Original subtitles

Previously on Genius...

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 want me to be a teacher?

May I introduce Pablo Picasso

and Georges Braque, the founders of the Cubist Movement.

FERNANDE: 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.

PICASSO: I worked hard to get here,

and I am not going to let you

or anyone else make a mess of it.

ROSENBERG: The Nazis have labeled

every bit of it as degenerate.

What do you suppose they do to degenerates?

-(people screaming) -SERT: Franco has Hitler

and the Nazis on his side, Pablo.

We need you on ours.

PICASSO: 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.

PICASSO: I've been thinking

that we should create something together.

Let's make a baby.

*

GAILLARD: 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 Fascism,

uh, not only with painting, but, uh,

with my whole being.

BRAQUE: 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.

(chuckling) It's...

(sighs)

Oh, it's brilliant.

(drink pouring)

BRAQUE: I proposed to Marcelle last week.

PICASSO: 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, uh, 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.

Ooh.

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.

PICASSO: Collage breaks all the rules.

You can use anything you want on the canvas.

Dirt or 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.

PICASSO: It is difficult to find ones

that are ordinary enough to evoke everyday life.

LOUIS: You cannot, uh, just stick anything

on a canvas and call it art.

-Why not? -Then the idea of art

becomes meaningless.

EVA: I think it sounds exciting.

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

(laughs softly) Eva, you know I love you,

but you're a terrible art critic.

You have no visual or spatial sense.

FERNANDE: 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 are very talented.

Fernande has never even sewn a button.

She just throws the shirt out and buys another one.

EVA: 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 spent most of your time together in bed.

(laughs softly) Not anymore.

I had a dream I left Louis.

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

(drink pouring)

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?

(knocking on door)

-Eva. -You said

you were having problems finding

the right wallpaper for your collage,

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

Oh!

Thank you.

Uh, 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.

(laughs softly)

This was very kind of you, Eva.

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

(clears throat)

You belong in a Vermeer.

(chuckles)

Don't I belong in a Picasso?

(laughs softly)

I would love to paint you some time.

(laughs softly)

Will you have a drink with me?

Wine, or something?

(glasses clinking)

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?

(glass clinks)

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 that 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.

(door closes)

(grunts)

The more I live, the more I die.

Todo es nada.

-Well, you're not dead yet. -My stomach

bothered all night.

It-it's probably a tumor.

Pablo, Dr. Guttman says you are perfectly healthy.

D-Dr. Guttman doesn't care if I live or die,

as long as he gets his first edition!

Even so, the day is waiting.

(grunting) Well...

Now I understand why they execute condemned men at dawn:

you know, the light is so hideous,

they just, uh, force you to stare at it,

it... my-my head spins, it makes me dizzy.

You'll feel much better once you start working.

Uh, no, 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.

(footfalls moving away)

PICASSO: "First World Congress

of Intellectuals for Peace."

I'm not an intellectual.

Of course you are.

-No... -And your presence

would send a message to the world.

PICASSO: 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, you know,

"I stand for, uh, life against death.

"And I stand for, uh,

peace against 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 ques...

I can't go to Warsaw.

I have too much work to do.

Besides, 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 are 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.

LAMAZE: 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 hospital. No.

You come to us.

-I'll pay for it. -She needs

to be monitored properly.

That cannot be done here.

FRANCOISE: 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.

Uh, don't-don't worry.

The doctor will look after you.

And so will Claude.

Yeah.

You will look after Mommy, won't you?

-(imitates whooshing) -(laughs)

How long will you be gone?

Just, uh, one week. Nothing.

EVA: This week has been perfect.

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

(laughs)

-(knocking on door) -FERNANDE: Pablo!

You shouldn't have come here.

Is she here?

You know that she is.

Pablo, why are you doing this?

(chuckles)

Why did you go to bed with Oppi?

I was just so lonely.

You're 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?

(laughs) So this is what?

Revenge?

Maybe it was.

I know, I understand.

Y-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.

Um... (chuckles)

-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 want to 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.

(crying)

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

but I loved you. (chuckles)

I hope she makes you happy.

Requiem aeternam dona ei

et lux perpetua luceat ei.

(bird fluttering)

(coos)

MARIA: Your father would want you to have it.

All these years,

I should have come to visit.

-No. -(scoffs)

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?

AUCTIONEER: 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? -(knocking on door)

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.

-(laughter) -JACOB: "Amazing prices

were paid for the works of undesirable foreigners."

I think that the journalist

was talking about Pablo,

-the dirty Spaniard! -(laughter)

"And it was the Germans who pushed up the prices."

Ah, he's referring to you,

Kahnweiler, and all the other

dirty Krauts... (laughs)

who are ruining France.

APOLLINAIRE: Forget that rag, Max.

They love Pablo in America.

-Oh, yay! -They do.

I will drink to that.

-Oh, you will drink to anything. -(laughter)

Gertrude!

Your girlfriend

-already has me figured out. -(laughter)

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."

(cheers, shouts)

(laughter)

(laughs): I am a mess.

Not like you.

You tied it all up

in a pretty little bow, didn't you?

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!

(laughs)

Get out.

PICASSO: 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.

He insulted you.

He wasn't entirely wrong. (chuckles)

I am the unmarried lady of the house after all.

I could change that.

Pablo, 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.

(coughing)

BRAQUE: Drive to Nice tonight, Pablo.

Apollinaire will still be there. You can enlist together.

PICASSO: If I go to Nice, it would 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-it is not for freedom.

Coward.

(whistle blows)

It is for imperialists and bankers!

BANKER: I'll 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.

(chuckles, coughs)

-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 will 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.

Oh, 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, uh,

at least allow me to hire a nanny?

You know how that would look to the Party.

You know, a nanny is a, is a bourgeois indulgence. It's...

Of course...

Comrade Picasso.

Do you think the pilot knows what to do

in case that there is some problem...

The plane is not going to crash, Pablo.

PICASSO: 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 have 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.

(laughs) I got it right. I got it right.

*

(projector clicking)

(angelic choir singing)

JACOB: 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 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.

PRIEST: Ego te baptizo

in Nomine Patris et Filii

et Spiritus Sancti.

(angelic choir singing)

PICASSO: So now I'm Max's godfather.

(laughter)

Before I'm even a real father,

I have a son who is 38 years old.

(laughs) 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.

(coughs, giggles)

The soup is delicious.

(siren blaring)

The lights. Quickly.

Under the table!

(bombs whistling)

(explosions)

DELEGATE: To Picasso!

-Picasso. -(cheering)

Na zdrowie.

Please.

It's, um, an honor to be here.

LVOVICH: They say Americans will stop buying your works

now that you're a Communist.

We will see.

LVOVICH: 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.

PICASSO: Impressionist-Surrealist?

Well, 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? -PICASSO: You are not the first

to tell me my work does not conform

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

Why don't you paint in simpler,

more clearly understood symbolism?

PICASSO: 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 call it degenerate.

You are exactly the same.

So now I am not Communist enough?

He should listen to those bastards

who condemn me for joining the Party!

Who cares what he thinks?

PICASSO: Marcel, we are going back to Paris.

-Please, Comrade Picasso, don't. -Aah, aah.

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.

(siren blaring)

(gasps)

It's miserable. Will it ever end?

If you hate the war so much, why don't you stop bellyaching

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.

ELUARD: You say your art is a weapon.

So use it to speak out against these atrocities.

DAIX: 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.

ELUARD: Paint a peace symbol, Pablo,

for the Party conference in Paris.

Uh-uh.

It's from Papa.

ALICE: I'm sorry it wasn't a more pleasant evening.

We'll have more fun next time.

Nonsense.

There is no one we'd rather hide under a table with

than the two... (coughing)

Eva?

What's wrong? What's wrong?

(coughs, inhales sharply)

You have lung cancer.

I'm sorry.

How do we treat it?

We will do everything we can to make you comfortable.

(door opens, closes)

Papa's home.

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're exaggerating, Françoise.

Then you didn't just leave me alone,

sick and pregnant

to care for a baby for almost a month?

(sighs) 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 are right.

My concerns are trivial.

(Françoise sighs)

Accounts.

Baths, doctors 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 are 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.

But 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.

(scoffs)

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...

(sighs) 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.

Mr. Picasso.

I-I'm Jean Cocteau.

I'm a great admirer of yours.

(scoffs)

Um, I'm about to leave for the front.

I was hoping you would paint my portrait.

I-It's for my mother.

The woman I love is dying.

You think I want to paint your goddamn portrait?

I'm sorry.

(bomb whistling)

(woman singing in French)

*

Bring the stretcher!

This one's alive.

*

(laughter)

(woman continues singing in French)

*

*

(music ends)

My fiancé is at the front.

Why aren't you?

I don't believe in war.

What about you?

You must have someone else, too.

*

(sniffles)

How do I look?

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

(chuckles)

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.

BRAQUE: 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.

(chuckles) You'll have beautiful children.

Every night, I dream about leaving the trench.

As soon as I am over the top, my fear turns to terror,

my nose fills with sulfur.

I taste metal on the roof of my mouth.

She will never understand,

and neither will you.

No, I don't suppose I could.

You stayed at home painting,

and now I may never be able to paint again.

PICASSO: Braque is right.

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

I am so sorry, Guillaume.

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.

(classical piano playing)

MARIE CUTTOLI: We heard you donated

a million francs to the striking miners.

What a magnanimous gesture.

You're becoming quite the philanthropist, Pablo.

MARIE: And now you're doing the art

for the Paris Peace Conference as well?

What will you paint?

I don't know yet.

PAUL CUTTOLI: Marie's trying to get me to attend.

You should go.

Paul Robeson is coming from America.

-Oh. -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 paintings

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... a gift from you

would really help us.

PAUL: Perhaps I can help you in return.

We heard you had 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-- Spanish.

-I represent Spain in exile. -Pablo, I don't mean...

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

I will stand in solidarity with them.

Françoise, people are staring!

PICASSO: 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?!

MARIE: Françoise!

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

PICASSO: 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.

(chuckles) Yeah.

But even if I agreed with it,

I wouldn't know how.

I mean, I sense, I see,

I paint.

And the next day, even I-I don't know

how I have done it.

(sighs)

I need a universal symbol.

I can't find it, except instinctively

and... unconsciously.

If you want something instinctive,

go back to the beginning.

My beginning was picadors and pigeons.

Mm-hmm.

Then start there.

(door opens)

YOUNG PICASSO: My horse doesn't look real, Papa.

-I want to paint like you. -I will teach you, Pablito.

YOUNG PICASSO: My horse doesn't look like your pigeons.

PICASSO: You have taught me all I need to know.

Huh.

ELUARD: 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. (chuckles)

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.

(chuckles)

I-It's beautiful, Pablo.

Hmm.

And it's also hideous.

(Picasso laughs)

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.

FRANCOISE: 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. -(sighs)

More important than his family?

(applause)

(cheering)

-(groaning) -DOCTOR: Push! Push! Push!

Less.

Breathe...

-Now, push. -(groans)

* 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 * -(indistinct whispering)

* Says *

* He. *

(door opens)

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.

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...

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH