Surviving Picasso
- R
- Year:
- 1996
- 125 min
- 328 Views
1
Good morning.
Good morning.
Please.
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.
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 valueyou 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.
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.
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?
We have an appointment
to see monsieur Picasso.
He told us to come.
To see his work.
Man:
"That spread over asky dripping with herring,
"fished out of
a ploughed-over ocean,
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 acat 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."
"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?
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
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 Genevieveleft 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?
Must be German.
Just change the wine merchants.
You said to bring her straight
in whenever she comes.
Well, she's come.
Ah!
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.
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.
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...
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