All language subtitles for Genius.2017.S02E01.720p.HDTV.x264-CRAVERS_track3_eng

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

(screaming and panting)

MARIA: What, what is it, huh?

INES: God has taken him.
We will pray for him.

MARIA: No...
No, no, no, no,
give him to me.

DON JOSÉ: I'm sorry, my love.

(crying).

MARIA: No, no, no...

INES: Shh, shh, shh...

DON JOSÉ: What are
you doing, brother?

(baby coughs and cries).

SALVADOR:
He sounds very angry.

(gasping and
crying and laughing).

PRIEST:
In the name of the Father,
the Son and the Holy Ghost,

I baptize thee José Francisco
de Paula Juan Nepomuceno

María de los Remedios
Cipriano de la Santísima
Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.

¶ ¶

(cheering)

¶ ¶

(cheering)

(grunts).

CROWD: Ole!

DON JOSÉ: You see how
brave the matador is?

PABLITO: But what if the
bull kills him, Papa?

DON JOSÉ: He is an artist,
Pablito, and he is willing
to risk his life to

do something truly beautiful.

CROWD: Ole!

PABLITO:
It doesn't look right.

MARIA: Nonsense.

You're a great artist.

One day, your paintings will
be on the walls of the Prado.

PABLITO: Maybe I
should be a soldier.

MARIA: Well, then
you will be general.

And if you're a priest,
you will be Pope.

(laughing).

Look what our Pablo
has done, Papa.

DON JOSÉ: Hmm? Oh!

PABLITO: My horse
doesn't look real, Papa.

Not like your pigeons.

I want to paint like you.

DON JOSÉ: Then I will
teach you, Pablito. Hmm?

(chuckles).

(sighs).

PICASSO:
You are a genius, Maya.

A true surrealist.

(chuckles).

Look. Mi papá taught
me how to paint pigeons.

What do you think?

(laughs).

MARIE-THERESE: Maya, no!

Papa's paintings
are very precious.

PICASSO: Oh, well, you know.

She's a critic, the only
one I have ever loved.

I'm gonna get you.
I'm gonna get you.
I'm gonna get you.

(giggling).

MARIE-THERESE:
She is so happy
when you are here, Pablo.

Can't you stay the night?

PICASSO: Marie-Therese,
you know I have to work.

MARIE: You can work here.

PICASSO: No...
with this little devil
savage, you know, my ideas...

But I'll be back next week.

MARIE-THERESE: Hmm.

PICASSO: The roses
are exquisite, Hervé.

HERVÉ: Thank you, monsieur.

PICASSO: Cut me a
stem, would you?

You should let them grow
wild, too much pruning
destroys, uh, beauty.

HERVÉ: Yes, monsieur.

PICASSO: Vamanos, Marcel.

MARCEL: To Grands-Augustins?

PICASSO: I want to
make a stop, first.

(soft grunt).

(gasps).

(chuckles).

DORA: You frightened me.

(laughing).

PICASSO: Nonsense.
You're fearless.

You're experimenting
with double prints again.

DORA: What do you think?

PICASSO: You're
a brilliant photographer,
Dora, but there is a painter

trapped inside of you.

DORA: Oh?

PICASSO: You should
set her free.

DORA: Well, perhaps I will.

PICASSO: There are thorns.

Be careful.

DORA: Never.

SERT: We need a passionate
statement from you, Pablo,
something to capture the

world's attention.

PICASSO: What do
you have in mind?

SERT: We want you to
make a painting to fill
this entire wall of the

Spanish Pavilion at the
Universal Exposition.

PICASSO: I have never made
a painting that large.

I wouldn't know
where to begin.

SERT: Franco and his
fanatics are winning the
war in our beloved Spain,

spilling the blood of
those who defend democracy.

Fascism's spreading
across the continent.

AUB: The threat is enormous,
so the picture itself must be
enormous to move the public.

SERT: Tens of thousands
of people will
attend the exposition;

from the rest of
Europe, from America.

AUB: A bold
artistic declaration
from Pablo Picasso,

the most famous of all
Spanish artists, would alert
the world to our plight and

help us raise awareness
and money to save the Republic.

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

We need you on ours.

DORA: How can you refuse?

PICASSO: I don't
take commissions!

I paint what I want
and what I feel, not what
someone else tells me to!

DORA: This is a chance to
make a real difference.

PICASSO: Even if I had
an idea, which I don't,

a picture is not
going to stop a war,

no matter how gigantic it is.

DORA: It could move
people to stand against
fascism and violence.

PICASSO: But I am not a
poster artist, anyway.

I don't make propaganda.

DORA: Do you want to
know what I think?

PICASSO: No!

(laughs).

But I am certain that you're
going to tell me, anyway.

DORA: I think
you are scared...

Mm-hmm.

PICASSO: Scared? Of what?

DORA: Scared that if you
make such a gigantic painting
and it's met with silence,

you will have failed...

PICASSO: That's ridiculous.

DORA: Or if it makes too
much noise, the fascists
might come after you,

and you might lose your
nice, easy bourgeois life.

You live like a king, Pablo;

with your fancy automobile
and your fancy apartment.

What happened to the
rebellious young artist
who used to spit in

the face of authority?

Where has he gone, hm?

CONCHITA: I
want to see, Pablo!

PABLITO: I want to
try another one.

Now, sit still.

CONCHITA: I can't.

PABLITO: Come here.

CONCHITA: I look pretty!

PABLITO: I draw what I see.

You feel warm, Conchita.

DOCTOR: It's diphtheria.

MARIA: Please God, no.

DON JOSÉ: Is there
anything to be done?

DOCTOR: There is
a serum, but I will have
to send to Paris for it.

DON JOSÉ: Go back to bed, son.

Everything is all right.

PABLITO: Please,
God, spare my sister
María de la Concepción.

If you save her, I will
never again waste my time
with painting and drawing.

In Jesus's name, I swear it.

PRIEST: To You, O Lord, we
commend the soul of María de
la Concepción, Your servant.

In the sight of this
world, she is now dead.

In Your sight, may
she live forever.

Forgive whatever sins
she committed and,
in your goodness,

grant her everlasting peace.

We ask this through
Christ our Lord. Amen.

¶ ¶

MARIA: You were a
good brother to her.

PABLITO: I killed her.

MARIA: Why would you say
such a horrible thing?

PABLITO: I made
a vow to God that if
he let Conchita live,

I-I-I would
give up painting...

MARIA: Oh, Pablo...

PABLITO: But God knew I
could never keep my promise.

I loved painting too much.

Maybe more than I
loved Conchita, so to
punish me he took her.

MARIA: God is not
punishing you.

He was telling you that
you have a great gift,
one that He has given you.

He wants you to know that
you must never stop painting.

DORA: Come back to bed.

PICASSO: I can't.

DORA: Mm, because
you are too old?

PICASSO: You know,
it takes a very long
time to become young.

Not now!

SABARTÉS: Sorry to
bother you, Pablo, but...

PICASSO: What is it, Jaimé?

DORA: "Guernica, the
most ancient town of the
Basques was completely

destroyed yesterday by
insurgent air raiders.

A powerful fleet of
airplanes consisting
of three German types,

Junkers and Heinkel
fighters, did not cease
unloading on the town.

Bombs that targeted
defenceless citizens
on a busy market day,

levelling buildings and
setting roaring fires."

(distorted screaming).

¶ ¶

"The fighters, meanwhile,
plunged low to machine-gun
those of the

civilian population who had
taken refuge in the fields."

Women and children...
ripped to shreds!

Those fascist bastards.

Franco rode in
with his Nazi pigs.

They can't be allowed
to get away with this.

They attacked your people.

I know you didn't want to
make a painting for the
Spanish Pavilion, Pablo,

but now you must.

PICASSO: I am
going to need a...

very big canvas.

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

PALLARÉS: Where did you
learn to draw like that?

PABLITO: My father.

PALLARÉS:
How old are you, anyway?

PABLITO: 14.

PALLARÉS: Jesus Christ.

PABLITO: It's Pablo, actually.
Pablo Ruiz.

PALLARÉS: Manuel Pallarés.

Well, maybe
you're not Jesus,

but the way that you shade
the folds of his skin,

there is something
goddamn holy about it.

PABLITO: To be honest,
I'd, I'd rather be drawing
a beautiful woman's ass.

PALLARÉS: You've never seen a
woman's ass before, have you?

Five pesetas!

To whichever one of you
wants to cure my young friend
here of his acute virginity.

DOLORES: You can go now.

Are you deaf?

PABLO: Can't,
can't I look at you?

DOLORES: You have
done more than look.

Now out with you.

PABLO: No. I mean,
without your dress.

DOLORES: Your friend
didn't pay for that.

That's not enough to
peek at even one bare thigh.

PABLITO: Please,
just for a moment.

DOLORES: Oh, and that
will be enough for you?

PABLITO: Enough to remember
what you look like.

DOLORES: I am not so
pretty in the light.

Not anymore.

PABLITO: I think
you're very beautiful.

DOLORES: You do, do you?

PABLITO: Yes.
And I want to paint you.

SALVADOR: It is
extraordinary, Pablo.

PABLITO: It's a gift, Uncle,
to thank you for everything
you've done for me.

SALVADOR: And such
a touching subject.

PABLITO: It's a story
inspired by my sister's death.

DON JOSÉ: We are calling
it "Science and Charity."
I sat for Pablo,

but the figure of the doctor,
he's inspired by you, Brother.

SALVADOR: To think such a
marvellous work could come
from such a young hand.

DON JOSÉ: Yes. Pablo
has far exceeded his peers.

There's nothing left for
him to learn in Barcelona.

PABLITO: I'm hoping
to study at the Royal
Academy in Madrid.

DON JOSÉ: But it's
quite expensive.

SALVADOR: Now I see
the charity you allude
to in the painting.

DON JOSÉ: I'm ashamed to
ask for your generosity
again, Salvador, but...

SALVADOR: Nonsense.

It will bring honor
to the Ruiz name to have a
true artist in the family.

DEGRAIN: You will
not be an artist until you
have mastered the rules

of linear perspective
and orthogonal lines,

the laws of drawing
and precise contour.

You will not be an artist
until you have copied the
masters, studied anatomy,

and learn the
language of geometry.

No, Ruiz.

How many times
must I tell you.

Your technique is all wrong.

PABLO: I'm drawing
what I see, Maestro.

DEGRAIN: Well, then you
are seeing it incorrectly.

You must use
straight lines,

so that your
figure is properly

proportioned and positioned.

You have talent,
Ruiz, but no discipline.

And without discipline,
you will fail.

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

DEGRAIN: Ruiz?

PABLO: Maestro.

DEGRAIN: So, this
is where you've been
spending your time.

PABLO: Yes.

Or sketching at the Prado.

DEGRAIN: And when was the
last time you attended class?

PABLO: You only teach
rules and imitation.

I want to do
something original.

DEGRAIN: Original?

PABLO: Unique.

DEGRAIN: Your uncle
has written to inquire
after your progress.

What shall I tell him?

PABLO: Whatever you like.

He knows even less about
painting than you do.

DEGRAIN: He pays your
bills, your tuition.

PABLO: What does that
have to do with anything?

DEGRAIN: Do you suppose
he will continue to do
so when I inform him that

you have made a mockery
of his generosity?

DON JOSÉ: How could you
humiliate me like this?

PABLO: Degrain is a fraud.

DON JOSÉ: His approval could
have won you commissions.

PABLO: I don't want
to paint what everyone
else tells me to.

I want to be free to
paint what I like.

DON JOSÉ: Freedom
is for rich men.

You see how many students
I must take on, just to
scratch out a meager living?

Pablo.

You could be a master
at the Academy.

PABLO: You want me...

You want me to be a teacher?

I'm sorry, Papa.

You, you have taught
me all I need to know.

That's why I don't
need any more school.

DON JOSÉ: I can barely feed
your mother and her sisters.

And your uncle will not
give you another peseta.

What will you live on?

PABLO: I don't know.

But I would rather starve
than let someone force
me to paint inside a box.

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

But I will do it
in my own way.

ANNOUNCER (over PA):
Spain is at war with America.

Every able-bodied man
must report for duty.

We must protect our
colonies:

Cuba, Guam, Puerto Rico,
the Philippines.

We must defend the empire.

Report for duty.

PALLARÉS: Well, if it
isn't the prodigal Pablito.

PABLO: Manuel!

PALLARÉS: You know,
I thought you were at the
Academy in Madrid teaching

everyone how to
draw women's asses.

PABLO: I need
somewhere to stay.

I can do illustrations
to help pay the rent.

PALLARÉS: You'd have to
pay the rent on your own.

I'm going back to Horta.

PABLO: Horta? Why?

PALLARÉS: I don't want
to get ripped to shreds
by American bullets,

or die of yellow fever
in some godforsaken
Cuban ditch,

just so the damned
imperialists can get
cheap sugar for a coffee.

PABLO: You were drafted.

PALLARÉS: You're lucky
you're not old enough,
or tall enough.

PABLO: Won't they
find you at home?

PALLARÉS: I will go back
to the farm for supplies,

then I'm camping in the
Santa Barbara Mountains.

The Spanish army is
far too lazy to climb
all the way up there.

PABLO: Let me come with you.

Please, please, Manuel.

I can't go crawling
back to my father.

¶ ¶

PALLARÉS: Just
over the next rise.

PABLO: That's what you
said after the last rise.

(laughs).

¶ ¶

(screaming,
laughing, whooping).

PABLO: P. Ruiz.

PALLARÉS: No.

PABLO: P. Ruiz y Picasso.

PALLARÉS: No. What is
wrong with just Ruiz?

PABLO: It's so damn common.

PALLARÉS: It's also
your father's name.

PABLO: Exactly.

I need my own.

Something people
will remember.

I tried my other names...

Diego José-Ruiz,
Juan-Nepomuceno.

PALLARÉS: You don't
strike me as a Nepomuceno.

PABLO: What do
I strike you as?

PALLARÉS: I know you, Pablo.

You're not gonna
let me or anyone else
tell you who you are.

(laughs).

PALLARÉS: It's
perfect, isn't it?

PABLO: Yes.

And someday I'm going to
paint the perfect painting.

That sounds
stupid, doesn't it?

PALLARÉS: No.

It sounds quite
brilliant actually.

Let's never go back.

PABLO: What?

PALLARÉS: We have
everything we need here.

Food from my family's farm,
nature, art, friendship.

PABLO: What about girls?

PALLARÉS: There's a
whorehouse in Gandesa.

(laughs).

We could stay here.

No rules, no teachers,
no government.

You could paint your
perfect painting, Pablo.

Here.

PABLO: The paintings!

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

These paintings, they were
the best work I've ever done.

PALLARÉS: I'm so sorry, Pablo.

The rains never
come this early.

PABLO: It's a sign.

PALLARÉS: A sign?

PABLO: Like when
my sister died.

God is telling me I'm
wasting my gift here.

PALLARÉS: No,
that's, that's crazy.

We'll go back to the farm.

We get more supplies and
we come back, this time,
we build a shelter.

PABLO: No.

If I stay here, even if
I paint the perfect painting,
no one will ever look at it

and see what I see.

No one will know my name,
whatever the hell it is.

And Conchita, she will
have died for nothing.

(sighs).

DORA: Why have you
stopped, Pablo?

PICASSO: It's been so many
years since I tried to make
a painting that tells a story.

What if I cannot
do it anymore?

DORA: Of course you can.

PICASSO: No, it's not
violent enough, it's not...

angry enough.

DORA: So make it angrier.

PICASSO: I wasn't there.

I don't know how the
flames felt on their flesh,
how their screams sounded.

MARIE-THERESE:
I need to see him.

SABARTÉS: He's working.

MARIE-THERESE: He was
supposed to come Tuesday.

It's Thursday.

SABARTÉS: You'll just have
to wait with everyone else.

MARIE-THERESE:
I need to see him.

SABARTÉS:
Mademoiselle, please.

Please. Listen to me.

REPORTER: I had an
appointment for an interview
three hours ago.

SABARTÉS: I know. Yes.

REPORTER: Why
does she get to go in?

SABARTÉS: It is the
same for everybody, sir.

MARIE-THERESE: Pablo?

Who is this woman, Pablo?

SABARTÉS: Sorry, I told
her you were working, but...

DORA: I am Dora Maar.

And you must be Marie-Therese?

MARIE-THERESE: Yes, the
mother of his child.

The woman he is
going to marry.

(sighs).

DORA: Perhaps you should
pay a visit to his wife, the
mother of his other child,

and inform her of
this expectation.

MARIE-THERESE: Tell
this woman to leave.

Now.

DORA: I'm not going
anywhere, Mademoiselle.

MARIE-THERESE: One of
us is leaving, Pablo.

Which one, is up to you.

PICASSO: You know
what, you settle it.

Yup.

(grunting).

SABARTÉS: Ladies,
ladies, please!

DORA: Are you insane?

DOLORES: You make us all
look so lovely, Pablo.

Will you do me next?

PABLO: If you let
me stay another night,
I'll decorate your walls.

(chuckles).

CASAGEMAS: It's not bad
for a whorehouse sketch,
but I've seen much better.

PABLO: Have you?

CASAGEMAS: Yes.

Nonell, Casas, me.

PABLO: Oh, you're
an artist, are you?

CASAGEMAS: Yes, and
I see you're trying
to copy our style.

You've obviously been
to Els Quatre Gats.

PABLO: I can't afford
Els Quatre Gats.

And I don't copy
anyone's style.

DOLORES: Are you
going upstairs or not?

CASAGEMAS: Not.

DOLORES: Out with you then.

CASAGEMAS: Oh what?
You should come by some time.

I'll buy you a beer. Huh?

BOUNCER: Let's go.

CASAGEMAS: My name is
Carles Casagemas, by the way.

What is yours?

PABLO: Picasso.

't be allowed
to get away with this.

"Guernica,
the most ancient
town of the Basques was

completely destroyed by
insurgent air raiders."

(screaming).

DORA: Ripped to shreds.

(grunting).

DORA: Fascist bastards.

They can't be allowed
to get away with this.

PABLITO: What if the
bull kills him, Papa?

GENEVIEVE: He's
calling it "Guernica."

Everybody's
talking about it.

FRANCOISE:
It's brutal isn't it?

Perhaps even ugly.

GENEVIEVE: I read that he
said, "Painting is not meant
to decorate apartments.

It's meant to be a weapon."

FRANCOISE: But there
should be beauty in it,

even when the
subject is painful.

GENEVIEVE: I think
it's powerful.

FRANCOISE: As a work
of propaganda, maybe.

GENEVIEVE: Perhaps you should
write a review, Francoise.

I'm sure a scathing critique
of the greatest painter
in the world will do wonders

for your art career.

FRANCOISE: Matisse
is the greatest painter
in the world, Genevieve.

GENEVIEVE: Maybe.

But Picasso is much
better looking.

¶ ¶

EMILE: Don't say
you were at school.

I phoned them.

FRANCOISE: I went
to the Exposition.

EMILE: You skipped
class to what?

Watch the boat races
with some boy?

FRANCOISE:
No, I went with Genevieve,
to look at the architecture

and the paintings.

EMILE: I don't understand
you, Francoise.

I have given you
every opportunity.

FRANCOISE: I want
to be a painter.

EMILE: You think I raised
you to starve in Montmartre?

Making caricatures
for English tourists?

FRANCOISE: I won't.
I'll do serious work.

EMILE: You will
go to University.

You will become a
lawyer or a professor.

Do I make myself clear?

FRANCOISE: Yes.

EMILE: Consider yourself
fortunate, Francoise.

Not many fathers
in this world expect more
from their daughters than

to find a husband.

(laughs).

DORA: Something funny?

PICASSO:
My good friend El Caudillo,
Generalissimo Francisco Franco,

has just decreed
that divorce is no
longer legal in Spain.

DORA: Your painting
must have wounded
him gravely, Pablo.

PICASSO: Well, then it
was worth the struggle.

DORA: I'm proud of you, truly.

PICASSO: You think he
created a new national law
just to get back at me?

DORA: Your canvas
was so big after all.

PICASSO: Well, it will
certainly make my wife want
to get up and dance again.

No divorce in France,
no divorce in Spain.

She can remain Madame Picasso
until the day she dies.

DORA: Olga will be thrilled.

But I'm afraid your poor
Marie-Therese will be
positively devastated.

PICASSO: And you, my dear?

Aren't you even a
little bit disappointed?

Now you can never be
Madame Picasso either.

DORA: I would never marry you.

PICASSO: Wouldn't you?

DORA: Of course not.

Marriage is a bourgeois
convention supported by
priests and lawyers and,

uh, fascist dictators.

(laughs).

And besides,
wives, by definition,
are boring creatures.

PICASSO: Oh, I could
never be bored by you.

Where are you going?

DORA: The light is perfect.

PICASSO: No, let's
go back to the hotel.

I want to paint you.

(laughs)

ROSENBERG: It is
extraordinary, Pablo.

PICASSO: Dora is
whatever I need her to be;

a mouse, a bird,
an idea, a storm.

(chuckles).

She makes me wish
I was 18 again.

(overlapping
chatter, laughter).

CASAGEMAS: Well,
if it isn't the Leonardo
da Vinci of the whorehouse!

Come. Come have a drink.

NONELL: Toulouse-Lautrec
is an inbred dwarf!

UTRILLO: Oh,
Toulouse-Lautrec is a genius!

Look at this.

No one can touch
him when it comes to
capturing real life.

CASAGEMAS:
I think Nonell here is
just as good as Lautrec.

Maybe better.

NONELL: Stop kissing
my ass, Casagemas.

You're going to give
me a venereal disease.

(laughing).

UTRILLO: You can't
judge Lautrec without
seeing the colors.

And to do that,
you have to go to Paris.

NONELL: If you're going
to Paris, forget Lautrec.

See Degas, Cezanne.
Now there is a genius.

PABLO: You've been to Paris?

CASAGEMAS: He keeps
a studio there.

PABLO: I'm going to Paris.

NONELL: Are you?

PABLO: Well, as soon
as I can sell enough
work to afford a ticket.

(laughing).

CASAGEMAS: Don't laugh.
He's very talented.

I've seen his work.

They're accepting
submissions for the
Spanish Pavilion at the

Paris Exposition next year.

Paint something
for that, Picasso.

NONELL: The only pictures
chosen for that bourgeois
pageant of prettiness will be

nauseating landscapes
and dying saints painted
to please the tourists.

POLICEMAN: Everyone
stay where you are!

Don't move!
Stay in your seats!

(screaming).

CASAGEMAS:
Come on. Come on.

(speaking in Spanish).

POLICEMAN: Hey! Hey! Hey!

CASAGEMAS: Faster!

PABLO: I'm trying.

CASAGEMAS: Hey.

PABLO: What the hell was that?

CASAGEMAS: They're
rounding up anarchists.

It happens two or
three times a month.

PABLO: Are you an anarchist?

CASAGEMAS: Of course.
And a Decadente.

And a Catalaniste.

Aren't you?

PABLO: I don't know
much about politics.

CASAGEMAS: Well, if we're
going to talk about politics,
I need another drink.

(laughs)

CASAGEMAS: All government
institutions must be
abolished entirely and all

systems of authority
vigorously opposed.

PABLO: Is this
gouache and charcoal?

CASAGEMAS: Yes, it's much
less expensive than oils.

PABLO: I wish I had
a place like this.

CASAGEMAS: Oh, you can
work here if you want.

Sleep here, too.

There are no whores
to keep you company,
but no bedbugs either.

UTRILLO: You've got a
confident line, Picasso.

Or should I call you,

"le petit Goya."

CASAGEMAS: Goya?
Goya's a rotting corpse.

Picasso and I,
we are the future.

If you and
your partners were smart,
you'd give us a show here.

UTRILLO: Have you got
anything for me to look at?

What about you?

How many of those
have you done?

PABLO: Give me a
museum, I'll fill it.

NONELL: "A young man,
almost a child, Picazzo..."

NONELL: He spelled
your name wrong.

PABLO: Of course he did.

NONELL: "Picazzo
displays an extraordinary
ease in his handling of

a pencil and brush..."

CASAGEMAS: Mmm,
that's excellent!

NONELL: "But as
one examines the work,

one notices mistakes,
lack of experience,

and hesitation about
which path to follow.

In order to achieve
personality in art,

one must not base
it on that of others.

One must take a
different direction,

to avoid gathering
the master's crumbs."

CASAGEMAS: This
reviewer is an idiot.

NONELL: "Only the painting
which portrays a young
girl praying at an altar,

painted with natural ease,
demonstrates qualities which
we hope will reach maturity

the day when Senor Picazzo
brings richer experience and
study than he shows today."

You're right for
once, Casagemas.

This reviewer is an idiot.

He thinks Picasso's worst
picture is his best.

CASAGEMAS: Hey.
You're a bastard, Nonell.
Don't listen to him, Pablo.

PABLO: No, he's right.
It's sentimental.

It's...

old-fashioned.

And it's going to
get me to Paris.

I submitted my painting,
and it's been accepted to be
show at the Spanish Pavilion

at the Universal
Exposition in Paris.

(chuckles).

MARIA: Oh, we are
so proud of you, Pablo.

Aren't we, Papa?

DON JOSÉ: Very proud.

MARIA: I knew when I saw it.

The girl praying
in your picture, it's
Conchita, isn't it?

PABLO: Yes, Mama.

DON JOSÉ:
This is the kind of work
you should be doing, Pablo.

Noble subjects,
formal compositions.

PABLO: Yes. Of course, Papa.

MARIA: Imagine how you will
feel standing among all those
people, thousands of them,

staring at your painting.

PABLO: Oh, that would
be wonderful, but...

I can't afford to go to Paris.

MARIA: We'll give
you the money.

Won't we?

PABLO: But you can't
afford it either.

MARIA: Ah, we'll manage.

Don't worry.

PABLO: Thank you, Mama.

Thank you, Papa.

DON JOSÉ: Be careful
how you spend it.

PABLO: We need two
fashionable suits.

CASAGEMAS:
We're going to Paris.

PABLO: Can you make
them button all the
way to the collar?

We can't afford waistcoats.

(sighs).

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

¶ ¶

CASAGEMAS: Monsieur Vollard?

VOLLARD: Yes?

CASAGEMAS: Carles Casagemas.

I'm sure Isidre Nonell
has mentioned me.

VOLLARD: No.

CASAGEMAS: I, I'm residing
in his studio with
my friend Picasso here.

He has a painting displayed
at the Spanish Pavilion

in the Universal Exposition.

Perhaps you've seen it?

VOLLARD: No.

CASAGEMAS: Oh well...

We're told you have an
affinity for Spanish painters.

And we thought
we would give you the first
opportunity to show our work.

VOLLARD: No.

CASAGEMAS: Eh,
monsieur, you have not
even seen our paintings.

VOLLARD: And have
you even looked at
the work I sell here?

PABLO: It's a Cezanne.

VOLLARD: Can either of
you paint something as
extraordinary as that?

Come back when you can. Hm.

REPORTER (over radio):
Germany has invaded Poland
and has bombed many towns.

General mobilization has been
ordered in Britain and France.

PICASSO: What is all this, Rosi?

ROSENBERG:
I'm shipping what I can
to London for safekeeping.

Putting
the rest in the vault.

PICASSO: That's it then?

You're just, uh,
closing up the shop?

Surrendering?

ROSENBERG:
The Nazis are coming.

I'm getting my
family to safety.

You should do the same.

Barr can get you all visas.

PICASSO: And what
about my paintings, my
sculptures, my etchings?

Can he get me visas
for those, too?

ROSENBERG: Pablo...

PICASSO: Perhaps you can
stuff some in your vault,

but-but I've got
thousands all over France,

at Grands-Augustins,
at Tremblay, even La Boetie.

ROSENBERG: And the
Nazis have labeled every
bit of it as "degenerate."

What do you suppose
they do to degenerates?

PICASSO: Do you think I'm
gonna run away and let them
confiscate it or burn it?

ROSENBERG: You think
you can stop them?

(chuckles).

Guernica made them
very angry, Pablo.

PICASSO: I've had my
work destroyed before.

I know what it feels like.

I am not going to
let it happen again.

ROSENBERG: You can always
make more paintings, Pic.

PICASSO: What if
I can't, Rosen?

ROSENBERG: You have
children, women you love.

Some things are more
important than art.

PICASSO: No...

Not to me.

(Hitler speaking in
German over radio).

NARRATOR: Next, on
another episode of Genius.

PICASSO: I can't
remember the last time
either of them made me

want to pick up a brush.

I need something new.

I would like to meet
your dinner companions.

You must come and
visit me sometime.

ROSENBERG: What
do you suppose they
do to degenerates?

PICASSO: You think I
will let them burn my work?

GROUP: To art!

CARLES: One for you...

PALLARÉS:
What the hell are you doing?

CARLES: And one for me.

NARRATOR: Genius. Picasso.
Another episode next on
National Geographic.

Captioned by Cotter
Captioning Services.