The Nightmare Worlds of H.G. Wells (2016–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - The Devotee of Art - full transcript
Moderately talented young painter Alec Harringay feels his portrait of St Catherine is not good enough for submission to the Royal Academy however hard he works and his wife Isabel bemoans his obsession with perfecting it as household bills mount. Then one night the portrait comes to life, offering to give Alec the power to paint a masterpiece - in exchange for his soul. Foolishly he agrees and his work suddenly improves - but there is a terrible price to pay.
If love is an
emotional necessity,
then perhaps art is a
spiritual compulsion.
Mr. Alec Harringay,
artist, a painter,
possessed of that mostfrustrating of blessings--
a moderate talent.
Alec intended to submit
a canvas at the academy.
Yet, he had spent the
best part of a week
failing to get any sortspirit into a portrait of St.
Catherine.
Rubbish.
Alec?
- I'm going to bed.
- Bed?
Goodness, I had no idea
it was getting so late.
Well, you, my love,are working far too hard.
Who was she?
I mean, who is she?
St. Catherine, patron
saint of artists.
And what happened to her?
She fell.
What?
She fell short of
what was required.
A submission to theacademy should be original.
It should be dazzling, not this.
But I think it
looks very fine.
No, it doesn't.
It lacks the creative spirit.
I want to take
canvas and pigment
and make a woman as Godmade Adam out of red oak.
But this thing, if he mether walking about the street,
you'd know she was
fashioned in a studio.
Alec, you're becoming
positively bilious.
I know, I'm sorry.
You're right, when you saidI was working too hard.
Come to bed?
Darling, what's the matter?
Over
the next few days,
Alec made several furtherattempts at the portrait.
Let me see if I can
capture you this time.
Your grace and
your sublime beauty
shall dazzle the academy.
stubbornly out of reach.
You are being deliberatelyelusive, Catherine.
You're-- you're teasing me.
Don't think I don't that
you're laughing at me.
I shall make you mine, yet.
Alec?
Do you know the time?
It's nearly midnight.
Alec?
Alec, are you going
to paint all night?
Yes, if I have to.
I only wanted to spend
some time with you.
An artist doesn't
choose his working hours.
They choose him.
And for all of the hours lostto work, when was the last time
you sold one of your paintings?
What?
Your art does not seem toimprove our coffers, no more
than it improves your humor.
Meanwhile, our debts
are mounting, Alec.
Will youplease just let me get on?
Damn it all.
She's no more a saint than I am.
Such
strong manly hands.
What is this?
I've beenwanting to talk to for an age.
We've been staring at
each other for so long.
I couldn't bare the
silence any longer.
Who are you?
Who are you trying to capture?
St. Catherine.
I've watched you struggle.
And I have come to inspire you.
It must be difficult for
you, living with Isabel.
I've seen how she treats you.
She doesn't appreciate whatit takes to be an artist.
It's true.
Isabel has little
passion for art.
The fact of the matter
is, she doesn't seem
to appreciate that I'm--
A genius?
Well, possibly.
That's arisk all great artists run,
that their genius will
not be recognized.
And yet, I have the
power to help you.
Help me?
How?
I can bestow upon you
the ability to create
an undisputed masterpiece.
It would be globally
recognized--
a true addition to the
gallery of great works.
Nobody would ever
question your genius,
not even simple, little Isabel.
Your name would
echo down the ages.
And all I ask in
exchange is your soul.
My--
my-- I'm-- my soul?
I-- I don't--
Isabel
does not deserve you.
She doesn't deserve
you your kisses.
Alec.
What
is it, my love?
What?!
Wait!
Wait!
No, wait!
Wait!
Get thee gone!
Your paintingwould be world famous.
Alec!
No please, please stop it!
Enamel?
No, you wouldn't dare!
Alec!
Alec!
Alec!
Have you been up
all night again?
You're going to
make yourself ill.
Alec, you need to get some rest.
Isabel.
I love you.
Come.
It would be anothertwo days before Alec felt
ready to reenter his studio.
Starting from scratch?
You!
But-- yes.
I do love an optimist.
You start with the vaguestof presentment of an idea.
And you hope
inspiration will strike.
It always does.
Does it?
Eventually.
Can you really face
another blank canvas?
It's truth-- becomesmore difficult each time.
Remember my offer.
You could paint an
undeniable masterpiece.
And a masterpiece would
command a high price.
You could easily
get those debts.
But the price you
ask is high and--
Sh.
Give me your soul, and
your artistic spirit
will live forever.
Your masterwork would
exert an influence
on future generations.
Yes.
Yes.
So now, are you not inspired?
I've--
I've been approaching thecompetition completely wrong.
I know exactly what to do now.
Thank--
From the
moment Alec Harringay
sold his soul for the abilityto print a masterpiece,
his mind was flooded with amultitude of dazzling ideas.
He prepared paintingcombinations which had never
previously occurred to him.
And his techniqueadvanced a thousand fold.
Alec, I haven't
seen you for days.
What is it you want?
To see you, to hear yourvoice, to know that you're
aware of my existence.
I'm busy.
You can see that.
This-- this surpassesanything that you've ever done.
It's almost like it's--
Like it's what?
Like it's the work
of another painter.
I have developed.
Now, please leave us.
Us?
Leave me.
Don't you understand,
this is my masterpiece.
It's beautiful, Alec.
But it is making you ill.
The academy's deadline forsubmission is one week away.
I need every moment betweennow and then to complete this.
I can't waste any time.
Damn you, Alec.
Can you not see what
is happening to you?
You're losing your reason.
For pity's sake,
can you just step
away from the easel for just--
just one hour.
Please!
Please leave me be.
Now, finally,Alec can work undisturbed.
As the days passed, he feltneither hunger nor thirst
and slept only fleetingly.
But he knew now for certain thathis immortality was assured.
Piccadilly,please, Burlington House.
Right-o.
On his
way to the academy,
and thrilled by his
own genius, Alec could
not resist just one more look.
It's the wrong one.
it's the wrong one!
Beg your parden, Sir?
- nothing, look, um, we must turn around and go back.
Right-o.
H-- how-- how
could I wrap the wrong canvas?
You didn't.
What?
There's
only one canvas.
You painted over it.
Remember?
You painted over me.
My masterpiece,what happened to it?
Igave back to what is mine.
No!
No!
No!
Are you all right, gov?
We-- we have
to turn around.
All right, all right.
Wait, wait, it-- it's fine.
It's fine, we can
go on the academy.
Make
your mind up, mate.
Come on!
Come up!
How are we feeling?
I-- .
There you go.
It's gone!
It would have been
no use to you anymore.
But--
But I-- I'm a--
I'm a painter.
Well, I supposeyou'll just have to learn
to paint with your other hand.
God!
Is there anybodyyou'd like us to contact?
No, no one.
Well, you just
get plenty of rest.
And I'll be along to
check on you later.
A pity.
A pity about your hand.
You!
You know who I am, of course.
I am your inspiration.
What do you want?
We
struck a bargain.
But--
You created amasterpiece, did you not?
It's gone!
No.
It was rescued from the crash.
At this very moment, it's beinghung at the Royal Academy.
There
will be no doubt
over the genius of its creator.
There can be no
more paintings now.
That's not my concern.
I've lost everything,
even poor Isabel.
None
of that is my concern.
Please no.
All I sought was
to create beauty.
All yousought was glorification.
No, no.
It was all for art!
You
made your choice.
Now, your soul shall be mine.
Please don't!
The
trick is to find it.
I've looked in here.
But
did not find it.
Please, leave me be!
So now--
now we must look--
Leave me be!
-- a little deeper.
Sometimes, an artistpaints a form with no soul
to it.
He paints aimlessly
and recklessly
and without
inspiration in the hope
that some random spirit may becoached forth into his work.
And sometimes-- sometimes,a spirit does come.
emotional necessity,
then perhaps art is a
spiritual compulsion.
Mr. Alec Harringay,
artist, a painter,
possessed of that mostfrustrating of blessings--
a moderate talent.
Alec intended to submit
a canvas at the academy.
Yet, he had spent the
best part of a week
failing to get any sortspirit into a portrait of St.
Catherine.
Rubbish.
Alec?
- I'm going to bed.
- Bed?
Goodness, I had no idea
it was getting so late.
Well, you, my love,are working far too hard.
Who was she?
I mean, who is she?
St. Catherine, patron
saint of artists.
And what happened to her?
She fell.
What?
She fell short of
what was required.
A submission to theacademy should be original.
It should be dazzling, not this.
But I think it
looks very fine.
No, it doesn't.
It lacks the creative spirit.
I want to take
canvas and pigment
and make a woman as Godmade Adam out of red oak.
But this thing, if he mether walking about the street,
you'd know she was
fashioned in a studio.
Alec, you're becoming
positively bilious.
I know, I'm sorry.
You're right, when you saidI was working too hard.
Come to bed?
Darling, what's the matter?
Over
the next few days,
Alec made several furtherattempts at the portrait.
Let me see if I can
capture you this time.
Your grace and
your sublime beauty
shall dazzle the academy.
stubbornly out of reach.
You are being deliberatelyelusive, Catherine.
You're-- you're teasing me.
Don't think I don't that
you're laughing at me.
I shall make you mine, yet.
Alec?
Do you know the time?
It's nearly midnight.
Alec?
Alec, are you going
to paint all night?
Yes, if I have to.
I only wanted to spend
some time with you.
An artist doesn't
choose his working hours.
They choose him.
And for all of the hours lostto work, when was the last time
you sold one of your paintings?
What?
Your art does not seem toimprove our coffers, no more
than it improves your humor.
Meanwhile, our debts
are mounting, Alec.
Will youplease just let me get on?
Damn it all.
She's no more a saint than I am.
Such
strong manly hands.
What is this?
I've beenwanting to talk to for an age.
We've been staring at
each other for so long.
I couldn't bare the
silence any longer.
Who are you?
Who are you trying to capture?
St. Catherine.
I've watched you struggle.
And I have come to inspire you.
It must be difficult for
you, living with Isabel.
I've seen how she treats you.
She doesn't appreciate whatit takes to be an artist.
It's true.
Isabel has little
passion for art.
The fact of the matter
is, she doesn't seem
to appreciate that I'm--
A genius?
Well, possibly.
That's arisk all great artists run,
that their genius will
not be recognized.
And yet, I have the
power to help you.
Help me?
How?
I can bestow upon you
the ability to create
an undisputed masterpiece.
It would be globally
recognized--
a true addition to the
gallery of great works.
Nobody would ever
question your genius,
not even simple, little Isabel.
Your name would
echo down the ages.
And all I ask in
exchange is your soul.
My--
my-- I'm-- my soul?
I-- I don't--
Isabel
does not deserve you.
She doesn't deserve
you your kisses.
Alec.
What
is it, my love?
What?!
Wait!
Wait!
No, wait!
Wait!
Get thee gone!
Your paintingwould be world famous.
Alec!
No please, please stop it!
Enamel?
No, you wouldn't dare!
Alec!
Alec!
Alec!
Have you been up
all night again?
You're going to
make yourself ill.
Alec, you need to get some rest.
Isabel.
I love you.
Come.
It would be anothertwo days before Alec felt
ready to reenter his studio.
Starting from scratch?
You!
But-- yes.
I do love an optimist.
You start with the vaguestof presentment of an idea.
And you hope
inspiration will strike.
It always does.
Does it?
Eventually.
Can you really face
another blank canvas?
It's truth-- becomesmore difficult each time.
Remember my offer.
You could paint an
undeniable masterpiece.
And a masterpiece would
command a high price.
You could easily
get those debts.
But the price you
ask is high and--
Sh.
Give me your soul, and
your artistic spirit
will live forever.
Your masterwork would
exert an influence
on future generations.
Yes.
Yes.
So now, are you not inspired?
I've--
I've been approaching thecompetition completely wrong.
I know exactly what to do now.
Thank--
From the
moment Alec Harringay
sold his soul for the abilityto print a masterpiece,
his mind was flooded with amultitude of dazzling ideas.
He prepared paintingcombinations which had never
previously occurred to him.
And his techniqueadvanced a thousand fold.
Alec, I haven't
seen you for days.
What is it you want?
To see you, to hear yourvoice, to know that you're
aware of my existence.
I'm busy.
You can see that.
This-- this surpassesanything that you've ever done.
It's almost like it's--
Like it's what?
Like it's the work
of another painter.
I have developed.
Now, please leave us.
Us?
Leave me.
Don't you understand,
this is my masterpiece.
It's beautiful, Alec.
But it is making you ill.
The academy's deadline forsubmission is one week away.
I need every moment betweennow and then to complete this.
I can't waste any time.
Damn you, Alec.
Can you not see what
is happening to you?
You're losing your reason.
For pity's sake,
can you just step
away from the easel for just--
just one hour.
Please!
Please leave me be.
Now, finally,Alec can work undisturbed.
As the days passed, he feltneither hunger nor thirst
and slept only fleetingly.
But he knew now for certain thathis immortality was assured.
Piccadilly,please, Burlington House.
Right-o.
On his
way to the academy,
and thrilled by his
own genius, Alec could
not resist just one more look.
It's the wrong one.
it's the wrong one!
Beg your parden, Sir?
- nothing, look, um, we must turn around and go back.
Right-o.
H-- how-- how
could I wrap the wrong canvas?
You didn't.
What?
There's
only one canvas.
You painted over it.
Remember?
You painted over me.
My masterpiece,what happened to it?
Igave back to what is mine.
No!
No!
No!
Are you all right, gov?
We-- we have
to turn around.
All right, all right.
Wait, wait, it-- it's fine.
It's fine, we can
go on the academy.
Make
your mind up, mate.
Come on!
Come up!
How are we feeling?
I-- .
There you go.
It's gone!
It would have been
no use to you anymore.
But--
But I-- I'm a--
I'm a painter.
Well, I supposeyou'll just have to learn
to paint with your other hand.
God!
Is there anybodyyou'd like us to contact?
No, no one.
Well, you just
get plenty of rest.
And I'll be along to
check on you later.
A pity.
A pity about your hand.
You!
You know who I am, of course.
I am your inspiration.
What do you want?
We
struck a bargain.
But--
You created amasterpiece, did you not?
It's gone!
No.
It was rescued from the crash.
At this very moment, it's beinghung at the Royal Academy.
There
will be no doubt
over the genius of its creator.
There can be no
more paintings now.
That's not my concern.
I've lost everything,
even poor Isabel.
None
of that is my concern.
Please no.
All I sought was
to create beauty.
All yousought was glorification.
No, no.
It was all for art!
You
made your choice.
Now, your soul shall be mine.
Please don't!
The
trick is to find it.
I've looked in here.
But
did not find it.
Please, leave me be!
So now--
now we must look--
Leave me be!
-- a little deeper.
Sometimes, an artistpaints a form with no soul
to it.
He paints aimlessly
and recklessly
and without
inspiration in the hope
that some random spirit may becoached forth into his work.
And sometimes-- sometimes,a spirit does come.