Surviving Picasso Page #6

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.

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!

It's all right,

everything is fine...

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?

Monsieur, I could do

something very good for you.

Lean over here.

Let me show you.

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!

Come on, Claudio.

Every time someone

annoys your mother,

you go,

Pa-pa...

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.

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?

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

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