Original subtitles

Hem! My gosh! Excuse me.

Hem!

Buffy Buckley. Um...

Hard at work, eh? My gosh!

Can I buy you a drink?

Must be awful trying to work in a place as noisy as this.

Have a seat, Bunny.

Buffy, actually. Thank you.

You can call me Bunny if you like.

- What'll it be? - Whiskey.

And this business of 227 pieces of shrapnel, Hem...

Two seventy.

270 and still walking.

My God! It's a miracle.

You're all right, Bun. You're all right.

Thanks, Hem. That's swell of you.

That's damn swell of ya.

Ernest Hemingway, tell me, are things as they should be?

What's the name?

- Napier, Eve. - Eve.

Eve, it seems that you have your hand on my fly rod.

Oh. Really? How rude.

Merci. Bye-bye.

Stop it.

Very original, wouldn't you say?

Boo!

Uh, Hart.

Among the throng, but not of the throng.

Monsieur l'Oiseau.

Who are all these people?

Seems like a new boatload of expatriates

gets dumped here every day.

You think we should change cafés?

Easier to change your mind than your café, Oisif.

Don't call me Oisif.

- You almost finished? - Done.

Good thing they don't pay me by the hour for this.

I may have to make up my column this week.

- I can't find my notes. - You'd make it up anyway.

It's what The Tribune expects. It's what they deserve.

Did I tell you? They won't let me get out of my contract.

They won't let me transfer to Hollywood.

They don't see that Hollywood is the city of the future.

You said the same thing about Paris six years ago.

The future doesn't just stand still, you know.

Oiseau!

Ah!

Don't forget me in your column next week, chéri.

You should come with me, Hart.

To Hollywood? Come on, Oisif.

I think it'll be more fun to watch the movies

than to make them.

Bunny, if she comes back here, I'm gonna hit her.

Listen, Hart, you're flat broke. It's time to move on.

Send me a postcard.

Besides, it's okay to be broke in Paris.

In America, it's downright immoral.

I don't ever want to be on the scrounge again

in America. Never.

Do you know what's wrong with you?

No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me.

You don't know what you want.

Luckily for you, I do.

I'll tell you what I want, Oiselle.

Mm.

I want that woman over there.

I want to make love to her for five days.

Maybe in a cabin.

In a snowstorm. Yeah.

Then I want to paint her.

Then I don't care what happens.

Good. Then we'll go to Hollywood.

- Who's the big spender with her? - Oh, that's Bertram Stone.

- Who's he? - Self-made money.

Came here from New York in April. In rubber, as I recall.

I read that he apprenticed with Houdini to be an escape artist.

- Escape artist? - Yeah.

Now he's buying his way into culture.

Charming fellow.

Totally ruthless, of course. It's rumored he killed a man.

- A killer, eh? - Mm.

- Tell me about her. - You mean, his wife?

His wife.

It's well-known.

Not just another rumor?

If it had been rumor, you'd have read it

in my column a long time ago.

Introduce me.

Come on, Hart. Stone's the kind of man you hate.

You don't want to meet him.

No. I want to meet her. Introduce me.

Now, Oisif.

Don't call me that in front of them, all right?

Hey, Hart, buy me a drink.

Uh... Yeah. Just a minute.

Scrounging for tidbits, Oiseau?

You know how it is, Stone.

Everyone hates repeating gossip,

but what else is there to do with it?

That's funny.

- Isn't that funny, Bertie? - Oh, yes.

I think everything about Oisou is a joke.

Well, for me,

it's a triumph to entertain a man

who doesn't have a sense of humor.

You amuse yourself with minor triumphs.

Oh, I wouldn't say so.

Rachel Stone, Bertram Stone, Nick Hart.

Hart draws the weekly cartoon for my column.

I see.

A serious cartoonist.

I've admired your work in The Tribune, Mr. Hart.

You're very talented.

You're too kind.

You're so beautiful today, Rachel.

Yes. Isn't she?

Like a perfect work of art.

No painter has ever captured her beauty.

Probably never will.

Don't you agree, Mr. Hart?

I suppose she's not a bad example of her type.

Hart, do you know her?

I'm not sure that's possible.

I don't know what came over him.

Strangers sometimes upset him.

Sensitive type.

And my name is Oiseau.

He's funny.

Madame Valentin.

As you can see, l'artiste uses color,

like beautiful people employ their wiles.

The more you see, the more you want to see.

The more is revealed, the more you yearn

for greater revelation.

Being beautiful, you know as much about these things

as anyone.

Madame Valentin,

but I'm afraid it won't look right in our lounge.

You see, our walls are blue.

Yes.

Come and see Nicholas Hart.

- Nicholas Hart? - The rage.

Le Tout-Paris is talking about it.

But that is horrible.

No. Give yourself time. It's the shock of the new.

Sh...? Shock? Shock's not the word.

It's disgusting.

Goes with blue.

- Mr. Brown. - Madame Valentin.

How can I sell your work if you insult my customers?

You're a lousy salesman.

It's the rainy season.

It's been raining for six years.

What?

Have I been tried and found wanting?

You're talented.

Every bit as good of a peintre

as your father.

- My father was a forger. - That's blasphemy.

I never liked Caravaggio, myself.

But your father's Caravaggio I loved.

Oh.

Your father is a master.

And you've inherited all his skills.

You know anything about Bertram Stone?

He's got lots of money. He's just not worth a damn.

Maybe we should sell him a couple of Harts.

That would be completely inacceptable.

I wouldn't sell him a sketch of yours, not even a doodle.

And he owes me 10,000 francs from another deal.

You know, Libby, sometimes I get the feeling

you don't want anyone to own anything of mine.

You vex me.

Oh, I did sell one.

Yeah. Three years ago. You never would tell me who to.

What I told you was

that the collector wished to remain anonyme.

Anonyme, mon cul. You probably lost it.

Dear boy, the first principle of artistic survival

is to parlay talent,

talent, into cash.

Le cash.

Uh, have you heard of...? Do you know Madame Nathalie de Ville?

- No. - Non?

A special woman, very beautiful,

very vulnerable, very wealthy.

Her husband's just run off with une danseuse apache.

And now, of course, she wants to go to America without him.

She still has her pride.

Why?

I'm not in the travel business, Libby.

She has three wonderful paintings

she would rather like to take with her.

So?

Well, if she takes the originals with her,

there should be copies... left behind.

Her husband must never know.

It's a very delicate situation

requiring the utmost discretion.

Quite naturally, she confided in me.

It's forgery.

Forgery? Forgerie, forgery is... No.

Forgery is criminel. These are copies.

Consider it a public service.

The lady has been publicly disgraced.

I mean, the original works, they should remain with her

as recompense.

- Mm? - Mm-mm.

- Oui oui. - No. Not me.

You've done it before.

That was a favor to the old man, and you know it.

Mm-hm.

Just concentrate on selling those.

You vex me. You vex me terribly.

- We're from Ohio. - What'd you tell him that for?

L'Evidence, dazzle us.

I'm writing a barbarous ballad, "The Machine to Blow the Mind."

Will you put it to music?

Close your eyes.

Do you see that man over there?

- Yeah. - He's a writer.

He wrote a book called The Sun Also Rises. I read it.

- Oh, that's Fitzgerald. - Yes. Fitzgerald.

Hm.

Do you want me to leave?

You're good at it.

Um...

Whiskey?

Do you remember that time when it snowed on the lake...

and we couldn't get back to the cabin, so we hid in a cave?

You said that if something happened to us

it wouldn't be all that bad

because they would find our skeletons embracing,

and that had to be worth something.

Do you remember, Nicky?

Yeah. I was wrong about that.

I was wrong about a lot of things.

In fact, there's something I never understood until just now.

What's that?

I don't trust you, Rachel.

All the trust is gone.

You hate me.

How can I hate someone I don't even know?

You know me, Nicky.

Um...

I don't have any cash.

I don't want your money.

But I'll take it.

Rose, I want to settle up.

That ought to cover what I owe you, what I'm going to owe,

and drinks for everybody.

Give me a bottle of cognac.

No, the good stuff.

There's someone waiting to see you in the garden.

Oui?

I have a message from Mr. Stone.

He doesn't like strangers flirting with his wife.

I don't blame him.

Hart.

Merci.

I found myself another painter. You missed your big chance.

Yeah, yeah.

Filthy bastards say they'll sue me if I break my contract,

and it's got a year to run.

I'd rather slit my throat.

- Are you listening to me? - Yeah. What?

I'm seriously thinking about suicide.

Oiseau, you haven't been serious since 1919.

Well, I picked up a lot of bad habits in my day,

but suicide was never one of them.

Don't worry. It's not a habit you'll keep for very long.

- L'Oiseau. - Good evening, Alice.

You're looking dashing. You remember my friend Nick Hart.

I've come to the conclusion

that I dislike the abnormal.

It's so obvious.

The normal is so much more simply complicated

and interesting, n'est-ce pas?

How rustic!

They're still buying Picasso.

It's Cubism by a lumberjack!

Does Hedley like his new friends?

Ah, the pilot fish.

Charming lot.

Not terribly interesting, but I like their tea.

Do me a favor, pal, tell me a good joke.

You're standing in one.

Oiseau, my little birdy!

I've brought my friend Nick Hart,

- the wonderful painter. - Merci, monsieur.

Oh, yes, the scribbler.

You know, Hart,

there's only two things that can really kill a man.

Suicide and gonorrhea.

You been talking to Oiseau?

You! Young man. Come.

Uh-huh.

Go get her, champ.

I have a very important question regarding your work.

How old are you?

- Thirty-three. - Won't do at all.

American painters are 26 this year. Huh?

Huh?

Well, I'm not.

Precisely my point. Then you won't fit in at all.

You won't approve of that, either.

Pardon?

Uh, I could always move towards the theater.

I'll introduce you to Jean Cocteau.

Hemingway! Remember, the sun also sets.

Yeah, right on your big...

Hey, Bunny.

Hem.

Yeah, I don't think we speak to Miss Stein that way.

She never listens anyway.

She's joking. She's just being funny.

Uh-huh.

Huh! Nathalie de Ville, Nick Hart.

Enchanté.

I'm surprised you two don't already know each other.

I've long wished to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hart.

I've followed your career with interest and concern.

- Concern? - Why yes.

I always believed that you'd be so much more successful by now.

But then I also believe that a good woman

can inspire a man to do truly great things.

Yeah?

Or prevent the poor bastard from doing anything at all.

Why are you reluctant to receive a woman's sincere compliment?

It's because there's so few sincere women

in Paris these days it's a shock to his system.

See what I mean?

Why were you flirting with Nathalie?

She excites me.

I used to excite you, Nicky.

Does your husband know that?

I don't know. Does he?

Is there something happening here that I don't know about?

Mmm. She's exquisite.

Nicky?

What do you want from me, Rachel?

I don't know.

Ah, there you are.

You remember Mr. Hart, don't you, Bertie?

My husband is in the art business here.

It's a pleasure to meet a businessman in Paris these days.

Indeed. I much prefer them.

Haven't I seen your work in a window display somewhere?

I don't know, have you?

I didn't like them at all.

I thought they were cheap and meretricious

rather like your suit.

I would suggest you find another occupation and a new tailor.

Bertie.

Rachel.

Sit down.

Duels are terribly old-fashioned.

Too bad.

I'm very good with a gun.

You may suggest an alternative.

Drink this slow, but don't stop.

The American gym in Montparnasse. Three rounds?

That's good.

I like that.

It's very American.

Let's see.

Would a week from Wednesday be convenient?

Say, noon? No, 12:30.

Much better.

12:30?

I'll be there.

Of course you will.

Yeah, much better.

Ever been in battle?

No.

When you don't know what you're up against.

Always a pleasure.

You've got to walk with two pumpkins between your legs.

- Come, my dear. - Make sure Rachel is all right.

As soon as she and Stone leave,

I want you to get rid of Oiseau and that friend of his.

- I'll take care of it. - Say whatever you want,

just get rid of them.

Maybe we shouldn't have come here tonight, I don't know.

Gertrude Stein is not the least amused by your Mr. Hart.

I'm going to ask you to leave.

Oh, come on, Alice, now, we're artists, temperamental people!

Hart, marriage is absolutely bitched.

Monsieur Hart?

Thank you.

Mrs. Stone seems to have an alarming effect on you.

My advice is to have nothing to do with her.

Rachel.

She's a romantic thug.

Either you do things Rachel's way,

or you pay the consequences.

Do you fancy her?

Or is it a little bit more than that?

If I didn't need the ride, I'd say it's none of your business.

Oh, don't confuse sex and love, Mr. Hart.

It'll spoil both of them for you.

Have you ever been in love?

I understand Stone made his money in the rubber trade.

Bertie? Well, I guess you could call it that.

Bertie invented the first really effective prophylactic

but now he's obsessed with buying the best collection

of modern art in Europe.

There's to be an exhibit

of his latest purchases in about two weeks' time.

I wouldn't fight with him if I were you.

I like your face the way it is.

Do you like mine?

A man would have to be either blind or a fool not to.

I guess I'm in need of a little flattery these days.

Why do you paint, Hart?

Because I'm completely unemployable.

No, I mean, seriously, why painting?

Well, it's guaranteed to last a lifetime,

it's impervious to mildew and rot.

Besides that, I'm good at it.

And it gives me pleasure.

Well, then why don't your paintings sell?

The critics given you a bad time?

I don't pay attention to critics.

If they don't respond, that means I'm on the right track.

Oh, they have given you a bad time.

Well, never mind.

Perhaps when you're gone, they'll recognize your worth.

I'm not posthumous yet, Nathalie, or hadn't you noticed?

I've noticed little else all evening.

You never answered my question.

I told you, I can't keep a steady job.

No, Hart, about being in love.

I've been there.

Then you know the loss one feels when it leaves.

Been there, too.

We might have a lot in common.

Don't you think?

Look at that painting.

And the other two there.

Of all the works my husband owns, those are my favorites.

Do you like them?

Of course.

Why "of course"?

I was about 12 years old the first time I saw Cézanne.

I was with my father.

Broke into a cold sweat.

Thought I was coming down with malaria.

Oh, I see.

That was the moment you realized you had to become an artist?

Nope. Seems I had pneumonia.

Spent four weeks in bed, bored out of my mind.

That's when I started drawing. That part was Cézanne's fault.

Then you could copy him?

Not me. I already told Valentin.

Oh, come on, Hart.

It's not as though I was asking you to commit extortion

or murder.

Don't you want to do me a favor

for all the right reasons?

Which are?

Which are... life.

Life always presents its best opportunities

in such secret ways

that most of us are too busy looking for something better

to even notice.

My husband's like that.

Cézanne is the most difficult.

There are only a few decent copies of his work.

His lines have a life all their own.

And he was never tempted.

To do what?

- Cheat. - Oh.

I guess the time it takes for the paint to dry

is our main problem.

There are no problems, Nathalie, only opportunities.

Both Cézanne and Modigliani drew directly on the canvas.

They thinned their paint with turpentine.

The paint dries quicker that way, a few weeks, tops.

Good. Then use the same technique.

Now I don't have to be in New York for a month.

It takes that long to institute divorce proceedings.

Do you know what I'm going to do when I get to New York?

I'm going to donate the originals to a museum.

I think I missed the part where I said I was interested.

Oh, Hart, you're interested.

What, if you're in love with something or with someone,

you have to surrender to it, you know that.

You know you can do it, Hart.

You know how good you are.

And I think I know how good you can be.

Will you show me, Hart?

I suppose you want to discuss money now?

- $750 American. - Not enough.

You want more?

This job...

calls for skill and passion.

A smooth and delicate touch.

Mere expertise is not enough.

You were right about it requiring a lover's devotion.

After all...

we both want to be completely satisfied.

How much more?

Just a little.

I won't allow you to hurt me with this, Hart.

I won't ever allow anyone to hurt me again.

I don't want to hurt you, Nathalie.

- Quite the opposite. - Good.

It's... It's a matter of trust.

Trust. Yes.

Good.

- Ow! Ow! - Oh! Oh, yes!

Ow!

Hart!

Will you be needing me today?

I'd be happy to have you pose. But I'm afraid to fall in love.

It doesn't matter.

Yes, it does. Love's always a tragedy.

Hart, you're a con man.

You're too serious.

Too fragile.

Who is this painter, Hart?

I was thinking, Bertie, maybe we should go away this weekend.

That little hotel in Mougins, maybe.

You know, the one with all the great desserts?

You think of nothing but your appetites.

What else should I think about?

Who is he?

He seems quite taken with you.

Taken with me?

Bertie, he slapped me in the face.

He wants you.

It's not unusual.

No, it's more than that.

How could anything be more than that?

I guess you're right.

If you can't trust your wife, who can you trust?

Here we go.

Bertie.

Ow!

Bertie.

Hey, I'm not laughing!

Hart?

Hey.

- What are you doing? - Working.

- What are you doing? - Research.

Hart, she wants you to paint her.

Then she wants you to bang her.

And then she wants you to love her.

Bang?

It's easy to be hard-boiled in the daytime, Hart.

But at night...

Art...

is only an impression.

Art

is only an infection.

Some people get it and some people don't.

Art is only a rumor.

Bertie?

Do you know what "verisimilitude" is?

Bertie?

Which one, Laloux?

This one would be nice.

Where are you going?

My God, I'm going bald.

That's silly, sir. You've plenty of hair.

C'est la vie.

Voila.

Bertie...

I don't want to be alone tonight.

Don't eat too much chocolate. You are getting fat.

Do you have anything to drink?

A lot's happened since Chicago, Nicky.

Jesus, Rachel, you didn't even say good-bye.

We were just kids, Nicky. Just kids.

You were working two jobs, and when you weren't working,

you were painting.

You always had your work, Nicky.

It was like being buried alive. I wanted more than that.

Did you get it?

For what it's worth.

Worth quite a bit, it looks like.

I got to New York and I realized

I didn't know how to do anything.

Bertie took care of me.

What about love, Rachel?

There's a big difference between love and passion, Nicky.

- Legally, we're still married. - I know.

- Does he? - No.

I never told him.

What should I do?

You could leave him.

Is that why you think I came here tonight?

I don't know.

Why did you come here?

I don't know. I don't know.

What do you want?

Do you know what you want, Nicky?

Do you?

Nobody knows anything, Nicky.

I just wanted to be with you, that's all.

For how long, Rachel?

You owe me that much. How long?

A night? A couple of nights? A week?

What difference does it make? You don't own me.

Nobody owns me.

I never said I owned you, Rachel.

Christ, I can't even afford you.

That never counted with us, did it?

Did it?

- Rachel. - Mm.

If we start this, we finish on my terms.

Come on.

Rachel. Rachel, I mean it.

You can't walk in and out of people's lives like a stray cat.

I need more than that.

- You want me to leave Bertie. - That's a start.

Nicky, he's crazy. He'll kill us.

Let him try.

We've gone too far to go back now.

Nicky, this has nothing to do with him.

Rachel, you haven't gone far enough. The door's over there.

I guess this wasn't a good idea.

Here. I brought you something.

Maybe you could pay your rent with it.

Laurette, what time is it?

Past noon.

Remember Verdun, Mr. Hart!

How about some first-round happiness?

- I'll see you after. - Don't worry. I'm on the bell.

- Go get 'em, champ. - Damn it!

You're late.

Bonjour Oiseau, Blackie.

- Hello, Nick. - Do you have to do this?

Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss this for anything. Almost.

Well, at least you've given him a chance to exercise his ego.

I'll go silence the tumultuous throngs.

- How you feeling? - Like $100.

Listen, I got a plan.

You hit him, and don't let him hit you back.

Jesus, what did you do, get hit by a train?

If he hits you back, don't let him know it hurt you.

What?

Hart doesn't stand a chance.

All right now, remember what I told you.

Go hurt him.

Come on, Hart. Hit him!

Watch his feet!

I am the only one that rings this bell!

Let him do all the work, Hart. Let him do it all.

Ooh!

Yes! Yes!

Look what he's doing there.

- That's not fair! - Ring the bell, buddy.

- What? - That bell!

- It's not time. - It's been ten minutes!

I ring it when it is time to ring it!

Yeah!

You'll have to hurt him. You hear what I'm telling you?

Round two.

Round two. Round two.

Use your left. Use your left.

That's not fair!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

That's enough. Hey!

Break it up! Break it up!

Hart, a fight is just a fight.

And when it's fought

it's something else.

That's horse liniment.

Under the circumstances

you did majestically, dear boy.

Oiseau will report it as a Pyrrhic victory.

- Pyrrhic? - Greek to me.

Thanks for the workout, Hart.

Bring something of yours around for me to look at.

I'm in a buying mood.

Rachel.

Excuse me.

Hart.

May I introduce Armand? An exceptional painter.

- Very modern. - I'm leaving.

Hart, I never thought you could be such a brute.

That fight!

You were so unbridled. You were so violent.

Would you people excuse Hart and I a few minutes?

We have an urgent matter to discuss.

Very modern.

No, Armand, Armand can stay.

Armand speaks no English.

Indeed, le petit coquin rarely speaks at all.

Hart...

the other night with you was wonderful.

But there's a complication.

My husband died unexpectedly over the weekend.

As you can imagine, it was a terrible shock.

We were very close.

Right. A perfect couple.

I'm sorry.

You won't have to copy those paintings now.

I see.

I knew you'd understand.

There is one hitch, Nathalie.

You and I had an arrangement.

I expect you to fulfill it.

Oh, but I intend to.

Oh, I intend to.

Oh, what would you like most?

A suit, or a watch?

A weekend together by the sea?

Because that was part of the arrangement, too.

Remember?

Enjoying opportunities as they present themselves...

and not losing what's most important to us.

Exactly.

Which is why you're going to pay, Nathalie.

In full, in cash.

Or you'll never see your pictures again.

Don't you threaten me, Hart.

I will never be threatened again by anyone!

You're behaving like some cheap whore from the rue Saint-Denis,

and not like an artist.

I'm ashamed of you.

Brute.

Brute.

So who is this Libby Valentin? is she French or what?

She's "or what."

Is she really a nun?

Defrocked.

You know, I think it was Gustave Flaubert who said

there are only four reasons

for getting involved with women.

- Sex! - One.

- Money! - Two.

- Publicity! - Three.

Goddamn it, what was the fourth one?!

- Drunkenness. - Drunkenness.

Buddy, Rachel's not for you.

She's not gonna make you happy.

Yeah.

I mean, in Hollywood

- the women are gonna be tall. - There's a reason.

- They're blonde. - There's another reason.

Promiscuity is just a religion with them.

Oiseau, you know, you are absolutely right.

No permanent attachments.

That's right, buddy.

Do you realize...

that drink and permanent attachments

have been the undoing of virtually all of our friends?

- That's right. - Hit it.

What was...?

- Wonderful song. - I know that car.

Get some sleep.

Oh, Monsieur Hart.

Ow!

Shit.

Oh, Nathalie.

Libby!

I disclaim all responsibility.

Come here. I want to show you something.

If I didn't know they were copies...

What makes you think they're copies?

Because I've seen the originals.

Nathalie asked me to ship them to New York.

I suppose you put my fee in your pocket.

Jamais.

Sur mon honneur, as a woman of God.

Well, these are the originals.

Nathalie took my copies by mistake.

- She did? - Mm-hm.

Oh.

Hmm.

A little bit like stabbing yourself in the back, isn't it?

- Mm-hm. - Yep.

Well, so... what are we supposed to do with these?

I'll cut you in for 30 percent.

It's a crackerjack scheme, dear boy.

But now leave everything to me.

When it comes to artifice moi, Valentin,

am a master.

Stone will pay through his nose to get these in his salon.

Should have heard him on the telephone. Beside himself.

I'll get the money he owes me, you'll get the money I owe you

and when Nathalie de Ville sees these new beauties

at Stone's exhibition,

well, the Pope himself would blush with shame.

Perhaps this one, then, which again is in keeping

with the whole anticipation concept we discussed.

I particularly like this one with, as you see,

- the focus on the lady... - No.

...the gentleman sort of hovering...

I don't like any of these.

I need an ad that, when you look at it, would jump at you.

Something simple but dramatic.

Jump. Yes.

We are here to see Mr. Stone.

Is he expecting you?

Mrs. Stone is resting upstairs.

As soon as I've found room for this one.

- Libby, I changed my mind. - About what?

I don't want to show him anything of mine.

Okay.

I'll just pick it up when we go.

I don't want you...

to participate in this.

Mr. Stone will see you now.

So many paintings, so few walls!

- May I call you on Friday? - Yes.

- Thank you again. - Thank you.

Excuse me.

What is he doing here?

It was Hart who put me in touch

with the owner de ces ouvres.

He wanted to come along.

Did you bring me some samples of your work?

I've decided I prefer not to be collected.

Makes me feel like a manufacturer.

You're in the wrong business, then.

- Got anything to drink? - No.

My wife is an alcoholic.

- How is your wife? - What do you mean by that?

Not much.

- Well, do you want to see them? - Yes! Let's see it!

Look at the skin tone.

The shape.

So sensual.

Did you know that Modigliani's models were tarts?

All women are tarts.

That's why I love them.

I think...

you could easily say

that these three works

capture,

capture.

the true spirit, l'essence de modernité.

I'm prepared to give you a bargain price.

Yes.

I'm informed that you specialize in bargains.

I have a certain talent in that area, yes.

But am I to assume that money is an object?

Don't be daft.

Money is always an object.

For myself, I'm only interested in price.

See that Picabia?

I could burn it tomorrow, and it wouldn't mean a thing to me.

But I did pay 7,000 francs for it

so I am not as impulsive as I ordinarily might be.

In fact, if I'd paid less

it would be less beautiful.

Stone, I've changed my mind.

I think it would be an honor for you to own some of my work.

Ah.

I'll just run over to the gallery and pick something up.

"It rained today.

Even the rain seems like a lie here.

I detest the verisimilitude of Parisian life."

- Bertie's downstairs. - Rachel.

I decided to go to Hollywood with Oiseau.

- Yes? - Yes. You're coming with me.

Am I?

You are.

Mm-mm.

Not in the tub.

- Why not? - Trust me.

I don't know. I think I need more of a commitment from you.

Yeah? How long?

Are these genuine?

Is the sky blue?

Ordinarily, I wouldn't care.

If a picture sells for a big price

and it's praised to the teeth by the experts

is it really worthless, then

when it's discovered the signature is forged?

Depends on whether you're the buyer or the seller.

All the critics and art snobs will be at my salon.

- Hmm. - I want to make an impression.

- Yes. - Not a reputation.

No.

I already have that.

Now.

The interesting part.

How much?

A song. Five thousand. American.

I'll take them.

- You will? - But not at that price.

I've already given you the dealer's discount.

I'll give you $3,000.

You insult me, Mr. Stone.

Mm-mm. Not you.

- Take it or leave it. - I'll take it.

- I thought you might. - Mm.

- Good. - Good.

Ah, perfect timing.

What have we here?

Distinguished.

Oh, I'm sorry, Bertie. I didn't know you were...

Rachel, come here.

- Allô, Rachel. - Hello, Libby.

What do you think of Hart's painting?

Yeah. I'd like to know.

- Hello. - Afternoon.

It's nice.

Should I buy it?

If you like it, Bertie.

Yes, I think I have just the right spot for it.

- I'll give you $100. - Done.

I did it. Did it, dear boy.

We started at $2,500, and I suckered him up to $3,000.

- Let's go to the bank. - No, let's go to the bar.

We have to talk about something.

I'm not interested.

What are you interested in, besides yourself?

Not much.

But I'm looking.

Writing about yourself can be very lonely.

- What are you writing? - It's my obituary.

It's too important a job to leave to those hacks

in the obituary department.

Oiseau, why don't you just quit the goddamn paper?

This'll interest you. I've decided on poison.

Drowning was my second choice.

I mean, ha, it's much better than asphyxiation.

I saw a man once who'd been hung.

He looked a bit disappointed.

You can't kill yourself, Oiseau. We're going to Hollywood.

I'm gonna tell you why Carlos beat you in the ring

a couple days ago.

- Who? - Carlos. Stone.

I'm working on something. It doesn't matter.

- Right, let's have it. - Scruples.

- Scruples? - Scruples.

You can't win Andrea with scruples.

- Who? - Andrea. Rachel. Forget it.

I'm sitting there, watching him waltz around you

like he owns you.

He doesn't own me. He does not own me.

He thinks because he buys something, he owns it.

It's the same to him. A piece of ass, property.

It's about ownership. He doesn't own me, he doesn't own Rachel,

and he never will.

Hey, guys like that are bad for all of us, Clark.

- Nick. - Nick.

Who?

You know, writing about yourself can be very lonely.

- What are you writing? - It's my obituary.

It's too important a job to leave to those hacks

in the obituary department.

Why don't you quit that goddamn paper like I did?

This'll interest you. I've decided on pills.

He doesn't own me.

- Who? - Stone.

- Carlos. - Who?

Sex is all about power.

Champagne, monsieur?

You can't help but make a mess.

What do you mean?

Take Nathalie de Ville, for instance.

She's as cool as somebody else's cucumber.

Armand.

Later on, you will go pinch that ashtray.

My condolences, Madam.

Merci.

What a tragic loss for the art world.

Merci.

The critics. I hope they detest his collection.

You look stunning tonight, my dear.

I look stunning every night, Bertie.

Have you had a chance to look over my collection?

Come, I'll give you a tour.

My latest acquisition should impress even someone

as formidable as you.

Oh, Bertie. You really did it.

Outside of a museum, I've never seen

such a fascinating collection of pictures.

A museum?

- Oh, I... - It doesn't matter.

What do you think?

Get a hold of yourself. It's only a painting.

Oh, Ber... These are forgeries, Bertie.

- They simply have to be. - Nonsense.

I bought them from the estate of the late Comte de Polignac.

Well, then you bought forgeries.

I own the originals of these three paintings.

Oh.

As a matter of fact, I shipped them to America the other day.

Oh!

And Bertie, my papers have been authenticated.

You've been had.

Do they belong to your collection?

The originals do.

My husband bought them six years ago.

Could it be one of the Modiglianis forged right after his death?

That painting is no more of a fake than you are.

Look at the nipples in the Matisse.

Nipples are my expertise.

Henri would have never painted nipples in that manner.

They look like cones

or warts.

Perhaps I should have framed the money

I spent on them instead.

It would fit the decor perfectly.

- I'm afraid you've been had. - Shut up!

It's a serious affair. We should notify the police.

Monsieur Stone, I think we've had enough.

No! I've had enough.

I don't give a tuppenny damn for your silly opinions

on the value of art.

There is no value, except what I choose to put on it.

This is art

because I paid hard cash for it.

Don't you understand?

Your precious painters mean nothing to me.

I could have Nathalie's mutt shit on a canvas.

And if I paid $5,000 for it

you critics would call it a masterpiece.

I'm afraid not, monsieur Stone.

I'm afraid you have missed the entire point.

- Have I? - Yes.

Fakes is what we have called them

and fakes is what they are, fit only for the fire.

The fire?

I see what you mean about the nipple.

Au revoir.

- Laloux? - Oui, monsieur.

- Take that picture down. - Bien, monsieur.

- Look at this nipple. - Oh, this one is not so bad.

It's worse.

Well, uh...

- The shape, the form... - The shape is...

- It's all wrong. - But the color...

Another dadaist provocation!

Ah, the masterpiece.

Not the Cézanne!

Why not? It's just a fake.

It was the best of the three.

I should throw all of you in as well.

Looking for the toilet, Hem?

Art is never the whole story.

It's upstairs.

There's more to you than meets the eye, Bertie.

Piss off, or I'll barbecue your dog.

What happened, Bertie?

Didn't anybody like your paintings?

You're drunk.

Mmm.

Did you really think you could buy your way in?

I feel so sorry for you, Bertie.

Clean up the mess.

All of it.

I'm going out.

- Bonjour. - Merci.

What?

Oh, no!

The son of a bitch actually did it.

You know, he kept telling me he was gonna do it.

I thought he was just...

I didn't believe him.

Well, I believed him.

It makes me feel like a coward, you know?

But we're not the cowards, are we, Hart?

The dead are the real cowards, right?

I don't know.

The dead are not the cowards.

Rachel?

Rachel, is that you?

It's me.

You son of a bitch!

It was the only thing I could do.

I'm dead, and I'll soon be gone.

And now I can be anybody I want to be.

Jesus. I need a drink.

Did you see my obituaries? They're all raves.

And I'm gonna be buried tomorrow afternoon at Père-Lachaise.

Racine has made me the most charming coffin.

- I think we ought to look in. - Naturally.

We've got plenty of time. The train doesn't leave till 4:00.

Après vous, madame.

Could I lean on you? These heels are just killing me.

Yeah, sure.

We'll have a beautiful boat ride to New York.

And then Hollywood!

- I'm just dying to get there. - I ought to kill you myself.

Oh, no.

Really, we can't go in there. I'll be recognized.

Why don't we go and have a tasse de verveine?

No, I need a drink.

All right. I'll come by at 1:00 tomorrow.

I'll pick you up in a taxi.

All right. Don't talk to strangers.

It is born of frenzied shadows.

It demands...

Ultimate experiences of the soul.

It is life headed to incandescence

It compels a total revolution of values.

It is more powerful than morphine...

Since we're living in Paris, does that make us Parisian?

More violent than arsenic!

What is it? Cinema, naturally!

Hey, pal. How you doing?

I think I miss the little bastard.

Yeah, I know what you mean.

Hey, you know what time it is?

Time?

Too late. That's the time.

He loved you.

I didn't even like him, but he loved you.

Rachel. Where the hell have you...?

Shh.

Don't worry, Nicky.

At least, when they find us, our skeletons will be embracing.

Oh, I forgot to tell you. Oiseau is still alive.

- I didn't know he was dead. - Yeah.

He's gonna meet us at the boat train tomorrow at 4:00,

right after his funeral.

I thought you said he was alive.

- Ain't it great? - Hart.

Libby, what are you doing here?

I shadowed you here.

Stone's men came into the gallery,

slashed all the paintings.

Not just your paintings, but valuable ones as well.

What?

I never expected violence.

I'm leaving town.

Taxi!

He's gonna kill me.

Can't they take a joke? This place, completely uncivilized.

Told you he was crazy.

I don't want to talk about him. Come on, let's go upstairs.

- We can't stay here. - Why not?

It's the first place he'll look.

- I don't give a damn. - Come on, we'll get a hotel.

Get in the car, Rachel.

She's staying with me.

You had your fun.

Now let's go home.

- It's not that simple, Bertie. - Come on.

I need you, Rachel!

You don't need anybody, Bertie.

I'm going back to America with Nicky.

Don't be stupid.

I'm not stupid.

She's my wife.

Nicky and I were married a long time ago,

before you and me.

We were never divorced.

Sorry, Bertie.

I knew that!

Rachel...

I know everything about you.

You don't know anything about me.

What are you laughing at? Get in the car!

What are you gonna do? Kill me?

Then kill her.

- Go ahead, kill me. - You slut.

- Go ahead. I want you to. - Maybe I should kill you.

- You want me to kill you? - Come on, do it.

- You want me to kill you? - Do it!

You get in the car!

You coward.

I don't want you, Bertie. I don't want your jewelry.

I don't want your chocolates. I don't want your money.

I don't want your rubbers.

- I don't want... - Fucking bitch! Get in the car!

- I'm sick of it! I hate you! - I should have killed you...

I can make up my own mind, what's left of it.

Between the two of you, I don't have one thought

left in my head.

Could you stop it, please?

Ow!

This has nothing to do with you. Stop it!

I'll decide what happens to me.

Give me.

What's the matter? Can't you live without me?

Cowards.

Rachel.

Rachel.

Rachel, would you wait a minute. Damn it! Wait!

Where are you gonna go?

I don't know.

He can't swim.

He can't swim?

That figures.

Rachel!

Rachel!

They are all gone.

These are hard times.

Rachel!

Like some ancient alchemist...

he converted gossip into poetry.

He was the inspired mirror...

of our frenzied modern times...

Jesus, I didn't know it would be so sad.

- Vive Oiseau! - Oiseau! Oiseau!

Look at them. If it weren't for me,

people would've thought "surreal" was a breakfast food.

The dead are the most brave.

They take their love with them.

Can you imagine the courage to love someone

who loves you

when there's nothing you can do about it?

Let's go.

Jesus, I just didn't know it would be so sad.

We did appreciate him, but did we tell him so,

so he was secure in his mind, knowing that we did?

We did not, and he was not.

And so, with his sweet smile and gentle concerns

Oiseau is not still with us.

He is not.

Oiseau! Oiseau! Oiseau!

Driver, Gare Saint-Lazare, s'il vous plaît.

Jesus, I just ran into Maurice Ravel in the men's room.

He didn't recognize me.

Paris has been taken over by people who are just imitators

of people who were imitators themselves.

It's become a parody. It's finished. It's over.

Believe me, Hollywood is gonna be like a breath of fresh air.

Hart, let's face it.

Rachel, she's not coming.

- Yeah, I know. - So let's go.

Paris is...

a traveling picnic.

Paris is a portable banquet.

You should work on that.

This whole experience gives me a great idea

for a movie I could write.

And it would be perfect for von Stroheim.

You can get a very good meal on this train.

And they actually have an excellent wine list.

This is gonna be the best thing that ever happened to you.

Yeah, the hell with it.

Au revoir, Paris.

Au revoir, Paris

Touché.

Au revoir, Paris

We're just gonna be a few minutes.

Yes, sir, I'll be here.

The train to Hollywood leaves in an hour.

We'll make the train. I just want to see what they have here.

- Yeah. - It's gonna rain.

You're so morose, it's monotonous.

Babe Ruth hit three home runs today,

and we're going to Hollywood

where the sky's always blue, the sun always shines

and we're gonna be rich!

This, of course, is Modigliani. A short, but fruitful life.

His work is evidenced by the plasticity he employed

in his nudes and portraiture as well.

Always the oval face, the elongated trunk, arms.

Ah, yes, Henri Matisse.

Odalisque.

Study, if you will, the face.

It's the most realized of all of his works.

In my mind, the best.

Oh, no. Look at this. Can you imagine this?

Boy, Nathalie certainly gets around.

Aren't you Irving Fegelman? I'm Ada Fuoco.

We grew up together on Flatbush Avenue.

But you look just like Irving.

Jesse, he looks exactly like Irving.

Let's proceed to Paul Cézanne,

considered to be the father of modern art.

This is a work of rare emotional delicacy.

This revelation cannot be taught

nor can it be duplicated.

Only the greatest artists can achieve

what has happened here and only then,

in that rare moment in time.

So let's silently observe this.

Come on, I'm bored with these pictures.

I want to go where the pictures move.

Besides, I like your stuff better anyway.

Just a minute. This might help me appreciate my work.

Well, gentlemen. Did it touch you?

Did you sense the mystery?

Do you know now why this is a masterpiece?

Why we praise it? Why we genuflect before it?

Why it will live through the ages for all humanity?

My God, I hope you understand that.

Why is it, you are never where you're supposed to be?

I am now.

Ah, looks like rain.

No, not now.

Maybe tomorrow?

Hey.

I was thinking, Nicky,

maybe we should move to Hollywood.

- Ever thought about it? - You been talking to Oiseau?

John, if you were lucky enough to have lived in Paris,

lucky enough to have been young, it didn't matter who you were

because it was always worth it, and it was good.