Surviving Picasso (1996) Movie Script

[Man whistling]

Good morning.

Please.

[Chuckles]

Um...

Let's see.

Here.

Cezanne.

A masterpiece.

You like that?

No.

No?

Pointillist.

Uh, what? What?

Pointillist.

My version of it.

"Pointillist."

Pointillist.

Mmm?

They are

your parents?

No.

Why, uh, do you

paint like this?

Huh?

Uh, why do you

paint like this?

Well...

Oh, I'm sorry.

That's not mine.

That's, uh, my friend

braque, George braque.

It's hard to tell

the difference

sometimes.

It's all so long ago.

What is it called?

Guitar, bow tie,

and fruit bowl.

There's

the bow tie...

Good.

But, uh, where

is the fruit bowl?

Ah ha-ha.

There.

Good.

Ah.

It is all,

uh, fantasy?

All fantasy

from up here.

This is also

by braque.

Matisse, Henri Matisse.

Officer: Matisse.

Uh-huh.

This...

Officer: What is the value

you would put on all this?

It's hard to say.

Unfortunately,

nobody wants to pay me

much for any of this.

Why don't you make me

a reasonable offer?

Oh...

My wife would have

something to say to me

if I brought home

a woman like that

to hang on our wall.

Ha ha ha.

What about you?

No, I think not. No.

Man: Good evening, sir.

Good evening.

Here we are again.

Dora.

Pierre.

My friends.

Friends?

Who are they, huh?

They admire you

very much.

Of course they do.

Good.

[Chuckles]

Picasso: Ah.

Good. Yes.

Oh.

Bon soir.

Great pleasure.

Bon soir.

My dear.

Bon soir.

Ahh.

Bosches.

I showed them everything.

Matisse...

Here, boy.

...rousseau,

braque, everything.

I showed them

some early drafts

of guernica.

Last year they ransacked

my house,

and they walked off

with my linen and left

my paintings behind.

How insulting.

Preferring my towels

and my sheets

to my paintings.

Kazbec! No!

No, no! Bad boy!

How many times

do you have to be told?

You know very well

what your doctor said.

Begging? I'm ashamed.

Who are your friends,

Pierre?

Francoise.

Genevieve.

What do you do?

I'm a painter.

Painter? Like me.

And you?

Painter.

Picasso: Share

the same studio?

Who's your favorite

painter?

Van gogh.

Van gogh? Yeah,

he's all right.

Yours?

I don't know.

[Clicking

with tongue]

Who are your friends?

Francoise

and Genevieve.

They're painters.

What do they paint...

Besides

their fingernails?

He's going through

his usual routine.

"Oh, so you're painters.

"I'm a painter, too.

"Come to my studio,

I'd like to show you my work.

"I know your face

so well.

I painted it before

you were even born."

You must come

to my studio sometime.

I'll show you around.

You know,

I've painted your face

before you were born.

No one stops you

on the street

and says

you're a Picasso?

No? Never?

[Military parade music

playing]

[Doorbell rings]

We have an appointment

to see monsieur Picasso.

He told us to come.

To see his work.

Man: "That spread

over a sky dripping

with herring,

"fished out of

a ploughed-over ocean,

broiling

under a myriad sun."

Woman:

"Torso and testicle,

"where's the party

you promised

"with fiery men

of eternal erections

"rising out

of flaming bushes

"to heat up

our cold caves?

"At least get the soup,

so I can warm my feet

in its noodles."

Second man:

"My aunt had a cat

that swallowed a parrot

and cried out

all day long in a voice

as dulcet as yours..."

"Food, food, food!"

"Food! Food!"

"Food!"

"Food! Food!"

Good. On.

"Lie down,

my sweet turtle,

and"--lie down.

"And let me walk

your starry planet

with my 6-toed feet

of pliant rubber."

"We're respectable,

licensed whores,

"so hold

your filthy tongue

and supply us with

your sturdier organ."

"At your service,

madame."

[Both grunting wildly]

[Actors grunting loudly]

[Laughing]

[Coughs]

"They leap over a tub

in which sea urchins

are boiling

in an orgasm

of frenetic excitement."

Ah!

"Bubbling water

scalds the lovers..."

Kind of you to spare me

the time.

Are you cold?

Hmm?

The other night

the water froze

in the fish bowl,

so my goldfish is dead.

Imagine, a cold-blooded

creature like a fish

couldn't survive

the arctic climate

of my apartment.

Come, let me

show you around.

My print room.

This is where I print

my engravings.

You're now

in the labyrinth

of the minotaur.

Aren't you afraid

you'll never get out?

No?

You must know that

the minotaur perishes

if he doesn't devour

at least 2 young maidens

a day.

[Giggles]

That's my press.

Help me.

Mmm?

That's good.

So, you're painters?

Who is your teacher?

Genevieve is visiting

from montpellier

where she's a pupil

of maillol.

Maillol.

And who is your teacher?

I don't have one,

but I'm very much

a painter.

Picasso: Really?

Maillol is a very good

teacher for you.

When do you go back

to montpellier?

The day

after tomorrow.

Oh, so soon?

You'll be lonely

when she's gone.

No.

Come and see me.

But come because

you like me...

Not as if you're visiting

the holy shrine of Fatima,

all right?

Let's go. He's not going

to show us any paintings.

Of course he will.

Why else

did he invite us?

Don't pretend

to be so naive.

Francoise:

After Genevieve left

for montpellier,

I didn't return

to Picasso's studio

for several weeks.

I deliberately

held myself back,

perhaps because I sensed

that if I let myself

come too close to him,

my whole life

would be totally changed.

It was what happened

to everyone whose life

was touched by his.

No one could

ever remain the same.

They come once a week

to see his papers.

Once a week I tell them,

let alone his parents

and his grandparents,

even Picasso's

great-grandparents

are not Jewish.

30 for

the groceries.

They're thieves.

How much was the wine?

20.

Must be German.

Just change

the wine merchants.

You said to bring her

straight in whenever

she comes.

Well, she's come.

Ah!

[Laughing]

Good afternoon.

But the poor girl

is all wet.

Look at this, sabartes.

Her hair

is all wet.

Ines, get me a towel.

I must dry it for her.

Soaking wet. Huh.

I had a feeling

when I woke up

that you would

come today.

It may even

have been a dream.

Poor girl comes here

drenched to the skin

and in mortal danger

of catching pneumonia,

the least we can do

is dry her hair for her.

Come with me.

I'll do it for you.

This is Ines.

Hello.

Here. Sit down.

You could

even have a bath.

Look. Hot water.

No, don't! It's too hot.

How many places

in Paris today

where there's hot water?

So come have a bath

any time.

Let's see how good I am

at drying you off.

[Giggling]

Good?

Better?

You do it.

Hmm.

Well?

Well, what?

You're not angry

with me?

No.

If you don't even

push me away,

I might get the idea

I could do anything

at all with you.

If you were a properly

brought-up young lady,

you would feel insulted.

Here I am, an artist

of some reputation,

and you're an innocent

young girl come to visit,

and what do I do?

I take advantage of you.

I insult you.

I don't feel insulted.

Mmm.

Would you let me

do it again?

If--if you like.

No.

No, under

such conditions...

What pleasure is there

in seducing anyone?

Oh, is that

what's happening?

You're seducing me?

You think you're

very sophisticated,

don't you?

But I tell you

you don't know anything.

What you looking at?

Nothing.

Yes, well...

This modern cult

of free sex

doesn't interest me

at all.

One might as well

go for a haircut

or eat a ham sandwich.

There's nothing

serious in it.

So...

Hmm.

Shall we do

something serious?

Yes.

Ok.

I'll show you

my etchings.

[Horns blaring]

[Cheering]

[Group chanting]

¶ liberte ¶

francoise: After

the liberation of Paris,

Picasso, who was already

a world-famous artist,

also became a hero

of the French resistance--

not that he had

done anything very heroic.

He said, "it wasn't

that I behaved well,

but that others

behaved badly."

From the wild west?

No, I'm from New York.

My mother got that

in Times Square.

Francoise: Picasso's

secretary sabartes

claimed that

after the war,

tourists only came

to Europe

to see the pope,

Pompeii,

and Pablo Picasso.

Soldier: Careful, Pablo.

Photographer: Cheese.

Soldier: Yee-hee!

All right!

Francoise: Meanwhile,

I was having

my own liberation.

For the last few years

I'd been wanting

to give up my studies

and just paint

full time,

but I hadn't dared

mention this to my father.

Not till I met Picasso.

My father had worked hard

to form my character,

to make me like himself--

tough and afraid

of nothing.

But when I grew up,

I began to have my own

ideas and desires,

and if they

were opposed to his,

he'd go wild and become

completely irrational.

I knew that this would

take all my courage.

What's the matter

with you?

Listen...

I've made up my mind.

I'm going to study

painting full time.

You must be mad.

I am responsible

for myself.

You will finish your degree

in the humanities and

then go on to law school.

I tried all that,

but I found

it doesn't suit me.

I'm not going on

to law school,

but I shall try

and be a painter!

I'll give you

half an hour.

Go to your room

and think it over,

and in half an hour,

come back and tell me

you've been a fool.

I don't need to think

anything over.

I'm giving you

this one chance.

That's all.

If you don't take it,

I'll make my own decision

for you.

I'll have you committed...

Because you are mad.

[Doorbell rings]

Is grandma home?

[Automobile pulls up]

[Front door slams]

Don't you dare touch me.

Don't dare?

I dare!

Aah! No!

I'll teach you

to say no to me!

No one says no to me!

No one in this world!

Woman: Francoise?

Francoise!

From now on,

you beg for your bread

in the streets.

What...

She did it

to herself.

He's lying. He did it.

Don't believe her.

She's crazy.

I believe her.

It's you who are crazy.

Here, child.

And in my house.

Aren't you ashamed?

Please leave.

Leave.

Leave, leave my house.

Francoise

will stay with me.

Let her stay with you.

You're welcome

to each other...

Because I've finished

with you.

Both of you!

Finished!

There.

[Front door slams]

Oh.

Now, you didn't

paint the war

because you're not

that kind of painter,

but, uh, it is there,

just the same.

People were hungry,

so I painted sausages

and leeks.

Even a casserole

can scream.

Do you have

an appointment?

Yes.

He told me to come for

a lesson in engraving

this afternoon.

Listen...

It will be better

for you to go home.

Why?

I'm doing you

a favor.

Thank you...

But I don't want

to anger him

by being late

for my lesson.

Excuse me.

So, we are agreed

on this and this?

Haven't agreed

on anything yet.

Ah, francoise!

This is monsieur kahnweiler.

He's my oldest dealer.

Kahnweiler:

Mademoiselle.

Hello.

That is to say that, uh,

he shamelessly has

exploited me longer

than anyone else.

He gets whatever

he wants out of me

by sheer persistence.

He sits there

like a big stone

on his German buttocks.

I'd do anything

to be rid of him.

I'll send the packers

this afternoon.

I haven't said yes.

Shall we say at 4:00?

Look, this may

interest you.

I did it in 1902.

Read what I wrote

on the bottom there.

"Quando tengas

ganas de joder, jode."

Picasso:

Translate it.

Kahnweiler: Oh, no, no.

Go on.

Well, if

you're too coy...

You translate it.

Kahnweiler: Good-bye,

mademoiselle.

"When you feel

like fucking, fuck."

[Picasso and sabartes

laughing]

Why are you wearing

this dress

for an engraving

lesson, hmm?

Well, one has to dress up

a bit to visit Picasso.

Oh, well...

Yeah.

I want to show you

something.

Come with me.

You're

a very lazy dog.

You're

always sleeping.

Maybe he's dead.

[Francoise giggles]

I'll come up behind,

catch you if you fall.

Don't let anyone in.

Well...

Here.

Go on.

Picasso: Nice view, huh?

Would you

like to stay here?

Up here?

Yes.

Alone?

Yes.

I'd bring you food

twice a day and...

At night

we'd go out together

in disguise

like the Arabian nights,

and, uh,

you'd be my secret.

My secret captive.

I'd like to be alone

and paint all day.

I wouldn't mind losing

my liberty for that.

But then

you'd have to lose

some of yours, too.

And I'm not so sure

you'd like that.

[Chuckles]

I thought you would

be rather androgynous

under all those clothes

you always wear.

But you're not.

You're definitely

not a boy.

Thank God who made you.

For once he got it

absolutely right.

Yes.

It's ridiculous

the 2 of us living

in different places.

True.

You should be

with him in the

grands-augustins.

Mm-mmm.

Give me a good reason

why not.

She's young.

You've got to

give her time.

I don't have much time.

That's true, too.

What do you mean

by that?

I...

You can tell

your grandmother today

that you're moving out

and coming to live with me,

or I'll tell her.

Please,

don't say anything.

Why not?

What, is she

some sort of an ogre?

Anyway, I'm not scared

of anyone's grandmother.

He's had 100 lives

already.

And the whole world

knows how many women

he's destroyed.

I couldn't bear it

for you, darling.

Do you really think

I'd let myself

be destroyed by a man,

even if he is Picasso?

Well, I--I don't

understand you.

Uh, it's going

against nature.

You are so young.

And he's old.

It's as if you've taken

a wrong turning.

No.

For the first time,

I feel that everything

is right,

that I'm turned

in the right direction.

I'm sure. I'm so sure.

I've never been

so sure of anything

in my whole life.

Ohh.

Then it doesn't matter

what I say.

Except...

I love you.

And whatever happens...

I love you.

Good night.

Don't go and live

with him, francoise.

Remember these years

won't come back again.

If you waste them...

They're gone.

It's perverse for...

A young girl to live

with her grandmother

as you do.

I suppose

she's warned you

against me, eh?

Who needs to be warned?

Your life is

not exactly a secret.

Well, there

have been a few women

in my life, yes.

Would you stop

doing that?

Stop it. Don't do it.

Don't--I can't help it

if my hair's falling out.

Stop it! Stop it.

In fact, there have

been several women.

Hundreds,

thousands of them.

I've lost count.

I can't remember

how many of them

there are.

So many.

Now there's only you.

I love you more and more

every day.

You mean

everything to me.

"You mean everything

to me.

"If I am sad,

"it is because

I cannot be with you

as I would like to be.

"I would give anything

for you to be happy.

"My own tears would

mean nothing to me

"if I could stop you

from shedding even one.

I love you."

Papa loves us, Maya.

Then why doesn't

he live with us?

Why does he only

come on Sundays?

Well, he's very busy

all week.

Everyone wants

his paintings,

so he has to work

terribly hard.

He's doing it for us.

To earn money for us.

Francoise: Picasso

had met Marie-therese

when she was 17 years old.

She was so simple that

she'd never even heard of him.

He had to show her

his photograph

in a popular magazine

to prove to her

that he was famous.

His paintings

of Marie-therese

are all about

making love.

They are full of

sensuality, of sexuality.

But I suppose

she wasn't very intelligent

and he got bored

with her.

And that was when

dora maar entered his life.

His early portraits of dora

were as tender and lyrical

as those of Marie-therese

when he first loved her,

though in

much stronger colors,

black hair glistening

with blues and Greens

to express dora's

much stronger character.

But within a few years, he had

tortured dora out of shape

and turned her

into the weeping woman

with bulging eyes

and swollen nostrils

and lashes that

had become teardrops.

She lived around

the corner from him,

and he showed up at her studio

whenever it suited him.

So she spent her days

and nights waiting for him.

She was psychologically

his prisoner,

and once he actually

painted her behind bars

with a crust of bread

and a jug of water.

That picture

no longer exists.

He painted over it.

But her misery remained.

More insects for you.

This is how you

wake up one morning,

like kafka.

What has happened

to you?

I was attacked.

A man attacked me

and stole my bicycle.

When was this?

Just now.

He attacked me

and stole my bicycle.

We must inform

the police.

I told them,

but they said

the assailant

is within.

He's you.

You're my assailant.

Pull yourself together.

You may be

a great painter,

but morally

you're worthless.

You live

an evil life.

You have

contaminated

the whole world.

That's exactly

what my critics say.

Who have you

been reading?

I'm thinking of you

and your salvation.

You have to be saved.

Well, you save me.

No, don't you see?

I can't.

Corruption is

eating me up, too.

I'm like

a rotted tooth

in your mouth.

It's not your fault.

It's not my fault--

it's God's fault.

No!

Ask to be forgiven.

We must pray

together.

If we don't pray,

we are doomed,

doomed together.

Don't you

understand? We are

one soul before God.

Pray together.

One soul, and

we'll be redeemed.

Slow, slow, slow.

Slow down! Shh!

Just calm down.

Calm.

There.

We'll go see

Dr. lacan.

Don't make me

leave you!

No, I'll take you.

Of course I will.

I'll take you.

You just need some rest,

that's all, hmm?

Not without you.

No, no, no,

I'm going with you.

Picasso:

Dora's weak.

She cracked

under the strain.

Francoise:

Under the strain

of you.

You should

be helping her,

not hurting her

more.

It's only human

not to peck

a weaker person

to death.

No. What is human

is to be strong

and survive.

The rest is

sentimental rubbish.

Anyway,

there's nothing between

dora and me anymore.

She'll tell you herself.

Come on.

It's not much further.

I don't want to go.

Huh?

She's expecting us.

I thought you felt

so terribly sorry for her.

Exactly.

That's why

I don't want to go.

My God,

what's the matter

with you, huh?

Huh,

I'm doing this for you,

don't you understand?

I'm a man

of deep feelings.

You have no feelings.

You know nothing

about love.

You're as cold

as a fish.

I'll throw you in

the sea and warm you up.

[Growls]

What's the matter

with you?

An exaggerated

sense of humor.

"I don't want to go."

Mmm.

Come.

"I don't want to go."

The tension

between negative

and positive

shapes is...

Very strong.

She's intelligent,

isn't she?

I really like

intelligent women.

Sometimes.

Of course,

I like stupid ones, too.

I take it you've

come for something other

than to study

my paintings.

That's right.

The point is,

I'm trying to make francoise

come and live with me,

but she says she won't

because of you.

Shh!

What do I have

to do with it?

Exactly.

You heard it

yourself.

She has nothing

to do with it.

Because there is nothing

between her and me.

Tell her.

No, absolutely

nothing.

Then that's settled.

Everyone knows

where they stand.

Oh, yes.

Everyone

always knows where

they stand with you.

She's not going to last

15 minutes with you.

Perhaps she thinks

you'll immortalize her.

Don't raise her hopes.

Picassos may turn out

to be no more immortal

than the skeleton

of some extinct

bird of prey.

Hmm.

Come and have dinner

with us.

You should

be glad that I'm

in a good mood again

and in love.

You've never loved

anyone in your life.

Psst!

You even hate yourself.

Dora is quite

a psychologist,

you know.

Come on, I'll

take you to lipp

and feed you Sauerkraut.

So, where are you

going this summer?

If you're not going

to menerbes,

we might.

You'll like

menerbes.

It's on a cliff.

It belonged to

one of Napoleon's

generals.

It belongs to me.

That's right.

I gave it to dora.

The owner wanted

a painting of mine,

so we made

an exchange.

His house

for my painting.

The owner's wife was

killed in a car crash.

That's why he couldn't

bear the place anymore.

I think it's haunted

by that poor dead woman.

Don't say

these things.

Anyway, if you're

not going there

this summer,

we might.

Francoise and I.

But if it's

dora's house, then I--

it's a present.

I gave it to her.

Tell her, dora.

Yes, it's my house

which he gave to me,

as his present to me.

It's full of scorpions

as you'll find out.

Shake out your shoes

in the morning

before putting them on.

Little scorpions...

Zzzz.

Ch ch ch.

[Hooting]

[Cat meows]

Look at that, look!

I love wild cats.

They're always pregnant

because they think

of nothing but love.

All these cats

ever get to eat is lizards.

Then the lizards

eat them from inside.

That's why

they are so thin.

Francoise!

Francoise, look!

Watch!

[Meows]

[Cat screams]

Look, look, look!

[Cat screams]

[Bugles blare]

Aah!

[Singing

LA marseillaise]

Francoise: That was

the sort of scene he loved:

Only men with scarcely

a woman in sight.

It was the only bastille day

I had ever seen

where there was

no dancing at all.

"Thank God for that,"

Picasso said.

He hated dancing.

To sleep with as many women

as possible,

that was fine.

But to dance with them...

That was immoral.

Huh?

Thank you.

From grandma?

What does she want?

Huh?

From Marie-therese,

I suppose?

Yeah,

she's so sweet,

writing to me

every day.

"There's only one you,

my wonderful,

terrible lover.

"No one else

in the entire world,

not even Maya.

I live for you

with every breath."

You would never write

to me like that.

No, I wouldn't.

Marie-therese

really loves me.

She's a real woman.

Look above you.

[Car horn blares]

Hey!

What are you doing?

I'm hitchhiking

to marseilles,

and from there

I'm going to Algeria.

Ha! Algeria.

Another madwoman.

Get in the car!

No, I've

made up my mind.

Get in the car!

Hey, get in the car!

Come on!

Stop!

Francoise!

I'm not going back

to that house.

Come here!

Come back!

Francoise!

I am not going back

to that house.

Wh-what's wrong?

You can't do this to--

you can't,

mademoiselle.

Monsieur needs you.

L-let me go!

Get into the car!

Let me go!

Get into the car!

Let me go!

I wish I could

wrap you up in

one of those tents

that Muslim women

wear.

In Spain we believe

that the eye is like

a sexual organ

and looking at

a woman can be rape.

Rape with the eye.

[Water swishes]

I want you to swear

that you will

love me forever.

Swear before God.

But you don't

believe in God.

Shh! Not in here.

Kneel.

Come on, kneel.

Kneel down.

Now, say it,

"I, francoise,

swear to love Picasso

"and only Picasso

"forever and ever.

Amen."

"I, francoise, swear

to love Picasso

"and only Picasso

"forever and ever.

Amen."

Good,

now you've sworn it.

You can never run away

from me again.

Now, you swear,

you swear.

Why did you run away?

Aren't you happy with me?

You can't

pretend to be

the easiest person

in the world

to get along with.

I'm a perfectly

straightforward character

with all my cards

on the table.

But there are

so many cards,

and some of them

are under the table,

too.

And then suddenly

they pop up like

Marie-therese,

and now

who knows who else

is going to appear.

You think too much

up here.

You shouldn't

think up there,

you should feel

down there.

You should have a child.

You should have my child,

then you'd learn

how to feel.

You'd be a real woman.

You'd be my woman.

The exhibition's

on the fourth.

I have to have

my answer today.

I must tell

my printer.

Who knows what this day

will bring

before the sun

will set on it?

I've been here

every day

this week,

and every day

I hear

the same thing.

Well, perhaps tomorrow

will be different.

Where there is life,

there's always hope,

my friend.

Hope is green

and eternal.

Look, look, look,

I'm neither

green nor eternal.

I-I don't know about

everybody else,

but I must get back

to New York.

I have a business

to run.

And so have I.

My business

is called Picasso.

I have

to see him today.

It's imperative.

Imperative?

Imperative,

that's right.

Why don't you try

and get up?

[Moans]

No, no, don't.

Try!

Don't torture me!

Go away.

I can't stand it,

I can't stand it

any longer.

Of course not,

without your coffee

and brioche.

What were you

thinking of?

The man has to eat.

Yes, he's human.

Don't put it

on the bed.

I'm--I'm going away,

I must.

There's

no other way out.

No, you'll feel

better in a minute.

I can't stand it

any longer.

You know

this is no life.

What am I doing here?

You know very well

I'm not doing anything.

Every day I work worse

than the day before.

And today you'll

do something

you like.

Just get up

and start work

and you'll see.

We've lit the stove.

The studio's all warm.

What makes you think

today will be any better

than yesterday?

But yesterday

was wonderful.

You finished

your whole series

on the Pont Neuf.

Yeah,

but is it any good?

Go and see

for yourself.

No. It would

only depress me.

But

it's wonderful!

Kootz says he has

to see you today.

It's imperative.

Ha! He said it was

imperative yesterday.

He said it was imperative

the day before.

He's making

my life hell.

He says he has to

get back to America,

and kahnweiler

is there, too.

They're sitting

side by side

in the salon.

But they loathe

each other.

Well, you go

and tell them.

Tell them what?

I don't know.

Tell them Picasso

has a stomachache.

Well, it's true,

I have a stomachache.

Every time

I inform my doctor,

he just shows me

his grandson's drawings.

If you get up,

you'd feel better.

Why don't you try?

I hate it when people

try to bully me.

It's particularly ugly

in a woman, francoise.

[Bugle blaring]

Hey!

[Applause]

Good morning.

Good afternoon.

Want a light?

Por favor.

Don't you have

any matches?

No.

Sorry to keep

you waiting.

Monsieur.

How do you do?

Bonjour, maitre.

Señor.

Hello.

Buon giorno.

I'm honored.

Jean-Claude, are you

here again today?

Madame.

Hello.

Monsieur.

Pablo.

Monsieur.

Madame, hello.

Kootz, what

are you doing here?

No one told me.

Why didn't you tell me

he was here?

Francoise, keeping

Mr. kootz waiting.

Come with me.

I have something

to show you.

Good. Finally.

I'll be back.

Of course he didn't

even see me.

Mr. kootz has

come all the way

from New York.

Oh, the only reason

kootz is in Paris

is to buy picassos.

He goes nowhere else,

sees no one else.

He doesn't even

go to the louvre.

He says it isn't

abstract enough for him.

Do you, uh,

do you think Picasso

will sell him something?

What?

What will he sell him?

What has he got?

I'm sure he'll

show you very soon.

Oh!

Now, in New York

I can sell everything

that you give me

in 5 minutes.

Just like that.

How much?

For, ha ha.

For more than any painter

alive today.

More than Matisse?

Oh, more, more.

This is too--

this is wonderful.

You still

have this, huh?

It's a braque.

I've had it

for 30 years.

Well, m-Matisse has sent

a lot of new work,

but I keep telling them

in New York,

"wait till you see

the new picassos,

wait till you see

the new picassos."

I've got them

all steamed up.

So, all this,

all this is new?

Huh, well.

Ah, ah. Huh.

How many were you

thinking of?

Uh, 9.

He wants 9 pictures.

If wishes were horses,

beggars would ride.

Sabartes

loves old proverbs.

He's such

an old woman.

9's impossible.

7? I--I can't go home

with less than 6.

What about

my other dealers?

What about

kahnweiler?

Kahnweiler?

Kahnweiler is still

on pre-war prices,

pre-world war I

prices.

I am here to make

a serious offer.

Kahnweiler's

my oldest dealer.

He bought

when no one else

would spit at me.

Yes, but great art

can't be bought

with sentiment.

You need something

more substantial.

Uh-huh?

I like your necktie.

Oh, thank you.

Is it American?

Yes.

New York?

Uh, saks

fifth Avenue.

Oh.

Are you interested?

Am I interested?

I would...

I would

have it shipped

the moment that,

uh, it was finished.

A painting can never

be finished.

Well, of--of course,

that's--that's

what I meant.

Art is always

in process.

I did--I didn't

mean to imply...

To finish a painting

means to destroy it,

to rob it of its soul.

To give it the puntilla,

the coup de grace.

No, my friend,

the day I finish a painting,

that day I'm finished.

I really like

that necktie.

Then it would

be my pleasure

to give it to you.

Hmm?

Here.

Huh?

Oh, thank you.

Oh.

Mr. kahnweiler,

you're still here.

I'm so sorry.

I can't think

what happened today,

why you've been kept

waiting so long.

Well, it amuses him

to think of me

sitting out here,

wondering what

he might be selling

to other dealers.

It's been

his favorite game

with me

for

the past 35 years.

Picasso:

Ok. See you

tomorrow.

Kootz:

Well, I can change

the reservation time.

Kahnweiler, what

are you doing here?

No one told me you--

why didn't you tell

me Mr. kahnweiler

was here?

He's my old friend.

How are you?

Do you like my tie?

Kootz gave it to me.

It's from New York.

I think it looks

nice on you.

Saks fifth aven--

is it saks?

Yes. Mm-hmm.

How are--why didn't

you tell me he was

here, you silly--

so, s--listen--

I'll show you

something.

Uh, you have

a good journey.

Well, thank you--

good. You happy?

Well, I hope to be. I--

good.

Bad.

Think he'll sell him

anything?

Did he sell you

anything?

He told me

to come back tomorrow.

Why did you

give him

your necktie?

He said he liked it.

What could I do?

I've got such a pain

right here. I--

have you?

...can change

my reservation,

because he told me

they were all booked.

[Brush stroking]

Don't you get tired

standing all that time?

You've been working

for nearly 9 hours.

While I work,

I leave my body

outside the door,

the way muslims

take off their shoes

before they enter

the mosque.

I love these spotlights.

I even prefer them

to natural light.

They set off

every object.

There.

You'll find the deep

shadows they make

in most

of my still lifes,

because they were

painted at night.

Painting is stronger

than I am.

It makes me do

what it wants.

It holds the brush.

It doesn't seem

to obey my brain,

but something else

over which I have

no control.

Now, look at this.

Obviously,

it's a woman.

It's you in

your long black dress.

But you seem to be

turning into a...

A bouquet of flowers

or a lilac bush.

Very mysterious...

I think I've

painted one thing,

and it's another.

I've become

so fatalistic,

I think, well,

if it's blue,

it must be a woman,

if it has a beard,

it must be a man.

I make a lot of mistakes,

and so does God.

He makes a dachshund

and then an elephant

and a squirrel and a whale.

Like me.

He's tried everything,

like me.

We have no style.

Style only comes

after you're dead.

There are painters

who make themselves

a little cake mold,

and then

they bake cakes.

Always the same cakes.

You can try anything

in painting,

provided you never

do it again.

Don't sell yourself

anything.

Don't become

your own connoisseur.

Now!

[Clamor

in many languages]

What are you going

to call him? Pablo?

Or Paulo, like

your other son? How

old is Paulo now?

Uh, why not Pablo?

Another Pablo Picasso.

[Baby cries]

Mmm.

[Mimics crying]

Ah. Doesn't he look

exactly like me?

An authentic Picasso.

He certainly

has the same hair.

What ugly flowers.

Aren't they?

Prime example

of my taste

for bad taste.

I have excellent

taste in women

and children.

Let me see him.

[Wails]

Hold his head!

Francoise: Every

Thursday and Sunday,

he would disappear.

Those were the days

he spent with

his other family,

Marie-therese

and Maya.

She was the only person

allowed to cut his nails,

a dangerous procedure,

because if the parings

were to fall

into the wrong hands,

they could be used

against him as black magic.

The same with

his hair clippings.

All of these were kept

and dated carefully,

just like every scrap

he ever drew.

Do you want me to

cut your hair today?

Is there anything

left to cut?

Yes. Look at this.

Hmm, so soft.

Beautiful.

No, it's--look,

do you like this?

Mm-hmm.

Shall I cut it?

Want to see me bald?

Give me

the scissors.

No.

Come on, give me

the scissors.

Right, hold it there.

Good.

Finished?

There, papa's

a bald old man now, hmm?

Do you like it? Huh?

Kiss me on the head.

You like it?

Yes.

You like it?

And another.

I've had

such trouble

with the electricity

bill.

They say you have

to pay it first,

and then they'll

investigate and

give you a refund.

Come here.

Maya and I will have

to go shopping for

a new coat for her.

She's growing

so fast.

Shh.

Money is such

a worry for you,

and Maya and I

try not to spend

too much.

Without you and Maya,

my life would be...

A desert waste.

And from now on,

I want you

to write me

twice a day.

Every day,

you understand?

Mm-hmm.

Twice a day,

because I'm sick if

I don't hear from you.

Really sick.

Miserable and lonely.

After our son was born

we spent less

and less time in Paris.

Picasso decided that

children need sea air,

and as soon

as it was spring,

we went to golfe Juan

and stayed right

through the autumn.

But, of course,

wherever Picasso went,

his assorted families

went, too,

why don't you

let me teach you

how to swim?

I swim very well

up to my knees.

I can make love

underwater,

remember?

Are you cold?

Yes, I'm freezing.

[Shivers]

You know what

I think would be nice?

What?

If you would let

Marie-therese and Maya

come and visit us.

Why?

Why not? Give me

one good reason.

You don't understand

these things yourself.

I understand that

Claude has a half-sister,

and I would like him

to meet her.

For a middle-class girl,

you have very little

sense of propriety.

You were very badly

brought up.

Very badly. Go away.

Claude was saying

whole sentences

by the time

he was 18 months.

Picasso: Yeah.

When did he

start walking?

He must've been--

3 days.

15 months.

Oh, I shouldn't.

Maya walked

before she was

a year old.

Girls are

usually quicker

than boys.

But I

didn't wean her

till 14 months.

Oh, I started Claude

on solid food

at 4 months.

4 months? Imagine.

He did very well

with bananas and cereal.

And beef steaks.

Beef steaks?

Before he had teeth?

He was born with teeth.

Strong teeth, like mine.

I used to mash

the yolk of an egg

for him in milk.

Mm-hmm.

You haven't

finished your tea.

It will get cold.

Oh.

Thank you.

Don't hope

that you can ever

take my place.

Of course not.

Others have tried

and failed.

I shall always be

the first and most

important with him.

That is all

I wanted to say.

Francoise: He was

very disappointed

with this meeting.

"You're not

a real woman,"

he accused me.

A real woman would

have fought over him,

physically fought,

like dora maar did

with Marie-therese.

It happened while

he was painting guernica,

that great human cry

against aggression

and hate between

man and man...

And woman and woman.

This man

is the father

of my child.

You have

no right

to be here.

It's true

I haven't got a child,

but I think

he finds me equally,

if not more amusing,

without one.

Make up your mind.

Which one of us

do you want?

I like you both. I have

no complaints at all.

You must fight it out

between yourselves.

Oh!

[Grunting, struggling]

Ow! Ow!

And this.

[Laughter] Hey!

Garbageman!

Don't look at her.

Who's that?

Completely crazy.

When I was married to you,

you were an artist.

What are you doing now?

Collecting garbage. Oh!

Who is that?

A garbageman.

Artist to garbageman.

Olga my wife.

That's Olga?

They call you "king

of the rubbish dump."

King of the rubbish dump.

That's the only kind

of king you are.

Who is this one

he has got with him?

Who is she?

Where did he find her?

Go away. Go home.

I'm his wife.

His wife.

I am the only

madame Picasso.

Where's your son?

My son?

Yeah.

He's your son.

Every bit of him.

He does no work,

he spends

all of my money,

and then

he asks for more.

He's going

from bad to worse,

like you.

Nothing but drink

and girls,

exactly like his father.

Picasso:

I don't drink.

Have you heard

of Rembrandt?

Francoise?

Have you...

Heard of Rembrandt?

If you were like him,

you would be a real painter.

Have you heard

of Beethoven?

He is a great genius.

You, you are nothing.

Nobody. Garbage.

Oh! That goes very well

with your trousers.

I eat caviar...

Francoise: Picasso

had met Olga in 1917.

She was with

diaghilev's

ballet russe.

Diaghilev chose

his dancers

either because

they were good dancers,

or because they had

good social connections

and could be

useful to him.

Olga fell into

the latter category.

Who's the dancer?

That is

Olga koklova.

She can't dance,

but her father

is a general in

the Russian army.

You better

be careful.

Of her or the general?

You start

something with

a Russian woman,

that's it.

You marry her.

No, she really

can't dance.

But my peacocks

are good.

Francoise: Olga

and Picasso were

married in 1918.

Their son Paulo

was born in 1921,

the same year

as I was.

[Shouting in French]

Paulo came in second

at the monte Carlo

rally.

Ha!

Imagine?

With all those

professionals.

Iviva Paulo!

That's all

he's good for, riding

that stupid motorcycle

I was stupid enough

to buy him.

Playing boules with you.

Aw...

You're a bad influence

on him--

well, everyone Paulo meets

is a bad influence on him.

He's a good son.

He's very proud

of you.

Isn't that so,

mademoiselle?

Stop calling her

mademoiselle.

Here she is

with a child.

Well, 2 children,

including that lump

up there.

Whoo!

Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!

[Cheering]

[Siren]

It's all right,

everything is fine--

[yelling in French]

No! Let me go!

Pull her up at once!

Up you come!

It's disturbing

the peace.

Such behavior

is inadmissible.

Get Paulo.

Go get Paulo.

Fortunately

for all concerned,

he's your son,

and as commissioner

of police,

I can take that

into consideration

for a time,

but you must put

a stop to it,

monsieur.

Oh, I'll put a stop

to it, all right.

Bring Paulo, I said!

I'm not going

in there alone!

He doesn't even

want me in!

You son of

a white Russian!

Lowest form

of animal life!

And you! You're

responsible, too!

Do you hear me?

He's my son,

you're my wife, so

he's your son also!

Oh. Of course.

It's unbelievable!

Throwing a woman

out of the window!

Idiot!

Just having

some fun, papa.

Yes.

Your fun is costing

me too much money.

I'm sick of

paying your debts.

I don't know what's

to become of you.

I never heard

of such a thing.

I had plenty of women,

but never in my life

did I throw one

out of a window.

I won't do it again,

papa. I promise.

Well...

I suppose you

can't help it.

You're

a Russian. It's all

from your mother.

She's mad, so

you were born mad.

I suppose

I'm to blame.

I should never

have married her

or had a child with

someone like that.

Well, then I wouldn't

be here, papa.

Hmm.

I should never

have married her.

I was warned,

but I didn't listen.

Out of a window?

Francoise: When they

were first married,

Picasso was amused

by the smart social circles

to which Olga

introduced him.

They even had a chauffeur

with white gloves,

the same marcel

whom I met 15 years later,

only without

the white gloves.

It didn't take Picasso

long to tire of all

the snobbish parties,

and by the 1930s,

his paintings of her,

always the surest

indication of his feelings,

no longer showed

a radiant dancer,

but a prematurely aged

and shrewish wife

whom he had come

to detest.

Isn't it strange?

I have never seen

you paint before.

Why strange?

I also make love.

Have you ever seen

me do that before?

[Speaking in Russian]

Monsieur,

I could do something

very good for you.

Lean over here.

Let me show you.

[Speaks Russian]

Would you like

curls, or a wave...

Or a fringe?

Or would you like

a little parting,

or all?

Ha ha!

Oh, there,

a little frieze,

little bumps...

A little lace.

Oh, how beautiful...

Ohh.

Ha ha!

Oh, look.

I am madame Picasso.

I'm his wife.

You can push

as many prams

with as many

little bastards

in them as you like,

but there

is only one

madame Picasso.

Me!

Olga Picasso!

He has killed her,

and you're being

haunted by her ghost.

Picasso!

Could you sleep?

Leave you alone?

No, this

is not right.

This is my home.

I live here.

You hear

what I say?

Please, this is

not his child.

No, madame--no,

no, madame, enough.

His child is Paulo!

Enough,

madame, please.

Only Paulo.

Please,

you must not do this.

Please, I live here

with my husband!

It is no good.

This is no good.

Please let me

go in! Please!

Oh, my dear.

How your husband

has made you suffer.

Ha ha!

[Growling]

Come on, Claudio.

Every time someone

annoys your mother,

you go, [Grunts]

Pa-pa...

[Baby talk]

I want to find

another house

and move out of

the villa pour toi.

Why do we

have to live in

the middle of town?

Mo--ho--move?

Move? Don't

be ridiculous.

If I had to move

every time women

fought over me,

I'd be--oh--

eternally packing

and unpacking

all the time.

I'm not fighting

over you.

[Baby talk]

Besides...

We'll need more

room next year.

Did you hear

what I said?

What?

I'm going to have

another baby.

Another one?

Like that?

When?

Next year.

Ohh...

Why don't you

take these?

Hey, these!

Why don't you

take them yourself?

Can you help?

It wasn't my idea.

It was you who

wanted to move.

Will--will you show

some more respect

for my work?

Francoise?

Come upstairs.

Close the door!

Why don't you keep

your money in the bank,

like everybody else?

Banks are

always crashing.

Ruined millionaires

jump out of windows.

I prefer to have

some ready cash.

Now put those

into denominations:

Hundreds, fifties,

twenties...

Francoise: In all the years

we were together,

Picasso gave me

no money at all,

and I never

asked him for any.

It was one more thing

for my grandmother

to hold against him.

She knew I had to

provide for myself

and for Claude,

and soon there would be

the new baby.

I'd like to say

that my grandmother

came to the midi

to enjoy the sea air,

but the truth is

she enjoyed

the casino more.

She was a great gambler,

and unlike other gamblers,

she usually won.

Francoise?

Oh, I can't--

no. I know

he gives you nothing

for you

or the child.

The man's

a multimillionaire.

It's supposed to be

a test of character.

How to survive

on nothing.

Francoise: Fortunately,

I was beginning to earn

with my own work.

Picasso didn't

directly influence me,

but I was

surrounded by him

as if he were

an element,

as in an element--

say, water--I swam,

but he wasn't

teaching me how to swim.

He said, "painting

can't be taught.

It can only be found."

And he always told me:

"Don't try to be Picasso.

Be yourself."

Kahnweiler: How many

paintings could you

let me have a year?

I might be able

to give you a show

in the spring,

and we could talk then

about a contract

on future works.

No. I'll do the talking.

To be under contract

to kahnweiler

is the surest way

to starve to death.

No, no, no.

Oh, the, uh,

news from America

is not so good.

Matisse is all right.

His prices are rising,

but, um...

They are not

buying picassos.

Why not? Because I joined

the communist party?

Good.

Fine.

I'm satisfied.

You wouldn't understand

this, kahnweiler,

but it's only since I

joined the communist party

that I feel once again

I am among my brothers.

You'll see.

They'll be strikes

and troubles.

They'll be marching

and singing

in the streets...

And you'll be

hanging from a lamppost.

Ack-ck-ck-ck!

Comrades...

Stalin.

Stalin! Stalin!

[Speaking

Russian]

...Picasso.

Picasso! Picasso!

Thank you.

Francoise: In joining

the communist party,

Picasso had followed

many other artists

and intellectuals

for whom communism

was a new theology,

with God replaced by Stalin.

Taking along

his chauffeur marcel

for company,

Picasso attended

a party conference

in Poland.

It is our duty...

Francoise: They

hated his art,

but they loved his name

and knew what

a useful propaganda tool

he was for them.

Interpreter:

...Anarchy in his art,

which places the individual

outside the masses.

Thank you, comrades...

The international

proletariat...

It is a great honor

for me to be here

with you this evening,

a very great honor.

However, I must

take exception to

my good comrade's remarks

when he uses

the word "anarchy"

in connection with my work.

I am not an anarchist,

and I never have been.

[Shouting

in Russian]

My work

is a constructive one.

I am building,

not tearing down.

Anarchy--

anarchy in art

is a petit-bourgeois

concept,

which

condemns the artist

to mediocrity,

incapacity,

and malfeasance.

Your impressionist,

surrealist style--

comrade, if you--

if you must insult me...

At least...

Get your

terminologies straight.

Monsieur Picasso!

[Applause]

Picasso!

[Whistling]

Pierre, I can't

let you photograph here

without his permission.

Of course. Everything

has to be done

with his permission.

I'm sorry.

When's he back?

He said he'd

be gone 3 days,

and he's been gone

3 weeks.

Do you ever hear

from Genevieve?

Yeah.

Is she still

in montpellier?

She comes

to Paris sometimes.

Don't you

see her anymore?

He doesn't like me

to have friends

of my own.

Every day I get this

telegram from Poland.

"Hugs and kisses,

from Picasso."

Hugs and kisses...

That's not Pablo.

That's marcel.

He must have

told marcel, "send her

a telegram every day.

Keep her quiet."

Francoise!

What?

That's for the hugs

and kisses.

Francoise?

See what I've brought you

from Poland.

Francoise?

[Sighs]

Look...

I bought it for you.

Here you are.

Open it.

Olá.

Put it on.

Ahh...

Francoise: He was brilliant

at coaxing a woman,

changing her mood,

treating her as a pet.

He loved pets.

He didn't care

for people so much.

People could be difficult

and give him trouble.

[Cooing]

Francoise: Our daughter

was called Paloma: The dove.

She was a model baby

who slept practically

round the clock.

Picasso was delighted

with her,

especially as she never

disturbed him at night.

She'll be

a perfect woman:

Passive and submissive,

as all girls should be...

And their mothers.

[Pablo coos]

Claude.

Look.

Where are we going?

Look.

Francoise: He loved

being with the children

for short periods of time.

He spent most of his days

away from us,

assembling his pieces

of scrap metal,

arranging what he called,

"the chance meeting

on a dissecting table

of a sewing machine

and an umbrella."

He would turn

an old radiator

into an accordion player

and explain it as a metaphor

to fool not the eye,

but the mind.

Dominus vobiscum.

Et cum spiritus tou.

Benedictat

vos omnipotens deus,

pater et filius

et spiritus sanctus.

Amen. Amen.

Ita mista est.

Deo gratias.

Pablo: All this

is typical of Matisse.

There is no terror

in him.

Of course,

compared with me,

Matisse is a young lady.

I don't know how

he can do all this

and not believe

what it represents.

It's morally wrong.

You don't believe,

but you made me swear.

Do you remember

how you made me swear

to love you forever?

He should have

built a market,

then he could paint

his usual fruit

and vegetables

and his pretty flowers

instead of all this.

Why don't you swear now?

Hmm?

Why don't you

swear to love me

and the children forever

or at least the children?

What are you

talking about?

You don't believe...

So it wouldn't

mean anything...

And it might

help us.

What's the matter

with you?

Francoise: The only time

I've ever seen Picasso

put himself out for anyone,

except when he

was wooing a new woman,

was when we visited Matisse

at the hotel Regina in nice.

Matisse tended to treat

Picasso like a favorite son

of whom he

couldn't quite approve.

They exchanged paintings,

but they were always

on their guard,

each speculating

about the other's work

and asking,

"what's he doing?"

But Picasso said, "finally,

there is only Matisse.

When he goes, there

will be nothing left

to say to anyone."

Pablo: Henri, Lydia...

This is francoise.

Monsieur Matisse.

Hello.

These are very

special dates

from Madagascar.

Take one.

Oh, no. No.

No?

Please.

Lydia?

Thank you.

You're wearing

my colors:

Mauve and

olive green.

I told you to wear them.

It was my idea.

No. You told me

to wear mauve and pink.

Whatever I say,

francoise is assured

to say the opposite.

I live in a perpetual

climate of contradiction.

I feel very sorry

for you.

You always did

have a bad time with

beautiful young women.

But whoever

had the idea--

I would like

to paint francoise

in those colors.

Her hair would be blue,

her cheeks light green,

but of course

her eyebrows would

rhyme with her ears.

I suppose you could send

francoise around to pose

for me, hmm?

Certainly...

If you send Lydia

in exchange to pose for me.

Probably Lydia

wouldn't like that.

Did you know that women

in Paris curse each other,

"may you

be painted by Picasso,

the eyes and the ears,

the nose and the mouth"?

Now that I do not

get out very much,

I've made myself a little

garden to walk in.

Everything is here...

Fruit...

Flowers...

Leaves...

A few birds.

Hmm.

[Kisses]

My own swimming pool.

You like to swim?

Ha ha ha!

Francoise: We went to see

your chapel in vence.

Oh. And I expect

you found plenty

to criticize.

No. I thought

it was beautiful.

Except the choice

of subject matter.

What do these symbols

mean to you?

If we don't pray, we have

no right to portray prayer.

But we do pray.

When we are working

we are praying.

You know that yourself.

No...

I've no religion in

the conventional sense,

yet I believe.

There's a zen saying...

"We have two suns:

"The one outside in the sky,

and the other inside here.

"As the one outside

fades for us, so...

The other raises up

more and more."

Since my last illness,

I feel I carry a sun

with a thousand rays

inside me.

Yes.

So you've, uh...

Made for yourself

a little harem,

an assortment

of beautiful women

awaiting

your every pleasure.

The older I get,

the younger and more ardent

is my imagination.

Of course, when I was 25,

I did not need imagination.

You've loved women

even more than I have,

but you haven't

hated them at all.

I leave that to you.

I have a present for you.

For me?

As soon as I saw it,

I thought of you.

A present for me.

Lydia, bring in

our funny new friend

to meet Mr. Picasso.

Monsieur Matisse

has been waiting for you

to come and claim it.

Matisse: Put it in

monsieur Picasso's

car.

Unfortunately, there's

no room in the car.

It's full

of francoise's mess.

I'll send marcel

for it tomorrow.

Put it over

your head.

What is it?

Well, go on. It

won't hurt you.

It's

a ceremonial

headdress

used for magical

invocations.

Yeah.

That's right.

It is from

the nevinbumbaau

Vanuatu tribe.

He likes it!

Ha ha ha!

Matisse: Isn't it

exactly Picasso?

I don't see why he

should give me such a...

An ugly thing.

He thought

you'd like it.

Yeah?

He's very fond

of you.

Really?

Really.

You think so?

Ha. You think

he likes me?

Monsieur Matisse

loves you, monsieur.

Go get the idol

tomorrow, then.

This time,

we double the stakes.

[Speaking

French]

Hey, hey, hey, hey!

I've already

dealt the cards.

Well, I told you

to wait for me.

Double the stakes,

by the way.

Ha ha ha!

Hey!

How do you

like my woman?

You're jealous now, huh?

What did you say?!

She wants to

sleep with me!

You haven't slept

with a real chauffeur?

Wha-ha-ha!

She's a good

driver, huh?

Marcel, look out!

Marcel!

You're late.

Where's my car?

Monsieur, there's

been a little accident.

A little?

Scratch? Fender bent?

I warned you the next

time you get drunk

and there's

as much as a scratch

on my car, you're out.

Now, tell me,

where is it?!

It's in a ditch.

My new car's

in the ditch?

You two drunken sods

have left my car

in the ditch?

See, what

happened was--

I know what happened.

You were sitting

in Chez Jacques,

getting drunk

on your eternal pastis!

Well, this is it.

My car is finished,

and so are you.

You're not fit

to be my chauffeur.

You're only fit to

lead this idiot astray.

He's my son.

Unfortunately,

I can't get rid of him.

He's around my neck

for the rest of my life,

but you,

you're finished!

Oh, but you can't.

Who asked you?

Monsieur, I'm sorry.

I'm very sorry.

It was my fault.

You take the next train

to Paris.

Tell sabartes what

is due on your wages

after deducting the cost

of the damages to my car.

I don't ever

want to see you again.

Monsieur,

I'm very sorry.

It was my fault,

but I've been with

you all these years,

25 years.

25 years too long.

Bring that upstairs.

You mean after

all this time--

what?

After everything

I've been to you,

you'd fire me?

Yes, I'm firing you.

I should have known.

I warn you...

The day will come

and you will

have no one left,

not even francoise.

You'll see.

One day she'll

have had enough.

She'll walk out on you.

Francoise: Picasso

had begun making ceramics

at the vallauris potteries,

and his work there

was playful and pretty.

Some said too pretty.

He protested,

"they want to be shocked,

and if I smile,

they're disappointed."

Besides the fascination

of working in a new medium,

the potteries held another

fascination for him.

Picasso: You see,

to make a woman...

You first

have to wring her neck.

He says, "to

make a woman,

you have to wring

her neck first."

To me, he said that

about a dove.

It's all

the same to him.

A thing's a thing.

[Grr]

[Laughter]

Aah!

Olá.

Sleep well,

papa!

Olá.

Why aren't you asleep?

I was waiting for you.

Were you spying on me?

Look, I come and go

how and when I want.

I didn't say

you couldn't.

I was worried.

Paulo might have

had too much to drink

and smashed up the car.

Who knows? Anything

could happen.

In front of my friends,

embarrassing me.

Your friends?

Yes!

I saw only one friend.

So, what business

is it of yours

if there was one friend

or a hundred of them, huh?

I go where I want.

I see who I want.

Yes, and I sleep

or don't sleep

with who I want.

Why didn't you go to bed,

where you should

have been hours ago?

You look tired.

Well, it's hardly

worth it now.

It's almost time for you

to go and light the stove

in the studio, or it

won't be fit to work in.

It's one damned annoyance

after the other for me.

Francoise:

Picasso could never keep

a new affair a secret

because as soon as he

had a new woman in his life,

a new face began to appear

in his paintings.

Now it was jacqueline from

the vallauris potteries,

but, as always, when

he changed directions,

as when he changed

from Marie-therese to dora,

there was a certain

ambiguity in his work,

maybe expressing a general

restlessness and discontent.

He had appointed Paulo

to be his chauffeur.

He said, "let him be useful

for the first and probably

the last time in his life."

They would spin

around the midi,

and reports would reach me

via obliging friends

of where Picasso had been

seen and with whom.

[Plays horn badly]

[Applause]

I still don't see

why we can't

go with you.

I told you. The air

in Paris is no good

for the children.

They're much

better off here.

What about the things

I told you to do,

like supervising him

so he doesn't break

all my best pieces?

Oh!

Uhh!

Ha ha ha!

Don't you

want us to be

with you?

Yeah.

Don't you think we

ought to be together?

We are together.

We're always together.

Hey!

Big boy!

Hey!

Ha ha ha.

[Telephone rings]

[Ring]

Hello?

Is that francoise?

Yes?

Father.

I have something

to tell you...

What?

Pierre...

My father telephoned.

My grandmother's

had a stroke.

She's paralyzed.

I haven't seen

or spoken to my father

since I walked out

of his house.

You can catch

the 11:45 train.

I'll take you

to the station.

How can I go to Paris?

He'll be furious.

Who'll be furious?

Picasso. He's left me

with a million

things to do.

Get the children ready.

I'll pick you up

at the house in an hour.

You have to go.

You don't know

what he's like

if anyone goes

against his orders.

This isn't the francoise

I used to know.

A hundred picassos

couldn't

order her around.

Go and pack.

Go.

Father!

She died last night.

I was waiting for you

before deciding

on the funeral

arrangements.

Operator: I'm sorry,

but the number

you dialed

has been disconnected.

Man: Hello?

Hello. May I speak

to madame berthier,

please?

Who is this?

You don't know me.

I'm the granddaughter

of a great friend

of hers.

Madame berthier

died 3 years ago.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I had no idea.

Good-bye.

Francoise: All

her friends are gone.

I can't find a soul.

Well, when you live

to a ripe old age,

that's what happens.

There's no one left

to come to your funeral.

When this is all over,

we have a lot of financial

business to discuss.

There's only you

and me now.

We must talk

about the children,

about their schools.

Is there

really no one else?

No.

Have a look.

What about all

of those old boyfriends?

Stop it.

Pierre sent me

a telegram.

He thought

you might need me.

Genevieve!

Oh!

Pablo's in Paris.

I've got to tell him

about my grandmother's

funeral.

Why? Was he your

grandmother's friend?

No, but he's the father

of my children,

her great-grandchildren,

not that I expect him

to come.

He didn't even go to

his own mother's funeral.

He so abhors

any idea of mortality,

of his own mortality.

So she said...

[Speaking

foreign language]

She said, "I want you

to paint my portrait."

Those?

[Footsteps]

Papa!

What are you

doing here? Hey.

Hey, where's

your mother?

Where is she? Mmm!

Where's your mother?

What are they

doing up here, huh?

Pablo: Francoise?

Why have you

come here to Paris?

Who's there

to supervise Pierre

and everything else

I told you to do?

Hmm?

There's no one...

Not one human being

I can rely on.

You came here against

my express orders.

Yes, against

your orders...

Because

my grandmother died.

Was that against

your orders, too?

Francoise, why

didn't you tell me?

You knew I was here.

We could have

been together.

Come here.

Francoise?

I want to stay

here in Paris

with the children.

Yes?

Without you.

Just for a time.

Is there someone else?

No. There's no one else.

Is that all

you can think of?

All right,

if there's no one else,

you must...

Stay here.

I need you.

If that were true,

I would stay,

but I know that it's not.

It's that friend of yours,

Genevieve...

Putting these ideas

in your head.

Why is she here?

Who called her to make you

even more hysterical?

How do you know

she's here?

I suppose it wouldn't

make any difference

to you if I left.

People come

and people go.

And you

will always stay,

under all circumstances?

I stay. That's my life.

I stay.

And what a life

for me and my wife,

but most people

don't even know

I have a wife.

We even have

a place of our own,

where he sometimes permits me

to spend a few hours.

Don't ask me

what sort of a place--

what sort of a garret

we can afford on the salary

he pays me.

And there are

my other expenses as well,

like when he summons me

to vallauris--

paying my own fare, of course,

my own train ticket.

Third class.

And his promises...

His promises.

In 1901 he painted

my portrait.

He said, "this is yours,

my present to you,"

and when I asked him for it,

he'd given it away

to a cabaret in Barcelona.

For 50 years he's been

painting my portrait,

and always, "this is yours,"

and always

I have to remind him

and beg for it.

Beg like a dog...

But still I stay.

But why?

Because if I left,

every time I came here

I'd have to ring the bell

and be admitted by some

other idiot of a sabartes

and wait just like everyone else

for my crumb of friendship.

Besides, if I'm not here,

he has to look around,

[imitating picasso]

"Where the hell is sabartes?"

With me by his side...

He doesn't need

to think about me.

Even Olga was lyrical

and serene.

When was this?

1917.

Ah, 1917.

A few years later,

she's a monster.

Picasso: A monster mouth,

full of jagged teeth, to bite,

and a tongue

to nag and nag and nag.

Then there's dora.

What could I do

about dora, hmm?

It wasn't sadism,

it was, a...

A vision of hers

imposed itself on me.

[Footsteps]

Only francoise

the flower woman

remains herself

without being

distorted.

It is she who

has distorted me.

I'll show you. Look.

It is a cockerel

lying bound to a table

with a knife that has

just cut its throat.

It's dripping blood

into a bowl.

I am that cockerel

with his throat cut...

And she is the knife.

This is her latest.

She's going to leave me,

abandon me.

It's all right.

I can speak out

before kahnweiler.

He's my friend.

He has feeling for me.

She's dreaming of some

mythical life of her own,

as if she could ever

have one apart from me.

You think people will care

this much for your work?

You have a schoolgirl's

facility.

That's all.

The day you leave...

That day kahnweiler

will cancel his

contract with you.

Because you

will tell him to.

Dora.

Do you remember me?

Ah, you've changed.

I knew you would.

Picasso is an agent

of change,

a catalyst

to blow everything

inside you to bits.

Yes, if you let him.

This is my friend Genevieve

from montpellier.

You don't

look like someone

who lives in Paris.

And you...

You look

like someone

who's been

breathing in the air

of Picasso's studio.

Peculiar air.

Sometimes it seems

like poison gas,

but then you find

you can't breathe

in any other.

That is not at all

the case with francoise.

I don't like cats,

but when my dog died,

he gave me a cat.

I still have it.

It's called moumoune.

He gave it that name.

It's a very vicious cat.

Look.

He'll leave you

when he's ready.

Even then, you won't

be free of him,

and after him,

without him,

there is nothing.

After Picasso...

Only God.

And moumoune...

That cat

just won't die.

You think anyone will care

this much for you?

You have no existence

apart from me.

Without me,

you are nothing.

People will see you

as nothing.

They'll forget you.

[Sobbing]

I'm having

a heart attack.

It's your fault.

Call Paulo.

Paulo.

Why?

Why do you

leave me alone

with this woman?

Look what she's

done to me.

Call

Dr. gutmann.

It's too late

for the doctor.

I never want to

see you again.

Go! Get out!

Get--get out.

Paulo:

Papa, please.

Come on,

for my sake.

All you need

is peace and quiet.

Nothing

is worth it.

No one wants

another episode.

See what she's doing?

Tell her we're--

we're going to vallauris.

Tell her she can come with us.

Put jacqueline on the train.

Why don't you pick

some of your

favorite toys

and put them

in this basket

for me?

Papa says we're going back

to vallauris today,

and he wants you

and the children

to come with us.

I'll drive very carefully.

Please come.

He'd like it.

I'd like it, too.

It's not the same

without you.

Claude, why don't

you go and see

if the car's here?

Paulo, I only want

some time to myself.

I'll bring the children

during their summer holidays.

Until then, I'm going

to stay in Paris.

Let's call it

an experiment.

You're lucky

you can make

such an experiment.

Well, so could you

if you wanted to.

What can I do?

You've heard papa

say often enough

how useless I am.

Yes, I've heard him say it,

but I don't believe it,

and neither should you.

I'd drive you

if he'd let me

have the car.

It's all right.

My father sent his car,

but you could help me

with these bags

if you want to.

You'll come

running back

in a week.

You really believe that?

No one leaves

a man like Picasso.

I don't think you know

the first thing about me.

Won't you say good-bye

to the children?

Man: Mademoiselle?

Is she in the house?

Mademoiselle

is not here.

But is it true

she's left Picasso?

Is she

staying in Paris

permanently?

What about

the children?

She's not in.

Wait, wait.

Hey,

what's your name?

Claude.

That's a nice name,

Claude what? Claude Picasso?

Where's your mom?

Wait, wait.

No more questions!

Wait!

[Reporters yelling]

Didn't you say

you couldn't leave him,

he's an historical

monument?

Why are you

and the child--

historical monument?

Are you going back

to visit him?

She is taking the children

to visit their father.

Is that so difficult

to understand?

Picasso: 4, 5, 6,

7, 8, 9, 10.

1, 2, 3,

4, 5,

6, 7, 8,

9, 10, 11,

12, 13, 14,

15, ha ha ha.

Good. Fine.

Somebody changed

these hooks.

Yes, I did,

to make it fit me.

He told me to wear it.

He said he had

given it to you,

that it was

a present from him.

So it was perfectly

all right for him

to give it to you.

That sounds

familiar.

Well, you left him.

And you stepped in

very fast.

Yes,

and now I am here

to look after him

to serve him with the last

breath in my body.

Be careful.

He may take you

at your word.

He loves

to turn his friends

into his slaves.

I don't care

this much for myself.

I'm here for him,

and for him alone.

I'm making

a whole series,

all about a ludicrous

little painter

and his gloriously

beautiful young model.

He loves her.

She despises him.

Why shouldn't she?

He's only an ugly

old monster.

I'm giving her

a pet monkey

to kiss and fondle

and make the little old

man sick with jealousy.

Doesn't it make you laugh?

Yes, it's funny.

So funny,

it makes me weep.

Why should you weep?

It is I who should weep.

What wouldn't I give

to be like you.

30 years old, even 40.

Settle for 40,

but in these matters,

there's no one to make

a deal with.

There's been no fun

in my life since you left.

No one makes me

laugh anymore.

I suppose you're having

all the fun in Paris.

Mmm.

Yeah.

[Squeaking]

Is someone listening?

No. Hinge needs oiling.

See, no one does

anything since you left.

Why don't you come back?

I didn't call you.

I--I brought some more

kindling for the stove.

Well, leave it there.

I'll wait,

monseigneur.

I'll call you

when I need you.

"Monseigneur," no less?

Jacqueline treats me

with proper respect.

Not like you.

For you, respect means

to be your slave.

You were glad enough

to be that when you loved me.

Yes, when I loved you.

I was a slave to love,

not to you.

You think you can throw

a life away just like that?

Hmm? All these years.

Our cup full of memories.

Francoise:

That you and I

have drunk together?

Francoise.

No.

All right. At least

let's be friends.

I want you to do

something for me.

What is it?

I want--

if I don't stoke it now,

the stove will go out.

Picasso: All right,

do it, then.

Yes, they're having

a bullfight in my honor

in vallauris

on the 30th, and, uh...

I want you to perform

the opening ceremony

for me on horseback.

But I don't have

a trained horse

down here.

We'll find one

for you in nice.

That's impossible.

Huh, why?

Francoise mustn't ride

into the arena to open

the bullfight, she can't.

Why not?

It's immoral.

What will

the newspapers say?

Let the papers

say what they want,

and I'll do

what I want.

Of course you are right.

I was stupid.

[Whispering]

Monseigneur.

Quiet.

On the whole, I prefer

a woman with not too much

sense of humor.

Yeah.

Oh.

Yeah.

Francoise: This was my own

personal homage to Picasso

for all that he had

given me: Our children,

our years together--

for all I'd learned

from being with him.

Now, at 74, he was

starting a new life with,

of course, a new woman.

But I was grateful

to him for everything,

and most of all because

he had made me strong--

strong enough

to do anything,

even to survive 10 years

of living with him.

Surviving Picasso (1996) - full transcript