All language subtitles for gen 6

Previously on Genius...

Move in with me.

Think how wonderful it would be.

This is Géry Pieret.

Consider these a
token of our new friendship.

You stole them, from the Louvre?

I liberated them.

But there is a
small delivery fee.

50 francs.

Opium.

Have you tried it?
I want to make you happy.

At least for a little while.

I am not your prisoner.

I made a mistake.

I don't know what I
would do if I lost you.

Pablo Picasso,
meet Henri Matisse.

I see you've already
met, uh, Monsieur Braque.

He is the youngest of the
Wild Beasts, as they call us.

What do you want?

You haven't surfaced in months.

Why do you care, Braque?

We barely know each other.

I would like to change that.

I really do admire your work.

Oh, it's ghastly, Pablo.

That is the most astute art
critique you have ever given, Gertrude.

Congratulations.

You said you wanted to
offend, you've done it.

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So?

What is it like living with the
most famous artist in the world?

We work. We go to museums.
We laugh.

And does he ask you
to cook and clean for him?

Huh, like a good little wife?

Of course not.

We make each other happy.

Right.

You get the rich old mentor and, uh,
he gets the pretty young mistress.

You're determined to be cynical.

Well, I have no money.

Have no fame.

I just have the nagging
thought that, mmm,

I should have kissed you the first
time I saw you at Rozsda's.

I had no idea
you even noticed me.

He's so old.

Ah. Does he take lots of naps?

He's got
more energy than I do. Mm-hmm.

Oh. Really?

He works all night.

And then at dawn, he comes to bed
and we make love all morning.

So, Luc, tell me about Tunisia.

Well, I'll be teaching
a small art school in Tunis.

I'm looking forward to
getting out of Paris.

You should come and
visit some time.

You and the old man.

Pack your bags!

Where are we going?

To the Midi.

Fresh air, sunshine, long
lunches and lazy afternoons.

- That sounds lovely.
- Hmm.

But I'm finally settled
into a good routine here.

Ooh, to be settled
is the death of an artist.

Mm-hmm.

Well, I'm
getting a lot of work done.

Well, you can work there.

Sounds like
you've made up your mind.

Well, you could resist me.

But, uh, what
would be the point?

When you said the Midi,
I thought you meant the beach.

Oh. The sea is, uh, not far.
It's 80 kilometers that way.

I better pick up some
groceries before the shops close.

I'll go with you.

No, no. Stay with me.

I want to show you
the rest of the house.

Would you mind, um,
getting some ham and cheese? Bread?

Oh, uh, and five or six eels.

And also, I, I, I would need onions,
and, uh, butter, sugar, salt pork,

uh, flour and celery.

Yeah, okay, yeah, well.

Do you like eels?

Not particularly.

Ah, but in my
stew, you will love them.

You cook, I'll, uh, I'll clean.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

If you clean up, I won't
be able to find anything.

Just, just leave it like that.

So that meant to shock.
To challenge.

I would like to exhibit
it in my gallery.

Once it's finished.

It is finished, you should go.

Pablo...

I'm sure Herr Kahnweiler
meant no offense.

Thank you so much for coming.

I'm sorry I upset him.

No. He's always upset.
It is, uh, part of his charm.

Did you have to be so rude?

I liked him.

Well he certainly felt it.

I cannot recommend him enough.

He's honest, discerning, and he's
buying up all the most innovative work.

You mean like Matisse?

Among others.

You have not told me
what you think of it yet.

It reminds me of El Greco.

The reflection of
form is similar.

But where El Greco believed in grace,
this has a savage, apocalyptic power.

It is completely new.

But I am sorry, Pablo,
as it was for poor

El Greco, it will be
years before people

understand what you have done.

So they'll appreciate
me when I'm dead and buried.

Go easy on that.

I never go easy.

On anything.

You know, you don't have to live

in squalor and chaos
to make great art.

Who are you to
tell me how to live?

You have got to clean up.

Get out of this slum
before you go mad like

van Gogh, slice off
your ear and die in

a gutter somewhere.

It's time for you to go.

Matisse needs his paints mixed.

- Ready? Set.
- Ah...

- Yeah. Ah!
- Go.

-Ah, oh, how?

How on earth did you
do that, Weigels?

My mother taught me.
She's an alcoholic.

Uh-huh?

The trick is
to open your throat.

So your father must
be a very happy man, huh?

Max!

Uh, I love it.

Why?

Well, the colors,
the sense of movement, the...

Oh, stop pretending, Karl.

Everyone hates it.

Pablo.

Pablo, I believe your dipsomaniacal,
debauched new neighbor has, uh,

the perfect remedy
to lift your spirits.

Huh?

Pass me the pipe.

How much?

Two francs.

You, you can have it for five
francs, Monsieur Picasso.

The canvas is good.

You can paint right over it.

Are you mad?

It's a masterpiece.

The artist, you know him?

Artist?
He's, he's a customs clerk.

Henri Rousseau.

You know where I can find him?

Monsieur Rousseau?

Pablo Picasso.

I, I wrote to you.

Yeah. Come in.

How are things in Cairo?

I think you may have
confused me with someone else.

No, come in, I had no idea
you Egyptians were so timorous.

Guillaume, what
are you doing here?

What does it look like?

We are having our portrait done.

Pablo, allow me to
introduce my new paramour

and companion in chaos,
Marie Laurencin.

You are aware
he's an utter degenerate?

That's why I
fell in love with him.

Monsieur Picasso, would
you care to assess my progress?

A perfect likeness,
wouldn't you say?

Yes, you've
captured them exactly.

That old idiot's a joke.

If you feel that way, why are

you paying him to paint your portrait?

Our love is a mad thing.

It must be immortalized
by an utter madman.

I'm going to
hang it above my chamber pot.

Everybody deserves a good
laugh when they take a piss.

You two are
wrong about, Rousseau.

The way he distorts proportions,
uses unnatural colors.

His work is strange.

Primitive.

He does not care
what people think.

Least of all two
barbarians like you.

You, my friend, have
been smoking too much opium.

You wasted our money on that?

It cost less than
all the perfume you bought.

And I suppose it's better
than your big ugly whore painting.

I'm going to throw
Rousseau a huge party.

Invite everyone.

Drinks, entertainment, a feast.

You complain about me
buying a few bottles of perfume,

now you want to host a
banquet for some nobody.

He's worked in
obscurity for years.

But he's a genius.

It's just nobody
realizes it yet.

He deserves to be celebrated.

Are you talking
about him, or you?

Ladies and gentlemen,
introducing our most honored guest,

Monsieur Henri Rousseau!

Your highness.

Oh.

What a gorgeous goddess
descended from Olympus is this?

Uh, Fernande.

Uh, daughter of Bacchus.

God of wine, revelry
and, uh, madness.

Oh.

You and I shall
be great friends.

Uh, Picasso asked me to compose

some lines in your honor, Monsieur.

"Look how young the city is and
you still only a toddler...

"You the lovely lily...

A red-haired flame...

A vain peacock...

You listening to this twaddle?

Look, his masterpiece.

"And desperation...

The brandy you sip
burns in your throat...

Let the sun beheaded be."

Friends, gods, and serfs.

Only with love can we live and,
uh, only with joy can we work.

All hail the customs clerk!

And only with vegetables can

we make palaces for kings and queens.

Quite a party.

Where's Matisse?

Must have a colorful
painting to finish.

Needs to organize his pigments.

Uh-huh.

My goodness, Henri!

Monsieur.

It seems my brains are on fire.

No. No, no, no, my dear.

I love my crown.

He's a daft as a dandelion.

If canvas wasn't so abrasive,

I would cut up his picture and use it

to wipe my ass.

I have seen your work, Weigels.

That man is a true artist.

A master.

You are nothing but a fraud.

I cannot thank you enough.

I am the one who
should be thanking you.

You've inspired me.

Ohh...

You discovered me.

And in one night, you
brought sweetness

and glory to a lifetime of struggle.

I hope this happens
to you someday.

We are the best
painters in the world.

Me in the modern style,
and you in the Egyptian.

Jesus.

First Casagemas, now Weigels.

What are you talking about?

I abandoned Carles,
and I insulted Weigels.

It's my fault again.

He was...

a sweet soul.

Harmless.

And I was cruel to him.

He was a calamity.

Don't blame yourself.

What are you doing?

Braque was right.

No more of this.

Maybe if we smoke just a little.

Think of Spain.

The mountains.

And the blue sky.

Close your eyes.

Ah!

God, what?

What's going on?

Oh.

Oh, my God.

They're everywhere.

You, you know
that I am a Scorpio.

It's my zodiac sign. Yeah.

It's not funny.
They're poisonous.

Dora was stung once.

She's still alive.

You came here with Dora?

Yeah, of course.

This is her house.

Wasn't it nice
of her to lend it to us?

Oh, yes. I'm so grateful.

Uh, where are you going?

To get a broom.

Hey, Françoise,
Françoise, Françoise...

Leave it.

It's just that you have to
learn to be, um, more messy.

Relax, come back to bed.

I'm not sleeping in there.

Not with these things.

We can sleep in another room.

Just choose one.

It's all the same to me.

As long as I am with you.

Ah, all right.

Is this messy enough for you?

You really cleaned up?

Yes and unlike Van Gogh,
I still have both my ears.

Come in.

My God.

You've been busy.

What do you think?

It's completely new.

It is because of you.

You inspired me.

Your brothel painting, it showed me

how to, uh, see things differently.

For 400 years, art
has failed to evolve

because of this obsession
with perspective.

But it's a trick of the eye.

The vanishing point, it takes
everything away from the viewer.

Yes. You're right.

What we must do is make
the vanishing point vanish.

That is exactly
what I've been trying to do.

I knew if anybody would
grasp it, it would be you.

We must do more than
challenge the rules of perspective.

All the rules, light,
color, form...

must be questioned.

We have to rip everything apart
to create a new kind of painting.

We should submit our
work to the Autumn Salon.

Start the revolution.

Matisse is a judge this year.

Anything I put forward,
he will dismiss.

You submit.

You are throwing
me to the lions?

No.

You're his protégé.

Whatever you show,
he will like it.

And imagine how angry
he is going to be

when he realizes that
by approving of you,

he will be approving of me.

You are working
with Picasso, aren't you?

The angular planes,
the distortion...

I see that horrific
painting of his here.

We are trying
to do something new.

You just don't understand it.

I'm sorry, George, but
I cannot recommend this work.

Matisse is an idiot.

You have to admit, Pablo.

These new paintings
you're doing...

they aren't easy to understand.

You're taking his side?

Of course not.

I just don't want you to
be disappointed again.

You worked so hard on that
and look what happened.

I can't work here.

It's no good.

I tried to be looser, like
you told me to, and I...

I can't find the form in it.

It's just lying there.

Lifeless.

If your work doesn't give
you trouble, it won't be good.

What are those horns?

They are calling
us to a celebration.

It's Bastille Day. Yeah, let's go.
Huh? Come on, let's...

- I've got to work out...
- Ah, let's have some fun.

Do it later. Yeah?

Pablo, I can't whip off
two masterpieces a day like you.

You think too much.

You're, you're, you're
torturing yourself

with, uh, with critical thought.

You need an adventure.

What are you doing?

Joining them.

What am I supposed to do?

Great, uh, it's just for men.

Stay here.

I'll be back, enjoy yourself!

You asked me to come with you!

Do you think it's finished?

Absolutely.

It is your best yet.

She wrote
to say she could not marry me.

I'm so sorry.

I know how fond of her you are.

But don't worry, Henri,
you'll find someone else.

Huh.

Be happy you have
Pablo, my dear.

Sometimes
I'm not sure that I do.

He's been away for weeks.

Never writes back.

I'm sure he's, uh, busy working.

If he can pick up a
brush, why can't he pick up a pen?

But he is in a forest of
creation, full of thorn thickets

and clawed beasts.

But he will follow the
bread crumbs back to you.

And everything
will be good again.

I'll take that one, that one

and the one to the right of the door.

You actually like them?

Like them?

Pablo, you've
reinvented painting.

What do you
think, Mr. Kahnweiler?

I'll take the other 25.

That's quite a gamble, isn't it?

Not at all.

One day these will
hang in the Louvre.

My God, Pieret.

Aren't you
going to invite me in?

Uh, Marie!

Um, allow me to introduce a long,
lost friend of mine, Géry Pieret.

That is quite an outfit.

It's what everyone
wears in America these days.

So, what
brings you back to Paris?

Ah, all kinds of opportunities.

But while they come to fruition, I
was hoping I could stay with you.

Uh, my life
is a bit more crowded now.

But I brought you a gift.

Only a few days.

I promise.

Don't touch me.

What's wrong?

You whisked me out of Paris,

where I was perfectly
happy, to go to the

Midi, and it's not the real Midi, it's

some horrid village
stuck in a mountain.

You keep telling me to be looser,

which is just making me doubt myself.

And then you drag me off to some

stupid party and you abandon me there.

I'm sorry, Françoise.

Let me make it up to you.

Just go blow your own bugle.

Who do you know in Tunisia?

A friend of mine.

Hmm.

He's teaching there.

Why don't you read it out loud?

Well, it's addressed to me.

I don't mind
sharing my mail with you.

For example, this one
is from Marie-Thérse.

"My darling Pablo, the
weather was lovely today.

I love you so much.

I wish you were here.

But at least every day that goes by

without you is one day closer to me

seeing you again."

It's so beautiful.

Sounds to me like
she's still in love with you.

Well, it's not my
fault she cannot get over me.

Yes, Pablo. Nobody can top you.

Mm.

I bet you're fighting
her off every time you see her.

No.

But she used to be insatiable.

Never turned me down once.

Maybe you
should run back to her.

Well, unfortunately,

I have some business in Marseille
today with Kahnweiler.

Happy painting.

Is this supposed to make

up for you abandoning me all summer?

If you prefer the slums,
we can stay in the Bateau-Lavoir.

Can we really afford all this?

My work is selling.

Everyone likes my
cubist paintings.

Except you.

Good morning, Madame.

I always dreamed of
living in a place like this.

Maybe things will
be different between us now.

What is it?

Mona Lisa
stolen, Mona Lisa stolen!

I hear your
newspaper is offering

a reward for information
leading to the

painting's recovery.

You know something?

Do you guarantee my anonymity?

Why, because you stole it?

No, but I can tell you how the
thief or thieves may have done it.

I've stolen from
the Louvre, too.

I took this a few weeks ago.

I stole other works as well.

I can give you details of guard
shifts, locks and service entrances,

a broken basement window.

The bastard
told them everything.

At least the paper
didn't disclose his name.

But the police will
figure it out soon enough.

And then they'll be on
to you for the statue

he gave you, and me for those Iberian

pieces he sold me.

We'll tell the police
we didn't know they were stolen.

It will be our word
against Pieret's.

You're missing the point.

In the article, Pieret
says an international

crime ring stole the Mona Lisa.

It's an absurd fabrication
to cover up his own exploits.

You and I are not French.

We both have art
stolen from the Louvre.

They'll accuse us of stealing
the goddamn Mona Lisa, too.

We should flee. Go to Spain.

No. If you run, you look guilty.

It's the Mona Lisa.

They will hunt you
all over the world.

Let's just dump
the statues in the Seine.

No.

As far as we know, the
police have already

identified Pieret and made him talk.

They could be watching us.

If they catch us with those
things, we'll go to prison.

What if we return the
statues to the newspaper?

They kept Pieret's
name out of it.

They'll do the same for us.

You get too agitated.

I will do it.

Alone.

I didn't know what else to do.

When Pieret gave them to me, I had
no idea that they were stolen.

He said he bought them
at a shop in Montmartre.

It was only when I read your
article that I became suspicious

of their true origin.

Why bring them
to me rather than the police?

Since your paper
has an interest in this case.

And since the honorable
thing clearly is for us...

Us?

It was a slip of the tongue.

For, for me to return
them to the museum,

I have brought them to you with the

expectation that you will do
so and leave me out of it.

Admit you stole the Mona
Lisa and all this will be over.

Who are your accomplices?

Pablo Picasso?

Where were you on the
morning of August 21st?

At home.

Monsieur Apollinaire has given a
sworn statement that you were with him

at the Louvre,
stealing the Mona Lisa.

He is mistaken.

I was not there.

Monsieur Apollinaire has also

confessed to being
part of a crime ring,

comprised of you,
Monsieur Géry Pieret.

I don't know
anything about that!

Do not interrupt me, Monsieur.

I'm sorry.

How long have you
known Monsieur Apollinaire?

I do not know him.

In fact, I have
never even met him.

The examining judge
has decided not to charge you.

You are free to go.

What about Apollinaire?

Françoise?

Françoise,

where could she have gone?

She grew up, left you.

Huh.

Go get the car.

We have come a long way since
your opium days at the Bateau-Lavoir.

Maybe too far.

Sometimes I wish I could
live as a poor man again.

But with lots of money.

May I introduce Pablo
Picasso and George Braque,

the founders of
the cubist movement.

It's an honor to meet you both.

Hoffman is a
distinguished collector in Berlin.

That's Picasso over there.

Is it?

He's a hard man to get close to.

Yes, he is.

Are you an artist?

I used to be a model.

You have lovely lines.

I am a woman, not a boat.

Maybe I could
paint you sometime.

Glad you came, my friend.

I decided I can't
hide out at home forever.

Waiting for the
world to forgive me.

You were released.

From lack of evidence.

To the press, that points to a failure
on the part of the Sûreté and not to

my actual innocence.

It's good to see you, my friend.

Is it?

Hold on, stop, stop here.

Darling, darling, darling.

I don't understand.

Where, where the...

Where on earth are you going?

Marseille.

But I told you
I was coming back.

Not to be with you.

To catch a ferry to Tunisia.

To, to be with
your teacher friend?

You told me
I needed an adventure.

I'm taking your advice.

But the adventure is here.

With me, don't you see?

You...

You went through so much, you know,
gave up so much to be with me.

Now you are just
going to run off?

Before we have time to
build a life together?

In Paris, we were doing that.

Here we're just strangers.

Then let's tell
each other everything.

Until we don't even need
to used words anymore.

We can just say what we need
with our eyes and our hands.

You wanted to go to the beach,
so let's go to the beach.

He died alone.

We shouldn't have ridiculed him.

Do you ever wish things
could go back to the way they were?

What do you mean?

We used to have fun together,
but now Pablo is always with Braque.

Despair, my dear, is a readily

treatable affliction. Come.

What are you doing?

I just want to feel good again.

Give the pipe to me.

You don't
know how lonely I feel.

Give it to me!

You ignore me.

You ignore your friends.

You betrayed Guillaume.

He told them I
stole the Mona Lisa.

The police beat him up!

I am sorry about that.

But denying him was the
only way to clear my name.

What about
Guillaume's good name, huh?

You know the newspapers
still haunt him?

He let that maniac Pieret
back into his life and mine.

So it's all his fault.

I worked hard to get here.

And I am not going to let Guillaume,
you, or anyone else make a mess of it.

So that's how it is now?

As long as we don't get in your
way, you'll keep us around?

I, I've been thinking, uh,
we should create something together.

I always hoped
we would collaborate.

Maybe something bigger.

More lasting.

Let's make a baby.

_

_

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www.addic7ed.com