patrons.
It was a very exclusive circle.
First I had to make
a name for myself.
That meant having to flatter
powerful people.
Here, in the Osuna's salon...
gathered the most intelligent
people in Spain.
The best-educated,
the most ambitious politicians...
and the most beautiful
and elegant women.
I liked that world, I must admit,
but I didn't fit in.
Those aristocrats, politicians...
and thinkers, all influenced
by French culture...
had the power to change our country.
That power gave my life meaning...
and to this end,
using my efforts and my art...
I dedicated myself.
I had everything I wanted.
My art as a painter...
was recognized by everyone.
Well...
nearly everyone.
Rosarito...
You're not listening.
As I grew famous with time...
my enemies also grew more numerous.
Especially after I was named
the Court Painter.
Take your valerian, Dad.
I was earning more than I needed.
I had more commissions
than I could handle...
and my family life...
was happy enough.
Though I can't say
I was a good husband.
I wasn't a good husband...
Rosarito.
Maria Josefa...
was a good woman.
But Bayeu, her brother...
was a bad painter...
- And a bore.
- The valerian, Dad.
What was I saying?
Bayeu was a bore...
Right.
I loved her,
but in a different way.
The valerian...
It's repulsive!
You all are going to kill me!
Rosarito!
Rosarito, come here!
Oh, well.
I've ruined everything.
Be careful.
Don't cut yourself.
We do it for your own good!
If you act like this,
I'll leave!
You understand?
Cover yourself
and put on your robe!
- Put it on or I'm leaving.
- Wait.
I'll put it on.
I'll cover my neck...
I'll wear the plush slippers...
and I'll drink the valerian.
- All right?
- All right.
Where's your mother?
Buying food.
Did I ever tell you...
how I went deaf?
It's a gift from the gods, my child.
Since the age of 45...
my life has been a miracle.
Have I never told you?
No. What happened?
You're lying.
What was I saying?
That you want the valerian.
Right!
You should hear my story.
Immaturity and the sins of youth...
plunged me down into hell, my child.
I was very ill.
At the very gates of death.
Everyone took me for dead...
and with the devil at my side.
But as you can see...
I'm still here.
Old and deaf as a post,
yet here I am.
I can't even keep count
of all my dead friends.
At first I kept a list
and told myself:
"How sad."
But then I thought:
"How lucky it wasn't me."
The deafness...
is total.
With everything else,
it wouldn't...
be so bad.
But the illness has weakened him
significantly.
I fear for his life.
He won't see a priest.
- He refused the extreme unction.
- You must insist.
His condition is very serious.
Have you told his family?
His wife is on her way.
I don't know.
He might not see the morning.
Well, it's in God's hands now.
I've done all I can.
No, no, no...
I don't want to die!
No! No!
I don't want to die. No!
Deafness isolated me
from the world...
and for a time
I was bitter and solitary.
I didn't want to see
or talk to anyone.
From then on I got headaches...
that left me battered.
Never again will I hear
the sound of water...
children laughing...
women's voices.
Never again would I hear
birds singing...
the sound of the wind...
the thunder of a summer storm.
Never again will I hear the music...
which had once soothed me so.
That's when I started to work...
on my "Caprichos."
It's often been argued
that men are worse than women...
and the reverse.
We're all the same.
"Made for each other."
What a sacrifice.
That's how the world is.
Good advice.
Advice is only as good
as he who gives it.
The old woman knows all too well
to pull her stockings tight.
"The Bogeyman is coming"...
their parents say.
They plant fear of things
which don't exist.
They make the child
fear the "Bogeyman"...
more than the men who invented him.
Cayetana...
my love...
my life.
Where are you?
What did those animals do to you?
Cayetana, my love.
What did those animals do to you?
The imagination without reason...
brings forth impossible monsters.
But joined to it...
is the mother of the arts,
and the source of marvels.
The imagination...
joined with reason...
is the mother of the arts...
and the source of marvels.
What are you saying?
Nothing.
Did I say something?
I didn't say anything.
Did I say something?
Yes, you did.
Your neck.
Now you're decent.
Mutton dressed as lamb...
is still mutton.
Let's go.
How are you, Father?
Did you sleep well?
Go on, child.
Go on.
Don't let me stop you.
The girl has made great progress.
- Rosarito, let's have a minuet.
- Yes, ma'am.
No, no.
Nothing.
Nothing.
This morning I thought
I heard music.
I thought that perhaps...
But nothing.
I feel the vibrations...
but I can't distinguish the notes.
"The Life and Miracles
of the Glorious San Antonio of Padua...
Shining Sun of the Church"...
- Go on.
- "The Illustrious One...
Glory of Portugal...
Honor of Spain,
Treasure of Italy...
Terror of Hell...
Perpetual Crusher of Heresy...
amongst the Saints par excellence...
the Miracle Worker."
A little excessive,
don't you think?
It was the usual rhetoric.
Goya.
- Goya.
- Yes.
We'd like you to reenact
the life of the Saint...
and especially the miracle that...
Well...
Let's see...
Here it is.
"San Antonio finds himself in Padua...
and moves...
miraculously to Lisbon...
where his father,
Martin de Bullones...
- Has just been..."
- Father...
- Allow me to read.
- Of course.
"...finds himself in Padua...
moves miraculously to Lisbon...
where his father,
Martin de Bullones...
has just been unjustly
condemned to death...
for killing a man.
San Antonio convinces the court
to delay the execution...
and calls the murdered man
as witness...
to his father's innocence."
"The murdered man's grave
is opened.
The body has a slit throat...
and chest wounds.
San Antonio turns to the body
and asks:"
Tell me...
was it my father, here present...
Martin de Bullones,
who took your life?
Is my father guilty of this crime?
Martin de Bullones is innocent...
of this crime.
The dead man speaks.
He must know who the killer is.
Who then, is the real assassin?
He is!
He is my assassin!
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me!
I wanted to avoid
the mythological...
to integrate the sacred theme
of the miracle with Madrid's people.
San Isidro was where
locals of all classes...
came to celebrate the Saint.
So I went there myself...
as I tried to decide
how to paint the dome.
Not that one.
Give me the other one.
Under that one.
Do you like this one?
Water, fresh water!
Nobody move.
Let's see.
Point over there,
towards the eyes of the dead body.
Patience.
We're almost finished.
You have to go to bed.
Mom will be angry.
What do you think?
After the bulls, I'll do
a new series of"Caprichos."
Do you think I could sell
my "Disasters of War?"
I'd like to go back
to my etchings...
but my wrists and my sight are...
Sit down.
Stop complaining.
You complain all the time...
you old devil.
Let's see.
What do you think of this?
Very good.
You're coming along very well.
Someday you'll be better
than your father.
Copying is good.
You learn from the old masters.
I did it too.
- It loosens your hand.
- But...
You're still very young.
It doesn't matter.
Little by little you have to find
your own path.
The path...
which only you can follow.
Accept influence from other people.
It's necessary.
But to each his own.
For better or for worse,
do it your way.
I fought bulls when I was young.
I could have been great.
I had the abilities.
I paid my dues, you know.
Until one day a bull got too close
and half-crippled me.
- Nobody knows that.
- Secret, secret.
I fear nobody, child,
with a sword in my hand.
I've never been much
for fighting with weapons...
and now, at my age...
Well, I can fight with my brushes,
can't I?
Do you know how old I am?
Eighty.
Older.
Since the age of 45
my life has been a miracle.
- Have I told you the story?
- No, never.
Well, another time.
I'm going to tell you a...
A secret, secret.
I'm know I'm deaf...
but now I hear things
I'd never heard before.
And you know why?
Because now I hear
with my internal ears.
You can do it, too.
Do you want to?
Close your eyes and concentrate.
Close your eyes.
Listen.
Listen.
What do you hear?
Don't you hear something?
Yes.
But nothing special.
Distant voices...
cavalry bells...
the sound of a cart...
- A baby crying.
- No! That's not it!
Can't you hear
a terrible muffled sound...
like hundreds of bulls
trampling the ground?
Can't you hear the shriek
of a woman who cries...
because they've killed her son?
Can't you hear her cries of pain?
Can't you hear the boom of a cannon...
and rifles being fired...
and the howl of a wild beast?
Listen!
Listen!
You have to put more
into it, Rosarito.
You have to make an effort.
Without imagination,
we're nothing more than animals.
Are you with me?
With your imagination
you can commit the worst crime...
and nobody will punish you.
You can rise to the heavens,
or fall down into hell...
be enormous,
or infinitely small...
be an artistic genius,
or the best strategist...
or the most powerful politician.
There's only one danger, child.
You have to know when to stop...
or you could be devoured
by darkness...
and insanity.
Yes.
Now concentrate.
Close your eyes.
Let the images and thoughts
enter your mind.
Can you see how lightning
tears the sky apart...
and warns us
of the powerful thunder to come?
I hear it, Father.
Can you see your father
in another time?
In another place?
Concentrate!
Why aren't you in bed?
- I'm afraid.
- Of what? The storm?
It's over now.
Did you have a bad dream?
What did you dream about this time?
Don't you trust me?
I won't tell anyone.
I promise.
Secret...
secret.
A mad dog was chasing me.
I was running
and he was behind me.
He had huge teeth.
Slower, child.
Suddenly the mad dog...
stuck his head round the mountain.
He had white teeth,
sharp like knives...
and he wanted to eat me.
Well.
That was a bad dream.
Luckily there's...
no mad dog here.
Him? Poor thing.
He's not mad.
He just doesn't know where he is.
Look at him.
He's lost, you see?
That's why he's looking
around like that.
He's sinking.
Maybe.
What's that?
People flying.
- Wouldn't you like to fly?
- Yes, but I don't have wings.
There are no limits...
to fancy and invention, my child.
Come on, let's go to sleep.
Do you know what the biggest monster
in the universe is?
No?
Man. Only man's cruelty surpasses
that of the animal kingdom.
Animals are innocent
of the cruelties they commit.
They only follow their instincts.
But man, on the other hand...
knows when he does harm.
What do you think?
That's the difference.
Now go to sleep.
Sweet dreams, my child.
Leave the nightmares to old men.
The storm woke her up.
Are you all right, my child?
Good night.
Good night, Mummy.
Why must you paint the whole house
with your strange things?
These paintings are dark and sad.
Can't you paint something happy?
Like what?
Spring landscapes?
Bowls with flowers?
Happy people smiling?
Children and lovers?
These are not happy times.
These paintings
could bring us problems.
I'll paint what I like
on the walls of my own house.
I don't understand.
What is this interest
in monsters and nightmares?
It's hard for me to see things
the way you do.
Destroy them...
if you must.
You and the child come first.
I'm tired.
I'm going to bed.
Are you coming?
I can't.
The paint's drying.
The night is made for sleep.
And for painting.
Dear friends...
from the exile imposed upon us
by circumstance...
Well, anyway.
This verse is for all of you.
"Spaniard,
if you go to France...
And you are thirsty,
by any chance...
Water alone you mustn't drink,
or Barabbas your ship will sink.
Mix it with a little zest...
Or just don't go,
drinking wine of old Bordeaux...
And leave the chocolate
to the rest."
Gentlemen...
To liberty!
To liberty!
To a Spain free from tyranny.
To an illustrious Spain...
without war and cruelty.
Long live the liberals
Let Ferdinand VII die
Long live the liberals
Let Goya, Moratin and Salcedo
Stay with us
In Bordeaux
Stay with us in Bordeaux
Long live the liberals
Let's have a dance!
Bravo! Wonderful!
Thank you very much.
Duchess, please.
Would you mind turning a bit
to the left?
That's it.
Right there.
Maestro, must I...
- Stand the whole time?
- Remember, Duchess.
I'm deaf. If you speak slowly,
I'll understand.
Must I stand the whole time?
Only today, Duchess.
Later I'll work from the sketches.
- Would you like to rest?
- No, that's all right.
One must pay a price for art...
and this will be a masterpiece.
Right, maestro?
What is it, Josefina?
Excuse me, Duchess. No...
If you need me, call me.
I'll be downstairs.
Good night, Duchess.
Good night.
I hope to someday say
this painting...
was my best ever.
Goya.
Let's drop the protocol.
Call me Cayetana.
They say you always work at night.
Is there a reason?
The colors, Duchess.
Cayetana.
The colors are different
by candlelight.
Warmer and more beautiful.
So we should always view
the paintings at night?
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
- The night is made for love.
- Excuse me?
The night is made for sleep.
Or so they say.
And for painting...
and love.
I've heard of your "love" affairs.
And I of yours...
Cayetana.
All right, that's it.
The moment of truth.
An end to our suffering.
Let's do it.
It's coming out!
It's beautiful, Father.
It's beautiful.
It's your best lithograph ever, Father.
You've done an excellent job,
Mr. Goya.
What do you think?
Not bad, not bad.
Thank you.
Why paint me naked?
Because that's how God brought you
into this world. Naked.
Naked we are all the same
in the eyes of the Lord.
Not me.
I'm not like all people.
I'm me.
You're right.
You're Cayetana...
Duchess of Alba.
What's that?
I can't hear you.
I'm a little deaf.
Let's see if you understand this.
You're a shameless barbarian,
incapable of self-control...
you're a basic lover,
though particularly sensitive...
and you're arrogant
and obstinate as well.
If you can guess what I said...
you'll receive a reward.
"Barbarian" isn't fair...
but I like the word.
"Obstinate," I concede.
"Arrogant," well, I am from Aragon.
Now it's my turn.
You're beautiful...
intelligent...
and sensitive...
which makes you just like
most women I've met.
You're also whimsical,
spoiled, and violent.
Which is why I'm crazy about you.
Now for my reward.
You're an animal!
You're hurting me!
I love how you sharpen your claws...
before you pounce upon your victim.
Now you're being yourself.
Naked, in the flesh.
I know you...
- Cayetana.
- No, you don't.
Nobody really knows me!
I know you better than myself.
I could draw your body by memory.
Because I love you.
You like fat women.
What?
You like fat women...
with round faces
and large breasts.
I like you.
Your sharp face...
your slender neck...
your round shoulders...
your ass...
the ass of an aristocrat.
Your beautiful breasts...
made for my hands.
You're mine...
and I'm yours.
Only Goya's.
Only Goya's.
Only Goya's.
How possessive!
Cayetana...
my true love.
So full of life.
Your soft skin...
your lips...
temptingly moist.
Your mouth...
Love...
life...
death.
Time erases everything.
No...
not everything...
What do you want?
Don't be so curious.
Was she as beautiful as they say?
You wouldn't understand.
You're still a child.
- I'm a woman.
- Of course.
I've been a woman
for some time, Father.
You can't keep treating me
like a little girl.
I know much more about life
than you two think.
Father.
It's true.
You're a woman.
Time passes so quickly.
All right.
I'll talk to you the way
a man would to a close friend.
But what I tell you...
must be kept a secret.
It's very private...
and must stay between us.
Secret, secret.
You understand?
Come on.
Help me.
I have no strength.
Help me.
Day and night...
I thought only of her.
I couldn't do anything else.
Day and night I wanted
to caress her...
to kiss her lips, her breasts...
to feel her body.
I was jealous of her lovers...
of anyone who even looked at her.
Look.
Only Goya's.
She was whimsical...
vehement, passionate.
At times melancholic and sad.
What is it?
What's wrong?
- Are you ill?
- No.
She said they were setting
a trap for her...
and that she was in danger.
Why? Who from?
Cayetana just laughed...
and went back
to being frivolous again.
She liked risk.
She played games...
both with love and politics.
A double game.
These are dangerous games
for the times we live in.
They poisoned her!
Who poisoned her?
They said she preferred
to die than to face...
old age.
They said she was ill.
All lies.
Cayetana was part...
of a dark political plot...
to overthrow the Queen.
She hated the Queen.
And the Queen had her killed.
The Queen?
The Queen poisoned her?
How?
That witch...
hated her.
I had to paint the Queen
many times...
and she always seemed
so unlikable to me.
Her mouth had a certain
mean-spirited expression.
She hated Cayetana.
She hated her beauty...
her ease of manner,
her vitality...
and she wanted her wealth.
It was also known...
that Godoy, the Queen's lover...
had also been with the Duchess.
Queen Maria Luisa...
poisoned her...
with Godoy's help.
Isn't Godoy your friend?
So much for friends.
But he was good to me.
He went from being a soldier...
to ruler of Spain...
thanks entirely to his conquest
of the royal bed.
But besides being a good lover...
he was intelligent...
and crafty...
like a chameleon.
He had a limitless ambition
for power...
and a special talent for scheming.
His influence over the Queen
was notorious...
and nothing happened in the palace...
without his consent.
It's all so dirty.
Poor soul.
To die poisoned, like an animal.
The Queen and Godoy...
divided her jewels and paintings
between them.
Godoy kept Velazquez's...
"Venus in the Mirror."
And now...
I'm going to show you
my most guarded secret.
Godoy, didn't that painting belong
to the Duchess?
It did, but not anymore.
- What do you think, Goya?
- Pardon?
What do you think?
It's a masterpiece.
Quite a compliment,
from one artist to another.
A gracious comparison.
I've always thought highly
of Velazquez.
And now, if you please.
This way. Over here.
This is Jordaens' "Venus."
And now, gentlemen,
for my favorite painting.
Come closer.
Closer.
Here it is.
It's beautiful.
Isn't it one of Goya's?
The others are better...
Patience, my friends.
This painting has a secret.
Who's the model?
- You'll never guess.
- Is it Pepita Tudo?
That's of little importance.
Now, gentlemen...
Your attention, please.
Very ingenious!
This is something else!
Who is she?
Nobody knows?
It's an imaginary portrait.
You must be careful
with the Inquisition.
They're out looking
for sinners again.
Gentlemen, I advise discretion.
There's a dark room
at the San Fernando Academy...
where certain paintings are kept.
We don't want these
to end up there.
I was a coward at times.
I was weak,
and I'm not proud of it.
At times I have lied...
or said yes
when I should have said no.
I've painted stupid people
unworthy of my brush.
But I had no choice.
I did paint people I admired.
In my defense, I must say...
that I have worked a great deal.
I have sacrificed and persevered...
to overcome the hostility and envy
of my colleagues...
the criticisms of some...
and the dangers of the Inquisition.
It wasn't easy to become...
Court Painter
and Director of the Academy.
But if there's one consolation...
it's that I never made concessions.
Well, a few concessions.
Human weaknesses.
It wasn't easy to survive
in that court full of puppets.
To think, I was once
even proud to be there.
What Spain really needed...
was for everyone
to learn to read and write.
To follow the example of France
and the Enlightenment.
Here...
the only deciding factors
were ignorance...
corruption, and calumny.
What's wrong?
I'm cold.
You have a fever again.
I'm just...
a useless old man.
Don't say that.
You're just ill, that's all.
You'll be all right.
You'll see.
You've always been strong, Francisco.
I'm cold.
Hold me.
I had a dream.
About what?
I don't know.
I don't know.
What was it?
Come on.
Get some rest.
Rest and sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
What would I do without you...
Leocadia?
Sleep, Francisco.
There it is.
"The Family," by Diego Velazquez.
It's a very good painting.
The composition, the colors...
A bit rough in the execution.
How does he raise it like that?
It looks alive.
As if it took no effort to paint.
That roughness is deliberate.
It adds a certain spontaneity.
It saves him from having
to paint the details.
In my opinion...
the upper part
of the painting is useless.
This format has never been
my favorite.
Is it him?
He's looking in the mirror.
Or is the whole image
reflected in the mirror?
Or both.
I have things to do.
Stay as long as you like.
I'll be upstairs.
I almost forgot.
Tell Josefa
we'll be expecting her tomorrow.
Yes, yes.
Don't worry.
For years I'd been searching...
but I didn't know why.
There it was!
Everything explained.
Clear. Obvious.
A revelation.
That was how I wanted to paint.
It looked unfinished...
slight...
apparently effortless...
outside time, space and place.
And such delicacy and wisdom.
Beyond all physical
and palpable reality...
another dimension.
Defined only in painting...
a mirror which deforms life...
an instant reflected...
a magical reality
where all is possible.
I'll never have
Velazquez's serenity...
because I am more passionate.
I have had three masters:
Velazquez, Rembrandt...
and Nature.
Rembrandt...
Velazquez...
and imagination...
Imagination?
What a sinister period
of history I've seen.
I'd have chosen...
other things for my country.
But ignorance...
plots and corruption...
have prevailed over everything.
We Liberals believed
that France, our model...
would help us to enlighten
an illiterate people...
abandoned by God
and their monarchs.
But France sought only
its own profit.
The invasion of Spain
by the French army...
the imposition of a new monarch...
and later the sheer impudence...
of Napoleon's own brother...
deciding our fate...
wore out our patience.
Mother!
Mother!
My dear children.
Walk.
Mother!
Mother!
Father!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Murderers!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Hit him again!
Harder! Hit him again!
My life...
has gone by
like a gust of wind.
I've forgotten...
how I was as a child.
I forget...
my youth...
and now...
Who am I now?
Rosarito...
Rosarito...
My child...
Father...
Where are you?
I'm here, Father.
Cayetana...
Cayetana...
"After Goya, modern painting begins."
Andre Malraux
Where am I?
Where have they put me?
Who brought me here?
The spiral...
is like life itself.
Get out of the way!
Are you crazy?
Let's go! Hurry up!
Where am I?
May I help you, sir?
Cayetana.
Cayetana.
What did those animals do to you?
- Watch where you're going!
- I'm sorry.
Forget it, Rene.
He's just a crazy foreigner.
You can't just bump into people!
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
I already told you I'm sorry.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
So what?
Rosarito.
What are you doing here, Father?
Come on.
Let's go home.
If the doctor told you
to stay in bed...
then you should stay in bed.
And if you do get up,
then stay indoors.
If you survive this,
you were born lucky.
How could you go out
in your nightshirt in the rain?
Oh, Francisco.
You must've been the laughingstock...
of the whole town.
That's all she worries about.
What people will say.
I'm fine. I'm fine.
Am I?
Normal, just normal.
Leandro.
As we were saying...
I don't share your optimism.
As long as Ferdinand VII
is in power...
pigheadedness and corruption...
will continue along
their respective paths...
and for us Liberals,
they'll make our lives impossible.
"It's the same everywhere."
It's the same everywhere...
No, no.
I'm staying here.
If I die, let them bury me.
I'm fine here in Bordeaux.
I like the city,
the countryside, the climate.
The food is good.
The people are hospitable.
And the wine...
fantastic.
And you're all here,
my old friends.
The only thing I miss...
is my villa in Madrid.
And your lithographs?
They're coming along slowly.
My eyes get tired.
I've decided to call them
"Prints of Bulls."
What do you think?
"The Bulls...
of Bordeaux."
What are you doing here, Rosarito?
Go on, get out!
I like it.
Bathtime's over, gentlemen.
That's it?
Can't I even have a peaceful
conversation with friends?
Sit down, Leandro.
I'll come back to say good-bye.
Good-bye...
- Leocadia.
- Good-bye, Leandro.
You know you're always welcome.
You abuse me because I'm old!
You're wrong if you think...
you'll get away with it.
I'm warning you.
I'm not going to die!
I'm going to live
at least 99 years...
like Titian!
God willing!
Come now.
Settle down.
No more tantrums.
You're becoming an old grouch.
What would I do without you, Leocadia?
That gentleman
is staring at you, Cayetana.
Who is she?
The one laughing with Godoy.
The Duchess of Alba.
Be careful.
She's a dangerous woman.
My greatest ambition
was to be the Court Painter.
But the other candidates
had powerful patrons.
It was a very exclusive circle.
First I had to make
a name for myself.
That meant having to flatter
powerful people.
Here, in the Osuna's salon...
gathered the most intelligent
people in Spain.
The best-educated,
the most ambitious politicians...
and the most beautiful
and elegant women.
I liked that world, I must admit,
but I didn't fit in.
Those aristocrats, politicians...
and thinkers, all influenced
by French culture...
had the power to change our country.
That power gave my life meaning...
and to this end,
using my efforts and my art...
I dedicated myself.
I had everything I wanted.
My art as a painter...
was recognized by everyone.
Well...
nearly everyone.
Rosarito...
You're not listening.
As I grew famous with time...
my enemies also grew more numerous.
Especially after I was named
the Court Painter.
Take your valerian, Dad.
I was earning more than I needed.
I had more commissions
than I could handle...
and my family life...
was happy enough.
Though I can't say
I was a good husband.
I wasn't a good husband...
Rosarito.
Maria Josefa...
was a good woman.
But Bayeu, her brother...
was a bad painter...
- And a bore.
- The valerian, Dad.
What was I saying?
Bayeu was a bore...
Right.
I loved her,
but in a different way.
The valerian...
It's repulsive!
You all are going to kill me!
Rosarito!
Rosarito, come here!
Oh, well.
I've ruined everything.
Be careful.
Don't cut yourself.
We do it for your own good!
If you act like this,
I'll leave!
You understand?
Cover yourself
and put on your robe!
- Put it on or I'm leaving.
- Wait.
I'll put it on.
I'll cover my neck...
I'll wear the plush slippers...
and I'll drink the valerian.
- All right?
- All right.
Where's your mother?
Buying food.
Did I ever tell you...
how I went deaf?
It's a gift from the gods, my child.
Since the age of 45...
my life has been a miracle.
Have I never told you?
No. What happened?
You're lying.
What was I saying?
That you want the valerian.
Right!
You should hear my story.
Immaturity and the sins of youth...
plunged me down into hell, my child.
I was very ill.
At the very gates of death.
Everyone took me for dead...
and with the devil at my side.
But as you can see...
I'm still here.
Old and deaf as a post,
yet here I am.
I can't even keep count
of all my dead friends.
At first I kept a list
and told myself:
"How sad."
But then I thought:
"How lucky it wasn't me."
The deafness...
is total.
With everything else,
it wouldn't...
be so bad.
But the illness has weakened him
significantly.
I fear for his life.
He won't see a priest.
- He refused the extreme unction.
- You must insist.
His condition is very serious.
Have you told his family?
His wife is on her way.
I don't know.
He might not see the morning.
Well, it's in God's hands now.
I've done all I can.
No, no, no...
I don't want to die!
No! No!
I don't want to die. No!
Deafness isolated me
from the world...
and for a time
I was bitter and solitary.
I didn't want to see
or talk to anyone.
From then on I got headaches...
that left me battered.
Never again will I hear
the sound of water...
children laughing...
women's voices.
Never again would I hear
birds singing...
the sound of the wind...
the thunder of a summer storm.
Never again will I hear the music...
which had once soothed me so.
That's when I started to work...
on my "Caprichos."
It's often been argued
that men are worse than women...
and the reverse.
We're all the same.
"Made for each other."
What a sacrifice.
That's how the world is.
Good advice.
Advice is only as good
as he who gives it.
The old woman knows all too well
to pull her stockings tight.
"The Bogeyman is coming"...
their parents say.
They plant fear of things
which don't exist.
They make the child
fear the "Bogeyman"...
more than the men who invented him.
Cayetana...
my love...
my life.
Where are you?
What did those animals do to you?
Cayetana, my love.
What did those animals do to you?
The imagination without reason...
brings forth impossible monsters.
But joined to it...
is the mother of the arts,
and the source of marvels.
The imagination...
joined with reason...
is the mother of the arts...
and the source of marvels.
What are you saying?
Nothing.
Did I say something?
I didn't say anything.
Did I say something?
Yes, you did.
Your neck.
Now you're decent.
Mutton dressed as lamb...
is still mutton.
Let's go.
How are you, Father?
Did you sleep well?
Go on, child.
Go on.
Don't let me stop you.
The girl has made great progress.
- Rosarito, let's have a minuet.
- Yes, ma'am.
No, no.
Nothing.
Nothing.
This morning I thought
I heard music.
I thought that perhaps...
But nothing.
I feel the vibrations...
but I can't distinguish the notes.
"The Life and Miracles
of the Glorious San Antonio of Padua...
Shining Sun of the Church"...
- Go on.
- "The Illustrious One...
Glory of Portugal...
Honor of Spain,
Treasure of Italy...
Terror of Hell...
Perpetual Crusher of Heresy...
amongst the Saints par excellence...
the Miracle Worker."
A little excessive,
don't you think?
It was the usual rhetoric.
Goya.
- Goya.
- Yes.
We'd like you to reenact
the life of the Saint...
and especially the miracle that...
Well...
Let's see...
Here it is.
"San Antonio finds himself in Padua...
and moves...
miraculously to Lisbon...
where his father,
Martin de Bullones...
- Has just been..."
- Father...
- Allow me to read.
- Of course.
"...finds himself in Padua...
moves miraculously to Lisbon...
where his father,
Martin de Bullones...
has just been unjustly
condemned to death...
for killing a man.
San Antonio convinces the court
to delay the execution...
and calls the murdered man
as witness...
to his father's innocence."
"The murdered man's grave
is opened.
The body has a slit throat...
and chest wounds.
San Antonio turns to the body
and asks:"
Tell me...
was it my father, here present...
Martin de Bullones,
who took your life?
Is my father guilty of this crime?
Martin de Bullones is innocent...
of this crime.
The dead man speaks.
He must know who the killer is.
Who then, is the real assassin?
He is!
He is my assassin!
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me!
I wanted to avoid
the mythological...
to integrate the sacred theme
of the miracle with Madrid's people.
San Isidro was where
locals of all classes...
came to celebrate the Saint.
So I went there myself...
as I tried to decide
how to paint the dome.
Not that one.
Give me the other one.
Under that one.
Do you like this one?
Water, fresh water!
Nobody move.
Let's see.
Point over there,
towards the eyes of the dead body.
Patience.
We're almost finished.
You have to go to bed.
Mom will be angry.
What do you think?
After the bulls, I'll do
a new series of"Caprichos."
Do you think I could sell
my "Disasters of War?"
I'd like to go back
to my etchings...
but my wrists and my sight are...
Sit down.
Stop complaining.
You complain all the time...
you old devil.
Let's see.
What do you think of this?
Very good.
You're coming along very well.
Someday you'll be better
than your father.
Copying is good.
You learn from the old masters.
I did it too.
- It loosens your hand.
- But...
You're still very young.
It doesn't matter.
Little by little you have to find
your own path.
The path...
which only you can follow.
Accept influence from other people.
It's necessary.
But to each his own.
For better or for worse,
do it your way.
I fought bulls when I was young.
I could have been great.
I had the abilities.
I paid my dues, you know.
Until one day a bull got too close
and half-crippled me.
- Nobody knows that.
- Secret, secret.
I fear nobody, child,
with a sword in my hand.
I've never been much
for fighting with weapons...
and now, at my age...
Well, I can fight with my brushes,
can't I?
Do you know how old I am?
Eighty.
Older.
Since the age of 45
my life has been a miracle.
- Have I told you the story?
- No, never.
Well, another time.
I'm going to tell you a...
A secret, secret.
I'm know I'm deaf...
but now I hear things
I'd never heard before.
And you know why?
Because now I hear
with my internal ears.
You can do it, too.
Do you want to?
Close your eyes and concentrate.
Close your eyes.
Listen.
Listen.
What do you hear?
Don't you hear something?
Yes.
But nothing special.
Distant voices...
cavalry bells...
the sound of a cart...
- A baby crying.
- No! That's not it!
Can't you hear
a terrible muffled sound...
like hundreds of bulls
trampling the ground?
Can't you hear the shriek
of a woman who cries...
because they've killed her son?
Can't you hear her cries of pain?
Can't you hear the boom of a cannon...
and rifles being fired...
and the howl of a wild beast?
Listen!
Listen!
You have to put more
into it, Rosarito.
You have to make an effort.
Without imagination,
we're nothing more than animals.
Are you with me?
With your imagination
you can commit the worst crime...
and nobody will punish you.
You can rise to the heavens,
or fall down into hell...
be enormous,
or infinitely small...
be an artistic genius,
or the best strategist...
or the most powerful politician.
There's only one danger, child.
You have to know when to stop...
or you could be devoured
by darkness...
and insanity.
Yes.
Now concentrate.
Close your eyes.
Let the images and thoughts
enter your mind.
Can you see how lightning
tears the sky apart...
and warns us
of the powerful thunder to come?
I hear it, Father.
Can you see your father
in another time?
In another place?
Concentrate!
Why aren't you in bed?
- I'm afraid.
- Of what? The storm?
It's over now.
Did you have a bad dream?
What did you dream about this time?
Don't you trust me?
I won't tell anyone.
I promise.
Secret...
secret.
A mad dog was chasing me.
I was running
and he was behind me.
He had huge teeth.
Slower, child.
Suddenly the mad dog...
stuck his head round the mountain.
He had white teeth,
sharp like knives...
and he wanted to eat me.
Well.
That was a bad dream.
Luckily there's...
no mad dog here.
Him? Poor thing.
He's not mad.
He just doesn't know where he is.
Look at him.
He's lost, you see?
That's why he's looking
around like that.
He's sinking.
Maybe.
What's that?
People flying.
- Wouldn't you like to fly?
- Yes, but I don't have wings.
There are no limits...
to fancy and invention, my child.
Come on, let's go to sleep.
Do you know what the biggest monster
in the universe is?
No?
Man. Only man's cruelty surpasses
that of the animal kingdom.
Animals are innocent
of the cruelties they commit.
They only follow their instincts.
But man, on the other hand...
knows when he does harm.
What do you think?
That's the difference.
Now go to sleep.
Sweet dreams, my child.
Leave the nightmares to old men.
The storm woke her up.
Are you all right, my child?
Good night.
Good night, Mummy.
Why must you paint the whole house
with your strange things?
These paintings are dark and sad.
Can't you paint something happy?
Like what?
Spring landscapes?
Bowls with flowers?
Happy people smiling?
Children and lovers?
These are not happy times.
These paintings
could bring us problems.
I'll paint what I like
on the walls of my own house.
I don't understand.
What is this interest
in monsters and nightmares?
It's hard for me to see things
the way you do.
Destroy them...
if you must.
You and the child come first.
I'm tired.
I'm going to bed.
Are you coming?
I can't.
The paint's drying.
The night is made for sleep.
And for painting.
Dear friends...
from the exile imposed upon us
by circumstance...
Well, anyway.
This verse is for all of you.
"Spaniard,
if you go to France...
And you are thirsty,
by any chance...
Water alone you mustn't drink,
or Barabbas your ship will sink.
Mix it with a little zest...
Or just don't go,
drinking wine of old Bordeaux...
And leave the chocolate
to the rest."
Gentlemen...
To liberty!
To liberty!
To a Spain free from tyranny.
To an illustrious Spain...
without war and cruelty.
Long live the liberals
Let Ferdinand VII die
Long live the liberals
Let Goya, Moratin and Salcedo
Stay with us
In Bordeaux
Stay with us in Bordeaux
Long live the liberals
Let's have a dance!
Bravo! Wonderful!
Thank you very much.
Duchess, please.
Would you mind turning a bit
to the left?
That's it.
Right there.
Maestro, must I...
- Stand the whole time?
- Remember, Duchess.
I'm deaf. If you speak slowly,
I'll understand.
Must I stand the whole time?
Only today, Duchess.
Later I'll work from the sketches.
- Would you like to rest?
- No, that's all right.
One must pay a price for art...
and this will be a masterpiece.
Right, maestro?
What is it, Josefina?
Excuse me, Duchess. No...
If you need me, call me.
I'll be downstairs.
Good night, Duchess.
Good night.
I hope to someday say
this painting...
was my best ever.
Goya.
Let's drop the protocol.
Call me Cayetana.
They say you always work at night.
Is there a reason?
The colors, Duchess.
Cayetana.
The colors are different
by candlelight.
Warmer and more beautiful.
So we should always view
the paintings at night?
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
- The night is made for love.
- Excuse me?
The night is made for sleep.
Or so they say.
And for painting...
and love.
I've heard of your "love" affairs.
And I of yours...
Cayetana.
All right, that's it.
The moment of truth.
An end to our suffering.
Let's do it.
It's coming out!
It's beautiful, Father.
It's beautiful.
It's your best lithograph ever, Father.
You've done an excellent job,
Mr. Goya.
What do you think?
Not bad, not bad.
Thank you.
Why paint me naked?
Because that's how God brought you
into this world. Naked.
Naked we are all the same
in the eyes of the Lord.
Not me.
I'm not like all people.
I'm me.
You're right.
You're Cayetana...
Duchess of Alba.
What's that?
I can't hear you.
I'm a little deaf.
Let's see if you understand this.
You're a shameless barbarian,
incapable of self-control...
you're a basic lover,
though particularly sensitive...
and you're arrogant
and obstinate as well.
If you can guess what I said...
you'll receive a reward.
"Barbarian" isn't fair...
but I like the word.
"Obstinate," I concede.
"Arrogant," well, I am from Aragon.
Now it's my turn.
You're beautiful...
intelligent...
and sensitive...
which makes you just like
most women I've met.
You're also whimsical,
spoiled, and violent.
Which is why I'm crazy about you.
Now for my reward.
You're an animal!
You're hurting me!
I love how you sharpen your claws...
before you pounce upon your victim.
Now you're being yourself.
Naked, in the flesh.
I know you...
- Cayetana.
- No, you don't.
Nobody really knows me!
I know you better than myself.
I could draw your body by memory.
Because I love you.
You like fat women.
What?
You like fat women...
with round faces
and large breasts.
I like you.
Your sharp face...
your slender neck...
your round shoulders...
your ass...
the ass of an aristocrat.
Your beautiful breasts...
made for my hands.
You're mine...
and I'm yours.
Only Goya's.
Only Goya's.
Only Goya's.
How possessive!
Cayetana...
my true love.
So full of life.
Your soft skin...
your lips...
temptingly moist.
Your mouth...
Love...
life...
death.
Time erases everything.
No...
not everything...
What do you want?
Don't be so curious.
Was she as beautiful as they say?
You wouldn't understand.
You're still a child.
- I'm a woman.
- Of course.
I've been a woman
for some time, Father.
You can't keep treating me
like a little girl.
I know much more about life
than you two think.
Father.
It's true.
You're a woman.
Time passes so quickly.
All right.
I'll talk to you the way
a man would to a close friend.
But what I tell you...
must be kept a secret.
It's very private...
and must stay between us.
Secret, secret.
You understand?
Come on.
Help me.
I have no strength.
Help me.
Day and night...
I thought only of her.
I couldn't do anything else.
Day and night I wanted
to caress her...
to kiss her lips, her breasts...
to feel her body.
I was jealous of her lovers...
of anyone who even looked at her.
Look.
Only Goya's.
She was whimsical...
vehement, passionate.
At times melancholic and sad.
What is it?
What's wrong?
- Are you ill?
- No.
She said they were setting
a trap for her...
and that she was in danger.
Why? Who from?
Cayetana just laughed...
and went back
to being frivolous again.
She liked risk.
She played games...
both with love and politics.
A double game.
These are dangerous games
for the times we live in.
They poisoned her!
Who poisoned her?
They said she preferred
to die than to face...
old age.
They said she was ill.
All lies.
Cayetana was part...
of a dark political plot...
to overthrow the Queen.
She hated the Queen.
And the Queen had her killed.
The Queen?
The Queen poisoned her?
How?
That witch...
hated her.
I had to paint the Queen
many times...
and she always seemed
so unlikable to me.
Her mouth had a certain
mean-spirited expression.
She hated Cayetana.
She hated her beauty...
her ease of manner,
her vitality...
and she wanted her wealth.
It was also known...
that Godoy, the Queen's lover...
had also been with the Duchess.
Queen Maria Luisa...
poisoned her...
with Godoy's help.
Isn't Godoy your friend?
So much for friends.
But he was good to me.
He went from being a soldier...
to ruler of Spain...
thanks entirely to his conquest
of the royal bed.
But besides being a good lover...
he was intelligent...
and crafty...
like a chameleon.
He had a limitless ambition
for power...
and a special talent for scheming.
His influence over the Queen
was notorious...
and nothing happened in the palace...
without his consent.
It's all so dirty.
Poor soul.
To die poisoned, like an animal.
The Queen and Godoy...
divided her jewels and paintings
between them.
Godoy kept Velazquez's...
"Venus in the Mirror."
And now...
I'm going to show you
my most guarded secret.
Godoy, didn't that painting belong
to the Duchess?
It did, but not anymore.
- What do you think, Goya?
- Pardon?
What do you think?
It's a masterpiece.
Quite a compliment,
from one artist to another.
A gracious comparison.
I've always thought highly
of Velazquez.
And now, if you please.
This way. Over here.
This is Jordaens' "Venus."
And now, gentlemen,
for my favorite painting.
Come closer.
Closer.
Here it is.
It's beautiful.
Isn't it one of Goya's?
The others are better...
Patience, my friends.
This painting has a secret.
Who's the model?
- You'll never guess.
- Is it Pepita Tudo?
That's of little importance.
Now, gentlemen...
Your attention, please.
Very ingenious!
This is something else!
Who is she?
Nobody knows?
It's an imaginary portrait.
You must be careful
with the Inquisition.
They're out looking
for sinners again.
Gentlemen, I advise discretion.
There's a dark room
at the San Fernando Academy...
where certain paintings are kept.
We don't want these
to end up there.
I was a coward at times.
I was weak,
and I'm not proud of it.
At times I have lied...
or said yes
when I should have said no.
I've painted stupid people
unworthy of my brush.
But I had no choice.
I did paint people I admired.
In my defense, I must say...
that I have worked a great deal.
I have sacrificed and persevered...
to overcome the hostility and envy
of my colleagues...
the criticisms of some...
and the dangers of the Inquisition.
It wasn't easy to become...
Court Painter
and Director of the Academy.
But if there's one consolation...
it's that I never made concessions.
Well, a few concessions.
Human weaknesses.
It wasn't easy to survive
in that court full of puppets.
To think, I was once
even proud to be there.
What Spain really needed...
was for everyone
to learn to read and write.
To follow the example of France
and the Enlightenment.
Here...
the only deciding factors
were ignorance...
corruption, and calumny.
What's wrong?
I'm cold.
You have a fever again.
I'm just...
a useless old man.
Don't say that.
You're just ill, that's all.
You'll be all right.
You'll see.
You've always been strong, Francisco.
I'm cold.
Hold me.
I had a dream.
About what?
I don't know.
I don't know.
What was it?
Come on.
Get some rest.
Rest and sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.
What would I do without you...
Leocadia?
Sleep, Francisco.
There it is.
"The Family," by Diego Velazquez.
It's a very good painting.
The composition, the colors...
A bit rough in the execution.
How does he raise it like that?
It looks alive.
As if it took no effort to paint.
That roughness is deliberate.
It adds a certain spontaneity.
It saves him from having
to paint the details.
In my opinion...
the upper part
of the painting is useless.
This format has never been
my favorite.
Is it him?
He's looking in the mirror.
Or is the whole image
reflected in the mirror?
Or both.
I have things to do.
Stay as long as you like.
I'll be upstairs.
I almost forgot.
Tell Josefa
we'll be expecting her tomorrow.
Yes, yes.
Don't worry.
For years I'd been searching...
but I didn't know why.
There it was!
Everything explained.
Clear. Obvious.
A revelation.
That was how I wanted to paint.
It looked unfinished...
slight...
apparently effortless...
outside time, space and place.
And such delicacy and wisdom.
Beyond all physical
and palpable reality...
another dimension.
Defined only in painting...
a mirror which deforms life...
an instant reflected...
a magical reality
where all is possible.
I'll never have
Velazquez's serenity...
because I am more passionate.
I have had three masters:
Velazquez, Rembrandt...
and Nature.
Rembrandt...
Velazquez...
and imagination...
Imagination?
What a sinister period
of history I've seen.
I'd have chosen...
other things for my country.
But ignorance...
plots and corruption...
have prevailed over everything.
We Liberals believed
that France, our model...
would help us to enlighten
an illiterate people...
abandoned by God
and their monarchs.
But France sought only
its own profit.
The invasion of Spain
by the French army...
the imposition of a new monarch...
and later the sheer impudence...
of Napoleon's own brother...
deciding our fate...
wore out our patience.
Mother!
Mother!
My dear children.
Walk.
Mother!
Mother!
Father!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Murderers!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Halt!
Aim...
Fire!
Hit him again!
Harder! Hit him again!
My life...
has gone by
like a gust of wind.
I've forgotten...
how I was as a child.
I forget...
my youth...
and now...
Who am I now?
Rosarito...
Rosarito...
My child...
Father...
Where are you?
I'm here, Father.
Cayetana...
Cayetana...
"After Goya, modern painting begins."
Andre Malraux