Genius (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 7 - Picasso: Chapter Seven - full transcript

My horse
doesn't look real, Papa.

Not like your pigeons.

I want to paint like you.

Then I will teach you, Pablito.

I am going to be a
great artist one day, Papa.

You were meant to be a teacher.

May I introduce Pablo
Picasso and Georges Braque,

the founders of the Cubist Movement.

Pablo is always with Braque.

Despair, my dear, is a
readily treatable affliction.

What are you doing?



You don't
know how lonely I feel.

I worked hard to get here,
and I am not going to let you

or anyone else make a mess of it.

The Nazis have labeled
every bit of it as degenerate.

What do you suppose
they do to degenerates?

Franco has Hitler and
the Nazis on his side, Pablo.

We need you on ours.

I made a vow to God if he let Conchita
live, I would give up painting.

God knew I could
never keep my promise.

So he took her.

I've been thinking that we
should create something together.

Let's make a baby.

Can you tell our
readers in your own words

why you joined the Communist Party?



All my life, I, I've used line
and color to try to penetrate deeper,

to understand the
world and, uh, and man.

Art has been my weapon.

And I have fought in my own
way like a true revolutionary.

But during the horrors
of the Nazi occupation,

I-I felt that that
wasn't enough anymore,

that I had to fight the
Fascism not only with painting

but uh, with my whole being.

It's radical, isn't it?

I thought of your still life,
the one you applied the oil cloth to.

And I thought, what
if I used wallpaper?

The wallpaper, it, it,
it is itself and stands for itself.

You build up the illusion
and call attention to it.

It's, oh it's brilliant.

I proposed to
Marcelle last week.

Congratulations.

You don't approve.

Of course I do.

Marcelle is wonderful.

And yet your dark
eyes flicker with doubt.

You've just created
something completely new.

You work when you want, how you want.

Don't you worry having a wife and
a family will interfere with that?

Flaubert said,
"be regular and orderly in your life,

so you can be violent
and creative in your work."

I intend to have the most
regular, orderly family imaginable.

I would love to have children.

Well, then you
should get married too.

Fernande is anything
but regular and orderly.

I didn't mean Fernande.

It is time to grow up.

Find yourself a suitable
wife, settle down.

Collage breaks all the rules.

You can use anything
you want on the canvas.

Dirt and sand, wood.

Or paper that looks like wood.

We can bring everyday
objects in, too.

A strip of newspaper, or wallpaper.

He spent all weekend
shopping for wallpapers.

It is difficult to find ones that are
ordinary enough to evoke everyday life.

You cannot just stick
anything on a canvas and call it art.

Why not?

Then the idea of
art becomes meaningless.

I think it sounds exciting.

I'd love to see one of
your collages, Pablo.

Eva, you know I love you,
but you're a terrible art critic.

You have no visual or spatial sense.

Eva has the best
taste of any woman I know.

Look at this home.

It's beautiful just like she is.

She even sewed the curtains.

Well, you're very talented.

Fernande has never
even sewn a button.

She just throws the shirt
out and buys another one.

What's going on
with you and Pablo?

You seem irritated with him.

All he ever talks about is work.

You don't realize
how lucky you are.

Louis is never excited
about anything.

At least Pablo is passionate.

For his art. Not for me.

I thought you two spend most
of your time together in bed.

Not anymore.

I had a dream I left Louis.

I ran out of the house
but I had nowhere to go.

Can I ask you a favor?

If the topic comes up with
Pablo, will you say that you

and I are going for dinner
together tomorrow?

Why?

Eva.

You said you were having problems
finding

the right wallpaper for
your collages, so...

I brought a roll of old
ones I had in the closet.

Oh. Thank you. Come in.

Fernande is out to
dinner with some friends.

I thought you were going.

I, I changed my mind.

They're nothing special.

They're perfect.

This was very kind of you, Eva.

Well, you've always
been very kind to me.

You belong in a Vermeer.

Don't I belong in a Picasso?

I would love to
paint you some time.

Will you have a drink with me?

Wine or something?

Why didn't you go to dinner?

I don't like that
Italian painter Oppi.

I heard he was going to be there.

I don't really know him.

Why don't you like him?

Pablo, can I ask you something?

You just did.

What if you found
out that, that...

a friend of yours was
lying to his lover?

Would you tell?

Lying about what?

A-About having an affair.

What business is that of mine?

I should go.

Is it this Oppi character?

I'm so sorry, Pablo.

I didn't know if I should tell,
but I found out she was...

Guess who is awake?

How is he this morning?

The same as every day.
He wants you.

Will you watch Claude for me?

Mm-hmm.

Mommy...

You don't want to get up.

Oh, Françoise. Please.

The more I live, the more I die.

Todo es... nada.

Well, you're not dead yet.

My stomach bother all night.

It's, it's probably a tumor.

Pablo, Dr. Gutman
says you are perfectly healthy.

No, no. D-Dr. Gutman
doesn't care if I live or die

as long as he gets his first edition!

Even so, the day is waiting.

Well, now I understand why
they execute condemned men at dawn.

You know, the light is so hideous, just uh,
f-force you to stare at it is, my, my head

it spins and makes
me dizzy and-and...

You'll feel better
once you start working.

Hmm. Well maybe you are...
maybe you are right.

What would I do without you?

Besides you have to get
up, an old friend is coming to visit.

"First World Congress of
Intellectuals for Peace."

I'm not an intellectual.

Of course you are.

And your presence would
send a message to the world.

I am not a French citizen.

I-I can't get a passport.

The Poles will grant you a visa.

I'll issue a statement.

I stand for life a,
against, uh, death.

And I stand for peace
against, uh, war.

Something like that.

It's not enough.

I give interviews.
I pose for photos.

I live humbly since
I joined the party.

Pablo, it's not simply a Que...

I can't go to Warsaw.

I have too much work to do.

Besides, I, I, I couldn't leave Françoise
alone with the baby, not in her condition.

No.

When you joined the party,
you said your art was a weapon.

Hmm?

That you were a true revolutionary.

And now you're staying here to what?

Be a nursemaid? Huh?

That is how you are
going to fight Fascism?

Don't talk to me about Fascism.

When the Nazis came to Paris and
everyone else ran away, I stayed.

And that was brave, Pablo.

But the world is different now.

The Fascists don't have to be on
your doorstep to threaten you.

A single bomb can
destroy an entire city.

The next war could annihilate us all.

If you care about your family, their
future, you'll come to the conference.

People idolize you.

Inspire them to take on
the cause of world peace.

It's dangerous to ignore this.

Will it affect the baby?

We can usually bring
the pressure down with medication.

Be direct for God's sake.

This can be very
dangerous for Françoise and the baby.

I want you to be seen three
times a week at the hospital.

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

You come to us. I'll pay for it.

She needs to
be monitored properly.

That cannot be done here.

I thought you weren't going.

Paul convinced me that I
am not doing enough for the Party.

Maybe I'll actually get some
painting done

without you here to bother me.

Don't, don't worry, Th,
the doctor will look after you.

And so will Claude.

Yeah, you will look
after Mommy, won't you?

How long will you be gone?

Just, uh, one week. Nothing.

This week has been perfect.

We can keep the house for
the rest of the summer if you want.

Pablo!

You shouldn't have come here.

Is she here?

You know that she is.

Pablo, why are you doing this?

Why did you go to bed with Oppi?

I was just so lonely.

You are always busy with your work.

And it was like you couldn't see me,
even when I was right there.

But it was a mistake.

And you don't think mistakes
come with any consequences?

So this is what? Revenge?

Maybe it was.

I know, I understand.

You're right, Pablo.
I deserved it. Now come home.

Come home, we can go
back to the way things were.

No, we can't, we can't.

We can.

I love her, Fernande.

But she's so conventional.

No, everything with her is easy.

With you, everything is hard.

Pablo, I can change.

No, she's not bitter.
Or spiteful.

She wants to take care of me.

I can take care of you.

No, you can't.

But you should try to
take care of yourself.

You would make me think
there's something wrong with me.

But maybe it's you.

You broke every promise you ever made
me and you'll do the same to her.

You couldn't even keep your vow to God when
your sister was dying because your art is

always more important.

I don't want to fight with you.

Not anymore.

I never thought I would
be able to love anyone, Pablo.

But I loved you.

I hope she makes you happy.

Requiem aeternam dona

ei et Lux perpetua luceat ei...

Your father would
want you to have it.

All these years, I
should have come to visit.

No,

don't torment yourself.

You were the pride of his life.

And in return
I was ashamed of him.

Pablo. Your father knew that everything
you did, you did for your art.

Does this new girl understand that?

Yes, she does.

Then don't wait, Pablo.

Marry her, start a family.

What could bring you more happiness?

6,000 francs
is bid, thank you, sir.

Can I hear 6,500?

I have 6,500 francs.

Can I hear 7,000?
I have 7,000 francs.

Thank you, sir. Can I hear 7,500?

Congratulations, you just sold the
most expensive painting in history.

Jesus, how much?

12,650 francs.

That is twice what anyone
has ever paid for a Matisse.

"Amazing prices were paid for
the works of undesirable foreigners."

I think that the journalist was talking
about Pablo, the dirty Spaniard!

"And it was the Germans who pushed up the
prices." He's referring to you, Kahnweiler,

and all the other dirty
Krauts who are ruining France!

Forget that rag,
Max. They love Pablo in America!

Oh, yay! I will drink to that!

Oh, you will drink to anything.

Gertrude!

Your girlfriend
already has me figured out.

No, darling Max, the nationalists
are nothing to joke about.

They're trying to stir
up a war with Germany.

There's not
going to be a war, Gertrude.

I did not invite you all
here to talk about politics.

Yes, we are here to
celebrate the sale of the Harlequins.

How Harlequin magically grows...

Oh! Ah, oh!

I am a mess. Not like you.

You tied it all up in a pretty
little bow, didn't you? Hmm?

You got rid of Fernande, you stole
Pablo and now he's filthy rich.

What did you say?

Oh, a poem!

A poem for the unmarried
lady of the fancy new house,

"The Gold Digger
of Montparnasse."

You are a disgrace.

He's drunk,
Pablo. He does not mean it.

Oh, no, I didn't, I did not mean to
offend all of you undesirable foreigners.

Get out! Get out.

I should have thrashed him.

He had too much to drink
and Fernande is his friend.

I understand why he's upset.

You're too good, Eva.

Hmm.

He insulted you.

He wasn't entirely wrong.

I am the "unmarried lady
of the house," after all.

I could change that.

No, I wasn't trying...

No, I love you, ma Jolie,

more than I have
ever loved anyone in my life.

I want to, to write your
name in all my works.

I want to have a family with you.

I'll be back in
a moment, darling.

Drive to Nice tonight, Pablo.

Apollinaire will still be there.

You can enlist together.

If I go to Nice,
it will be to stop him.

I wish I could stop you.

What do you want?

German occupation and domination?

We are artists, not soldiers.

Painting won't save France from
the German military machine.

I'm not even French,
Georges, I'm Spanish.

And what has
France done for you?

Given you a home where you're free to paint
whatever you want, love whoever you want.

France has made you a rich man.

So to show my gratitude, I should run
across a field and bury my bayonet in

another man's belly?

If that is what it takes, yes.

You are blinded
by nationalism, Georges.

This war is not for France,
it is-it is not for freedom.

Coward.

It is for
imperialists and bankers!

I just need one more
signature, Monsieur Picasso.

100,000 francs?

Why are you withdrawing
so much money?

So if this horrible war
causes the bank to fail,

I can take care of you and the

beautiful babies we
are going to have.

Are you feeling all right?

It's just a tickle.

I want to make Mademoiselle
Gilot a signatory on my accounts.

I'll just prepare the documents.

Is this really necessary?

How else would you be
able to get the money if the

plane crashes on the way to Poland?

If you're so afraid
of flying, Pablo, don't go.

Claude doesn't want anyone
else but you tucking him in.

Look, this
is serious, Françoise.

I have never trusted anyone
else to handle my money before.

And all these
years I thought you

were in love with me
because I'm an artist.

But it turns out what you
needed was a bookkeeper.

And a maid and a secretary.

Oh, Françoise.

Perhaps His Lordship would
at least allow me to hire a nanny?

You know how that
would look to the Party.

You know, a nanny is a, is
um, a bourgeois indulgence.

It's, it's...

Of course.
Comrade Picasso.

Do you think the pilot knows what to
do in case that there is some problems?

The plane is
not going to crash, Pablo.

How can this monstrous
bird possibly stay in the air?

Hundreds of planes fly
every day all over the world.

Why do you think the only one you've
ever been on is going to crash?

Just take a deep breath
and look out the window, Pablo.

It's beautiful.

It's all squares and rectangles.

A Cubist painting. I got it
right. I got it right.

Pablo. I had a vision.

Jesus appeared to me.

Were you smoking opium?

No. No, it was real.
It was a message.

I must atone for my sins, all of them,
for being a-a deviant, a mean drunk,

I treated Eva so terribly.

Yes. You owe her an apology.

Of course. Yes.

But, apologies are not enough.

I need to do something
more with my life.

The army wouldn't take
me, so I, I cannot fight.

And, um, well, I will
never have a family.

Max. You'll always
be family to me.

Do you mean that? Truly?

Because I need you to
help me do something.

Ego Te baptizo
in Nomine Patris et Filii

et Spiritus Sancti.

So now I'm Max's Godfather.

Before I am even a real father,
I have a son who is 38 years old!

And a Jewish son to boot!

Well, he's not Jewish anymore.

And what about the two of you?

When are you going to get married
and have some actual children?

I want to wait until
this wretched war is over.

And I keep telling her war
is the best time to make babies.

An antidote to death.

The soup is delicious.

The lights, quickly.

Under the table.

To Picasso!

Picasso!

Na zdrowie! Na zdrowie.

Please.

It is an honor to be here.

They say Americans
will stop buying your works

now that you're a Communist.

We will see.

It's a small
price to pay, I suppose,

for the richest
painter in the world.

Do you know my work?

Yes.

And I wonder, why do
you continue to paint

in bourgeois
impressionist-surrealist style?

Please. Be respectful.

Impressionist-surrealist?

If you are going to denigrate me,
at least use the correct terms,

and insult me for Cubism.

Where do your
paintings hang, Comrade Picasso?

In rich people's homes.

Who else can afford them?

You are not the first to
tell me my work does not conform

to someone else's idea of
what it should be.

And why don't you paint in simpler,
more clearly understood symbolism?

If I were a shoemaker, would I have
to hammer my shoes a special way

just to show my politics?

Your work is not Communist.

I am a Communist.

If I make a painting,
it's a Communist painting.

Men ennoble themselves
by working for the common good,

not to enrich themselves.

Your painting is decadent, Comrade.

The Nazis
called it "degenerate."

You are exactly the same.

So now I am not
Communist enough? Hmm!

Did you listen to those bastards who
condemn me for joining the Party?

Who cares what he thinks?

Marcel, we are
going back to Paris.

Please, Comrade Picasso, don't...

Forget Lvovich,
he's small-minded

and doesn't understand
what we're trying to do.

Pablo, you remember
Pierre Daix, the writer.

Please, if you'll permit me, I'd like to
show you what we are fighting against.

Arbeit Macht Frei.

Work makes you free.

A great lie, of course.

There was no freedom.

Not for political prisoners like me.

Not for homosexuals.

And certainly not for the Jews.

Those who didn't die on the journey
were separated as soon as they arrived.

Babies ripped from mothers' arms,

the strong sent to work.

The weak to the showers.

Another lie, of course.

No water poured from
these pipes,

only poison gas snaking
down from the ceiling.

Naked people, shivering, humiliated,

crammed shoulder to shoulder,

women, men, tiny children,

their screams ending only when
the vapor stole their voices,

choking the life out of them.

This miserable war.
Will it ever end?

If you hate the war so
much, why don't you stop belly-aching

and actually do something about it?

What can I do?

Gertrude and I are driving
supplies to local hospitals.

That's wonderful.

It's not enough to
declare yourself a pacifist, Pablo.

You have a very loud voice and
an obligation to make it heard.

I am not a politician.

No, but you are one of
the most famous artists in Europe.

Use your art to speak
out against the war.

Art should not be political.

Well that's a very principled position
and a convenient one, isn't it?

You get to do nothing and still feel
morally superior to everyone else.

You say your art is a weapon.

So use it to speak out
against these atrocities.

Comrade Eluard is right.

The Nazis may be gone, but Franco
still rules your beloved Spain.

Fascism is not dead.

And our Party is
dedicated to fighting it.

To make sure that this
never happens again.

Paint a peace symbol, Pablo.

For the Party conference in Paris.

Oh-oh! It's from Papa.

I'm sorry it wasn't a more pleasant
evening, we'll have more fun next time.

Nonsense, there's no one we'd rather
hide under a table with than the two...

Eva? What's wrong?
What's wrong?

You have lung cancer.
I'm sorry.

How do we treat it?

We will do everything
we can to make you comfortable.

Papa's home!

Oh. Hey.

Aren't you glad to see me?

You said you'd be
gone one week, it's been three.

Didn't you get my telegrams?

You mean the ones
addressed to "Madame Picasso"?

You couldn't be bothered
to send them, so you what?

Had Marcel write them?

How dare you abandon me.

You are exaggerating, Françoise.

Then you didn't just leave me alone,
sick and pregnant to care for

a baby for almost a month?

I was doing something important.

Something much bigger than
taking care of one baby.

So now it's not only your
art that comes before your family,

it's politics as well.

I was in a country
ravaged by bombs, misery and death.

Talking with leaders of the
world about how to stop war.

You're right.
My concerns are trivial.

Accounts, baths,

doctor's visits,

laundry, vomit.

How difficult has it
really been for you?

Were you starving?

Were you beaten and-and
worked to death?

Was Claude ripped from
your arms by Nazis?

So unless I'm a victim of Nazi
war crimes, my concerns don't matter?

You were the one who
wanted children, Pablo.

And I agreed.

But I didn't agree to give up my work
so I could cater to all your needs.

I'm sorry, my love.

You can't imagine what I saw.

We can't live with blinders on,
fixated on our little family,

shut off from the struggles
of the rest of the world.

We, we have to do more for others.

That is a very
noble sentiment, Pablo.

But is it really why you went?

What do you mean?

I mean maybe you're just bored.

Maybe you want to get away from us,
maybe you don't like me

turning into a giant bump again.

You have never
been so beautiful to me.

But you are right.

I did want to get away.

When Lamaze said you were sick, that you
have to go and see doctors in the hospital,

I, I had an urge to run.

And it's terrible, I know.

But suddenly I thought,
maybe it was happening again.

What was happening again?

I'm so tired.

I know, my love.
But don't be discouraged.

You're going to be home soon.

Pablo, I won't be coming home.

Of course you will.

We're going to get
married and have babies.

Pablo.

You will get married and
you will have a family.

But not with me.

You're not thinking clearly.
It's the morphine.

You're going to get well soon.

And I'm coming every day to
sit with you until you do.

It's a long train ride
to make so often, Pablo.

I don't mind. Because
at the end of it there is you.

You're very sweet.

But now I need to rest.

You should go home.

Monsieur Picasso.
I, I'm Jean Cocteau.

I'm a great admirer of yours.

Um, I'm about to leave for the front, I
was hoping you would paint my portrait,

it's for my mother.

The woman I love is dying.

You think I want to paint
your goddamn portrait?

I'm sorry, I'm...

We need a stretcher.
This one's alive.

My fiancé's at the front.

Why aren't you?

I don't believe in war.

What about you?

You must have someone else, too.

How do I look?

Like I could paint
you for the rest of my life.

Here. Lace me up.

Marry me. Gaby.

I have a fiancé.

And you just lost the woman you love.

I want to give you everything.

Paintings, children.

I know you're in pain,
but this isn't the answer.

I'm sorry, Pablo. I can't.

The doctors want to drill into
my skull to relieve the pressure.

But they don't know if it
will give me my sight back.

I'm sure it will.

Marcelle says the same.

She's so innocent.

She still wants a family.

You'll have beautiful children.

Every night I dream
about leaving the trench.

As soon as I'm over the top,
my fear turns to terror.

My nose fills with Sulphur.

I taste metal on the
roof of my mouth.

She'll never understand
and neither will you.

No, I, I don't suppose I could.

You stayed at home painting and now
I may never be able to paint again.

Braque is right.

I hid in my studio while
the rest of you suffered.

I am so sorry, Guillaume.

You were right not to go, Pablo.

Artists should create, not destroy.

But what have I created?

Not even a child.

Only pretty pictures
for Eva and Gaby.

I should have at least tried to
create something to tell the world

how I feel about this wretched war.

We heard you donated a million
francs to the striking miners!

What a magnanimous gesture.

You're becoming quite
the philanthropist, Pablo.

And now, you're doing the art for
the Paris peace conference as well.

What will you paint?

I don't know yet.

Marie's trying
to get me to attend.

You should go.
Paul Robeson is coming from America.

Hmm.

Do you know him?

The singer?

His father was a runaway slave.

He and Pablo have been corresponding.

Marie and I were thinking, with all
the causes you have been taking up,

perhaps you would donate a few painting
to our little Museum in Antibes.

Oh, your museum is a cause now?

Art is its own cause, is it not?

You cater to rich tourists.

Well, I suppose, but,
a gift from you would really help us.

Perhaps I can
help you in return.

We heard you got trouble traveling to
Poland because you don't have a passport.

I still have friends in the Conseil
des Ministres who could secure

French citizenship for you.

First you demand a gift then
you want me to change my nationality?

I'm Spanish.
I represent Spain in exile.

Pablo, I do not mean...

And as long as a Fascist
dictator rules over my people,

I will stand in solidarity with them.

Françoise, people are staring.

And what gives you the
right to ask for my paintings?

Do you think I paint them for you?

What do you think an artist is?

An idiot who paints to
decorate the walls of museums?

And why have you stopped eating?

Food here isn't good enough for you?

Françoise!

Don't look at me.
I agree with him.

Thank you for taking my side.

We are allies, Pablo.

In Warsaw, a Soviet donkey

told me I should make art with

a more easily understood symbolism.

I'm sure you
appreciated his suggestion.

Even if I agree
with it, I wouldn't know how.

I mean, I, sense, I see, I paint.

The next day even I, I, I
don't know how I have done it.

I need a universal symbol, but I
can't find it except instinctively

and, and unconsciously.

If you want something instinctive,
go back to the beginning.

My beginning
was picadors and pigeons.

Hmm. Then start there.

My horse
doesn't look real, Papa.

I want to paint like you.

I will teach you, Pablito.

My horse doesn't
look like your pigeon...

You have taught
me all I need to know.

A pigeon?

A dove. Paloma in Spanish.

My father bred them.

Honestly, I was expecting
a worker holding a hammer

or someone laying down his sword.

Too literal.

But the Bible does
tell beautiful stories.

Like the Paloma bringing an olive
branch to Noah after the flood.

Yes. To symbolize that
God had made peace with mankind.

It's beautiful, Pablo.

Hmm. And it's also hideous.

One day, my father
brought home a baby bird.

And I saw a pair of
doves peck it to death.

Now how is that
for a symbol of peace?

I don't understand you.

Art is the lie
that tells the truth.

Don't try to understand.
You have to feel.

And I hope this dove
makes people feel.

The truth.

That we are capable of the
most horrible violence.

Which is why we must
fight so hard against it.

It feels as though
the baby is fighting me.

It wants to stay, but I want it out.

I agree. It's time
to induce labor. I'll call Pablo.

No. The last place
he wants to be is a hospital.

It would upset him.

Françoise,
this is his child, too.

But he's at
the Peace Conference.

It's important.

More important than his family?

Push, push, push. Yes.

Ready? Now, push.

I dreamed
I saw Joe Hill last night ♪

♪ Alive as you and me ♪

♪ Says I but Joe,
you're ten years dead ♪

♪ I never died says he ♪

♪ I never died says he ♪

♪ Says he ♪

Hey. Are you all right?

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh!

Look at her.

She's a work of art.

And we made her. Together.

Paloma.
We will call her Paloma.

Paloma.

Yes.

Now that's a lovely name.

That way we can be sure.

Sure of what?

That we will always
have peace in our family.

Paloma. Oh!