Genius (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 4 - Picasso: Chapter Four - full transcript

Previously on Genius...

I am Max Jacob.
Most days, I am a poet.

That's even worse
than being a painter.

I cannot bear the thought of
living in this world without you.

Max, I love you.

But not the way you want me to.

They have sent the rest
of his family to the camps.

You are the only one who
can persuade him to get out.

We could take away
everything, and everyone.

I am not a Jew anymore.
So, I am not leaving.

This is my home. Here with God.



You're a brilliant
photographer, Dora.

There is a painter
trapped inside of you.

Are you going to tell me
what you thought of my paintings?

You have talent.

You want to paint
something new and

you think getting
this young girl into

bed will help you do that.

You're just jealous.

Are you sure you are ready?

Yes.

I could
offer you work. As a model.

That wasn't our agreement.

If you don't like it, leave.

Love can be dangerous.



Fernande.

If you ask me,
this will not end well.

What dirty Beelzebub are you?

You horny, stinking,
Lord of Flies fed on

dung and garbage stew!

We won't attend your revelries!

You putrid, Slonikan fish!

And festered eye
compose your flesh...

Or is it, as
your friends report,

your mother let a liquid fart.

Death to illusions!

You are coming
with us, Mr. Jacob.

Then, set your hand free,

and let your instincts

carry your pencil
to its destination.

Where are you going?

I have plans.

Well, change them.

I have already
seen you three days this week.

You told me we shouldn't
spend too much time together.

I'm just trying to
follow your rules.

Rules? I despise rules.

Do as you please.

I'll take Dora to lunch.
You don't mind, do you?

Have a lovely time.

She is a child, Pablo.

You'll only spoil
her for someone else.

You're more
narrow-minded than a bishop.

She's totally capable of
looking out for herself.

Monsieur Cocteau.

I'm sorry to barge in.

John!

I've received a letter from Max.

He's been arrested
by the Gestapo.

They hauled him off to Drancy,

but that's just a temporary
stop before they ship him east.

Poor Max. You know,
I-I tried to warn him.

I've drafted a petition to the
German embassy asking for his release.

Everyone signed it...

I can't.

For God's sake, Pablo,
th-the man is sick as it is.

He won't survive in a camp.

The Nazis hate me, John.

They have threatened to
throw me into a camp.

They outlawed my art and
denounce me in speeches and,

my signature would
do Max more harm than help.

Send the letter without my name.

Before it's too late.

Where have you been?

Chasing after
your new plaything?

I've had a terrible day.

I had my bicycle snatched right out
of my hands on the Rue d'Athenes.

You see that man?

He's been staring at
me since I sat down.

I think he's following me.

Did I tell you how Rene Drouin has
asked me to do a show at his gallery?

He wants to change
the dates again.

How am I supposed to prepare
if he can't make up his mind?

Have you heard a word I've said?

You are not the
only one with problems, Dora.

Something terrible
has happened to Max.

Max. What a surprise.

I, uh, I hope you don't mind.

I heard you were back
in town, and, and, uh...

I, I, I'm glad to see you.

What, uh, what
happened between us, uh...

It was a, a hard
time for all of us.

I care for you, of course,
but I am, I am not, um, yeah.

Max. It's all right.

I have, uh, met someone.

How wonderful. Um.

Yep. Yeah.

Who is he?

No. No, no, no. No, no.

A woman. Yeah.

Oh.

Her name is Cecile.
She is, uh...

Something, really. She's...

Oh. I see that you have
your eye on someone, too.

Oh. No,
she's-she's just a neighbor.

Just a neighbor.
And what is her name?

I don't even know.

Invite me in.

I want to see what, uh, you've been up
to and most importantly, I need a drink.

Actually, I was
just on my way out.

Why don't you come with me?

700.

Each?

For all three.

Piss off, Sagot.

I wouldn't let them
go for twice that.

If you don't like it,
try your luck with Soulie.

But don't forget you
still owe me the money

that I advanced you
for the pigment.

Let's go, Max.

I know a place where people
actually appreciate modern art.

Henri Matisse?

The drawing is rudimentary.
Worse than a child's.

And the perspective is flat.

Clouds are
yellow, skin is purple.

Yes, it's-it's all wrong.
But it's magnificent.

Makes no sense.

Yet it's completely alive.

You are twice as
talented an artist.

No, this artist
has more than just talent.

He has vision.

I have never painted
anything this revolutionary.

But you could.

Yes. But I need to find
a new way of seeing things.

Like this man has.
He understands.

Understands what?

That we don't need artists to
show us what people look like anymore.

We have photographs for that.

This Matisse is showing
us a deeper truth.

The way things
are in our dreams.

Not just as they appear to be.

He has bent all the rules,
and I want to smash them.

I have someone you should meet.

Apollinaire. That can't
actually be your name.

Judges and tax
assessors call me Kostrowitzky,

but Apollinairus is
indeed my middle name,

inscribed on my birth
records in Rome and

ordained by destiny in honor of Apollo,
the deity of the Delphic Oracle.

You're even more
full of yourself than I am.

I think I
like your Spanish friend.

Absinthe! The green muse.

As artistes, we must
demand nothing less than the

perpetual immoral subversion
of the existing order.

Oh...

Look out! Hey!
You'll get yourself killed.

And if he did die, do you

know what he might see
on the other side?

Tell me.

I will show you instead.

Clowns?

Not just clowns, Harlequins.

What is the difference?

Look closely.
There is evil behind those eyes.

Everyone thinks that
Harlequins are entertainers,

but that is
merely their disguise.

They are actually,
devils, escaped from hell.

Your picture is,
um, too symbolist.

Oh, really?

Mm.

And what have
you written tonight?

My poem is, um,
oh, oh, oh! Right here.

It is just waiting for me
to pour it upon the page.

It is, uh, much too cheerful.

The acrobat, you mean?

Yeah, he is so pretty.

You might as well
be an Impressionist.

Perpetual immoral subversion.

It's not pretty pictures.

If you want to outdo
Matisse, you must use

your images the way
that I use my words.

You must shatter
all the conventions.

You must stun them
with perversity.

He is right.
Sweet little dancing nymphs!

They will not rattle any
bones at the Autumn Salon.

Why didn't you
say something before?

You draw so damn quickly,
I didn't realize it until just now.

His trouble is, he's too sober.

That's always a problem
of course, but right now, uh,

my trouble is I will
miss the last train.

No, you can't leave. I need more

pretentious poetry and
heartless criticism.

If I'm going to fix
this damn painting.

I can't stay
all night, every night.

I've got other, uh, commitments.

What commitments?

Where have you been?

Drinking English ale
with the riff raff again.

Please, mother. It's late.

Do you expect me to support
you until you are 40 years old?

What more do you want from me?

I bring home a pay
check every month!

Yes! And you waste
it all in bars and cabarets.

And now Monsieur Maurice has complained
about your work at the bank.

I don't care about Monsieur
Maurice and his godforsaken bank.

I am a poet, not a peon.

The only place you are a
poet is in your gin-addled brain.

Do you know what I had to
do to get you that job?

If you lose it, I won't think twice
about throwing you out on the street.

Well, you are a sorry
little bugger, aren't you?

It looks like you're not the only
one who got caught in the rain.

The poor thing. Is it yours?

Well... I suppose she is now.

What should I call her?

My aunt had a cat named Minou.

Perfect.
And what should I call you?

Fernande.

Why don't you come
to my studio, Fernande?

Give the kitten some-some
milk and you some hot tea.

I can't, I'm, I'm expected.

Poor Minou,
she's, very disappointed.

Don't you ever clean?

If I disturb the dust,
it gets on the paintings.

Destroys them.

Your paintings
must be very precious to you.

They're everything.
Ah. Hold the kitty tight.

Why?

I want to show you my lodger.

You are very kind to strays.

You paint clowns?

Harlequins.

Most of the artists I
know prefer to paint naked women.

I prefer not to paint
what everyone else does.

I'm submitting it
to the Autumn Salon.

I went last year.

This looks, well, not like
any of the paintings I saw.

That's exactly the point.

I want to shake the judges out of
their frock coats and cravats.

It's a new century.

Everything is changing.

Art must change, too.

Most painters just want
someone to buy their pictures.

That's being a
whore, not an artist.

There's no
shame in making a living.

I've been meaning to
talk to you for a long time,

but you're
always in such a hurry.

Who are they?

Some people I
saw at the Lapin Agile.

She looks like she
wants to get away from him.

What's wrong?

It's as though you've
already drawn my picture.

No. I don't know if I could
ever draw someone as beautiful as you.

What are you doing?

Drawing.

I didn't say you could do that.

Sorry. I thought...

People pay me to model for them.

I don't do it for free.

Where are you going?

This was a mistake.

Laurent will ask
1,000 questions.

Where have I been?
Who was I with?

This can never happen again.

The Gestapo don't know the
first thing about poetry.

I am quite certain they
have no appreciation

for the talents of
your little Jew.

Um, he is a Catholic, actually.

I wouldn't repeat that
fiction to anyone else.

No, of course, Minister.

Now, that's not
his only difficulty.

It's well known that he has
certain deviant predilections.

He-He's revered in France
as, uh, an idol to our youth and...

He invented an entirely
new language of poetry.

Personally, I'm rather
partial to the symbolists.

But, despite his pretentions, I agree
Jacob's words have a certain power.

You've read him?

We are not all
philistines, Monsieur Cocteau.

Then, you understand how
much he means to-to the French.

Indeed, and you do have some
rather influential friends in Vichy.

I'll see what we can do.

May I help you?

I have release papers
for prisoner 15872.

- Jacob?
- Yes.

I'm sorry. Monsieur
Jacob died last night.

What...

The service is starting.

I should have
dragged him out of that

monastery and put him
on a boat to America!

You are not the king, Pablo.

You could not force Max to do
something he didn't want to do.

He died alone.

In a cold room on a dirty cot.
This damn war is almost over.

If only he could have stayed
hidden for a few more months.

He had a good life. He had God.

Now come inside and
say goodbye to him.

No, no, I-I said goodbye
to him last year in Loiret. No.

If you don't pay your last
respects, you'll regret it.

No, I want to remember
him alive, not dead in a coffin.

I'll only see
myself lying there. No.

I wouldn't worry
about dying, Pablo.

I'm sure you are
immortal like a vampire.

What is wrong with you?

Have you been drinking?
I'm going home.

Why?

So you can climb into bed
with your little girlfriend?

To feel young again?

What a marvelous idea.

Hey, toots, I was here first.
Wait your turn.

How about a date, mademoiselle?

I got chocolate.

Who are all these people, Jaime?

They put his
face on the cover of a

magazine, now everyone
wants his autograph.

So, why are you here?

Oh, well, Pablo invited
me to the Catalan to celebrate.

He's not here.

He's with Dora, they're choosing
work for her gallery show.

Mademoiselle, you seem like
an intelligent young woman,

you must know the
kind of man he is.

What do you mean?

He is a genius.

He thinks it gives
him the right to

demand of everyone,
especially his women,

to cater to his whims.

He's been like
this for 50 years.

Do you really think he's
going to change for you?

Should I come back tomorrow?

Why not stay a bit longer?

We agreed on three hours.

Yes, for five francs,
but, I have 10.

My neck hurts.

I don't think I can
pose any more today.

And I can't paint anymore, so
why don't you get comfortable?

I will rub your neck.

Pig.

So, how much did he give you?

I earned it.

I don't need to report
every centime to you.

So you expect me
to pay for everything, huh?

The food? The rent?

Maybe if you made a sculpture
someone actually wanted to buy,

you wouldn't have to
take all my money.

You ungrateful bitch!

Fernande. Are you all right?

Mind your business,
Spaniard, or I'll report you to

the immigration authorities.

You don't have to let him
treat you this way, Fernande.

Knock on my door anytime,
and I'll help you.

Why is he
talking to you like that?

Hmm? Who is he to you?

No one. Look at his eyes.

He's a lunatic. Leave us alone.

"Everything enchants Picasso.

The delightful and the horrible.

The abject and the delicate.

His new masterpiece,
'Saltimbanques' strikes like

a sword in the heart of
those who cling to history."

Oh, it is powerful, Guillaume, but,
uh, since when are you an art critic?

Since I discovered La
Plume pays 20 francs per review.

What?

I submitted
it for the next issue.

Why don't you let me finish
the bloody painting before you try

and publish articles about it?

Watch where you're going.

You are the one who's in
the way, you little Dago.

Come on, let's go.

Let go of me!

What the hell were you thinking?

The man is twice your size.

You could have gotten
yourself killed.

The bastard deserved it.

What is wrong?
I've never seen you like this.

Just, exhausted, I suppose.

Well, maybe you should, uh, try
sleeping instead of painting all night.

How am I supposed to paint,
when I have to listen to the

girl next door getting
screwed all night long?

What girl?

Fernande.

Oh, I thought you
did not know her name.

What, the one
who lives with the sculptor?

I can't understand what
the hell she's doing with him!

Oh, for Christ's sake.

You're in love with her.

Of course I'm not.

You can't sleep, you can't work.

You are jealous of
the man she's with.

Ah, he's right.

You just do not recognize
the signs because,

uh, it has never
happened to you before.

Well, if-if this is what
love feels like, I-I don't want it.

Good. Because love
destroys and you must create.

The Autumn Salon is less
than two weeks away.

This is your chance to spit in the face
of the masters, to shake the world,

to stun Matisse.

You've worked so hard
on Saltimbanques.

Are you really going
to throw it away over

some fantasy about
another man's lover?

She does not love him.

For Christ's sake!

Would you forget this tart?

Just go home and
finish your painting.

I need to talk to you.

Did you follow me down here?

I just wanted a
moment alone with you.

What happened
was a mistake, Pablo.

I told you not to
bother me anymore.

It wasn't a mistake.
It was beautiful.

I know you felt the same.

I love you, Fernande.

I loved you the very
first moment I saw you.

You're making
a fool of yourself.

Well, maybe I am.

But that pig you're living with has no
right to treat you the way he does.

What do you want from me?

Move into my studio.

I'll protect you from Laurent.

I'll take care of you.
I'll be good to you.

Do you know how many men
have said things like that to me?

I'm not like other men.

All of them.
But you're all liars.

No, no. I swear
on my mother's virtue.

Why should I trust you?

Fernande.

And why in God's name would
I trade one broke artist for another?

I'll take your offer.

What offer?

The 700 francs.

Ah.

I'm told 700 is what Vollard
has paid for a new Matisse.

A masterpiece.

I'm offering
you three paintings.

Ooh.

I will offer you
500 for all of them.

Less, of course, the money
you owe me for the pigment.

To hell with you, Sagot.

I'll take the 500.

Ah, that was two minutes ago.

The offer now is 300.

He's a goddamn thief.
300 francs.

What the hell am I supposed
to do with a lousy 300 francs?

Two years ago you would've
thought that a fortune.

We could feast for a month.

Don't you see?

I wanted to show Fernande that I'm
not just another poor artist.

To get her out of
Bateau-Lavoir, take-take

a fancy apartment
in Montparnasse.

And then what? You'd be

blissfully content and
start painting again?

Yes.

Well, if winning this girl

is the only way to get
you working again,

we'll just have
to make it happen. Won't we?

How?

There's something you
could buy plenty of for 300 francs.

What?

Black magic.

Did you get it?

Opium. The dark mistress.

I'm surprised to see you.

You invited me.

But I wasn't sure
you'd be brave enough to come.

I was curious about the art.

The art? Or the artist?

So how does she rate?

I think she's brilliant.

Tell her yourself.
I'll introduce you.

No, uh, really.

I just, I just wanted
to see the paintings.

Perhaps another time.

Why did you bother to come
if you didn't want to meet her?

I suppose I was trying to
play along with your Bohemian rules.

I told you, I don't have rules.

Well, whatever
you call this game.

It's not as easy as I
thought it would be.

It's not a game. It's life.

Artists must be free.
No restrictions of any kind.

Dora is a Surrealist.
She-She understands.

I'm not Dora.

Maybe this was the-the wrong
place for the two of you to meet.

Maybe we should try again in
a more comfortable setting.

He invited me to
have dinner with him and Dora.

He's got no
shame at all, does he?

He doesn't give a
damn what anyone else thinks.

In fact, the more he offends people,
the more he seems to like it.

It's scandalous, but
it will certainly be interesting.

It's one thing to look the other

way while he sleeps
with other women,

but, I won't be paraded in
public as part of his harem.

You're not actually
in love with him, are you?

Maybe you can have
some fun with it.

Give him a taste of
his own medicine.

Bonsoir.

Bonsoir.

I would like
you to meet Andre Beaudin.

It is an honor to meet you, sir.

You are a
little devil, aren't you?

Well, it seems we
need another setting. Waiter.

Francoise, sit next to me.

I have so many
questions to ask you.

I have seen your paintings.

I think they're extraordinary.

Well, it's true what
you say about this one, Pablo.

She has excellent taste.

He is very handsome.

Waiter, we'll have, um,
caviar, oysters, champagne.

Right away, Madame.

Isn't this fun?

Yeah.

Another, please.

Garçon. Just,
uh, bring the check please.

Right away, sir...

Did I tell you what
happened to me last night?

No.

I was walking
across the Pont Neuf.

A man ran out and
snatched my little dog.

Sorry, that's,
that's, that's terrible.

Poor Pepe. I can't imagine what
that evil man has done with him.

First, your bike's stolen.

Then your dog.

How many times are you
gonna tell these stories?

I don't understand
why you're not more upset.

You love that dog.

But I am sure Francoise would

rather discuss something
more interesting.

It's such a clear night.
Why don't you walk me home?

I am too tired for walking. Huh.

That's what
happens when you get old.

You quit before the
fun even begins.

Go home, Dora. Go home.

I suppose I'll
see you some other time.

Yeah.

If I'm not murdered by
hooligans on the way home.

Thank you for an
interesting evening. Good night.

I really should go with him.

Look, I am not
a fool, Francoise. All right?

It's obvious why you
brought me here tonight.

It's not because you've
got an interest in me.

Are you coming?

Are you sure she's all right?

Don't worry about Dora.

Dora will be fine.

I told you to leave me alone.

What if I told
you I have something

that can take away
all your sadness?

You cleaned.

I did it for you.

You didn't seem
to like it dirty.

What about the dust?
Your paintings?

I just want
you to be comfortable.

Do you know what this is?

For opium.

Have you tried it?

You just want me out of my
head so I'll let you screw me again.

No, you-you don't
have to do anything.

I just want you to feel good.

I would build you a castle, or sail
you away on a magnificent yacht.

But I can't do any of that.

Um, I want to make you happy.

At least for a little while.

I want to show you something.

I don't understand.

It's a shrine. To you.

But why?

Because I worship you, Fernande.

I know you didn't
want me to draw you.

Are you angry?

No, I, no, it's,
you make me look so beautiful.

Sometimes I can't find the
right words to say what I feel.

But I can with my
pencils and brushes.

You don't have to.

I want to.

Dora. What happened?

A man attacked me.

He stole my dog and my bicycle.

It was terrible.

We found her wandering along the river,
but there was no evidence of an attack.

These idiots would not believe
me, so I made them bring me.

Tell them. Tell them, Pablo.

Tell them what has
happened to me.

Thank you for bringing her here.

You can go now.
I'll take care of her.

Forgive me, Monsieur, but perhaps
you should take her to the hospital.

I don't think she's
in her right mind.

All right. Thank you.

Oh, Pablo.

Come, come, come, come, come.

You crazy slut!

After everything I've done
for you, you're gonna

leave me for this dirty
little foreigner!

If you come near
her again, I will kill you.

We're going to be happy now.

Is she doing any better?

Uh. The doctor
gave her a sedative.

Yeah, she'll be fine.

She won't be fine.

She's a Surrealist.

They all go mad sooner or later.

Pablo, that is absurd.

She needs some rest.

A couple of weeks in Antibes.

Can't you see she's suffering?

A holiday isn't
going to solve that.

Oh, no?
What do you suggest then?

Mademoiselle Dr. Gilot?

I don't know.

But what I do know is that this,

what we're doing,
you think she doesn't mind,

because she's such a free thinker,
but she does mind very much,

and it's hurting her, and
it's making her worse.

Don't be such a narcissist.

It's got nothing to do with you.

I'm sorry.

I thought I could do things
your way, but I can't.

Maybe Dora was right.
Maybe you're still a child.

Maybe. But I
am going to look after

myself, and I hope
you look after Dora.

It will be over soon.

Please. I don't
want this. Please. Please.

Clear.

I've told you before, no private
matters on company time.

What is this nonsense?

It is my work.

You are confused, Kostrowistzky.
This is your work.

Not anymore.

I'm a published art
critic now and a poet.

"Throwing his ink
towards the heavens,

sucking the
blood of what he likes,

and finding it delicious,
this inhuman monster.

It is me!"

"Brushed my shadows of the dead,

The blind man
rocks pretty child,

The doe with all
her fauns slips by,

The dwarf observes
with saddened pose,

How Harlequin magically grows."

It's wonderful, Guillaume.

It captures the mood
of the picture perfectly.

We have done it, Pablo.

All of those academic graybeards
will be apoplectic when they see it.

When the Autumn Salon
opens, you'll both be sensations.

They have to
accept my painting first.

I'll be right back.

Matisse.

We're leaving.

I don't understand.

I'm not submitting it.

But why?

It's not good enough.