Original subtitles

Captioning made possible by Acorn Media

There is a place far up in the north of Russia

called Kropotkin,

where in the winter, the earth freezes so hard

it is impossible to dig a grave when a man dies.

So the clever Russians-- do you know what they do?

They simply sharpen his legs

and knock him into the ground with a sledgehammer.

This has absolutely nothing to do with

what you're going to see now

except that we also have a Russian in our story--

a Russian painter called Soutine

who went to live in France,

where he died in poverty in 1943.

I didn't invent Soutine. He was real.

He was a very great painter,

and today his pictures fetch enormous sums

all over the world.

That year--1946-- winter was a long time going.

Although it was April,

a freezing wind blew through the streets of Paris.

The old man was cold and miserable.

Chicken.

When did we last taste chicken?

Hey, clear off!

You, clear off!

Oh, I'm starving!

Are you deaf or something?

I said clear off, you dirty, filthy beast!

[Thinking] Have I gone crazy?

No, it's this picture that's crazy.

Yes--strange and crazy.

But I like it. I always did.

MAN: Do you like Soutine?

SECOND MAN: Ha ha!

My dear, one cannot afford to like him.

The prices he fetches!

5 million francs.

Now, don't tell me it's a good investment.

Even I can't afford to spend

that amount of money,

as much as I...

[Thinking] It is.

My God!

My little Soutine.

That's who it is!

It's Soutine!

[Dog yelps]

What? What?

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Poor Tristan. Oh!

[Thinking] Chaim Soutine,

with a painting in the finest gallery in Paris.

Imagine.

Exactly his style...

my little Russian.

After all these years.

I loved him because he could paint.

How he worked in those days!

Next time, you will be nude.

Will I?

Mm-hmm.

You couldn't afford it.

I charge 25 centimes an hour extra,

and I'd want the stove on.

Besides, what would Drioli say?

Ha ha! Your husband loves my work.

He'd say it was a tremendous idea.

We are rich!

Josie, we are stinking rich!

So I have tremendous idea.

Tonight, we celebrate.

What are we celebrating?

Where's the corkscrew?

JOSIE: You're always celebrating--

anything, everything.

We'll never be rich.

Have you decided to divorce your wife?

Is that what we're celebrating?

So she can marry me?

Can I move?

No.

DRIOLI: Ah!

Tonight, we are celebrating money.

Money, when I haven't got a sou.

No, my money--

the money I made today

with my work, my art.

You call what you do art?

Tattooing art?

I agree, my friend.

I am not on the same level as you,

but a tattoo can be art.

Ask Josie.

SOUTINE: Josie?

Stop it, Drioli.

Has Josie got a tattoo?

Where?

Your eyes are red. You look tired.

9 tattoos today--

arms, chest, backs of hands.

Soldiers-- boozy soldiers--

but 9 in one day,

and 7 paid in cash!

And a new coat!

That is a bargain.

That will last for years!

Damn! Where can I work with all this?

No, you don't work.

Now you stop work, and you drink.

Can I see now?

No!

It's wonderful.

It's terrible.

My friend,

next time you must paint my wife in the nude.

That would be...

SOUTINE: a tremendous idea.

Didn't I say, Josie?

As a husband, you make a very good pimp.

Josie, we talking about art.

Don't you understand?

But I can't eat my art.

No, but we can drink mine.

Come on.

Drink.

Come, be happy.

Josie, look at him. He's so gloomy.

So Russian.

Hey, my little Tartar,

my Kalmuk from Minsk.

From Smilovich.

So?

What's the difference, hmm?

It's close to Minsk.

I used to walk there when I was a boy.

Be happy. Drink.

Right.

Ah! More.

We're going to drink, let's drink.

We need some more wine.

I shall get some more.

How many bottles?

6 more--

3 bottles each.

No. You'll fall asleep, both of you.

Josie, we won't. We're Russians.

A real Russian celebration, Josie.

While you're gone,

I'll take care of your wife.

Of course. I trust my wife.

And I trust you, my little Kalmuk.

Of course.

[Door opens, then closes]

To friendship...

we 3.

Trust.

Leave Drioli.

Marry me.

[Giggling]

Are you blind?

Deaf?

I'm with an artist.

We trust one another.

But he's making love to me in front of you.

Of course. He is an artist.

JOSIE: No. No!

Mind the bottles!

I won't. I refuse!

Oh, Josie, you must.

Chaim must see my art.

He doesn't believe a tattoo can be art.

Chaim, make her show you.

Show me! Yes, come on.

No. I can't. No!

Where is it?

Where? Is it your thigh?

JOSIE: No.

DRIOLI: I'll show you where it is.

My feet are frozen.

Stop it, Drioli!

Is it your stomach? Is that where it is?

No, but you're warmer.

Now, Josie, you can show him.

He's an artist.

Your breast!

Stop it, Drioli. Stop it!

Chaim, help me. I want you to see.

I want to prove

I'm the greatest tattooist in Paris.

You're so drunk, both of you.

Yeah, of course.

We're celebrating.

All right.

You want to see art-- his art?

All right. All right.

Since my husband insists-- my pimp insists...

Come and look, artist.

It's beautiful.

He is an artist.

You see?

[Thinking] I have an idea.

Yes.

No, not now.

I have a tremendous idea.

SOUTINE: Again?

A study of my wife.

Yes.

DRIOLI: Are you listening?

Sit by me, Josie.

Chaim, you are such an artist. I must have a picture.

Take them all.

In exchange, I'll have your wife.

No, no, no!

No, listen. I'm serious now.

I want a special picture--

one that will stay with me always,

wherever I go forever.

Now, listen, my little Kalmuk.

I want you to paint a picture on me--

on my skin; on my back.

You're crazy.

No.

No, first you paint it, then you tattoo over it.

You tattoo so that it will always be there.

I'll teach you. It's easy. A child could do it.

You're drunk.

No. I was, but I'm not now.

I'll teach you to tattoo in 5 minutes.

Josie will be the model.

I'll go and get my equipment.

Yes, why don't you go?

I won't be long. I'll be a half an hour.

Yes, go. It's a tremendous idea.

Don't you think, Josie?

[Equipment buzzing]

DRIOLI: No, keep the needle upright.

That's it.

Now, move it lightly

over the surface of the skin.

Now, the electricity, you see,

is making it jump up and down,

and then it's puncturing the skin,

and the ink is going in.

Does it hurt?

Hmm? Oh, it prickles.

It's simple!

I told you.

It's like drawing with pen and ink.

Shall we begin?

At once.

Josie, wake up.

No.

There, with the hair like this.

You're brushing it.

DRIOLI: Brushing her hair.

Wonderful.

Where do you want me?

On this chair.

Um, this way.

You rest your head on the back of the seat.

First I shall paint.

If I like it, I'll tattoo over it.

How do I look?

Brush your hair.

Stop. Yes.

Yes. Yes.

Keep still.

Feels like a centipede on my back.

Still.

The painting is done.

JOSIE: Do you need me anymore?

No, darling.

You can go to sleep again.

Good.

I feel so...good.

[Buzzing]

How is it?

Terrible.

[Drioli grunts]

It's really hurting now.

SOUTINE: Keep still.

Is it any better?

Still!

[Buzzing stops]

What time is it?

It's morning.

It's finished.

Really? I want to see it.

Let me see it.

It's wonderful.

It doesn't really look like me.

It's an impression, a mood--

my feelings about you now.

It's a masterpiece.

I quite like it.

In fact...

I think it's good enough for me to sign.

[Thinking] My little Soutine...

famous.

Excuse me.

What is it that you want?

If you don't mind...

We don't want any trouble here.

Come along, now.

Keep your hands off me!

Come along.

I've as much right as you to be here--more!

I asked you to leave.

No! I've got a picture!

I've got a picture by this painter.

He was my friend. He gave it to me.

Look, don't touch me. I'll show you.

Look. You'll see.

Yes, you-- yes, you'll see.

Look there-- there, on my back.

Look.

Look. Look there!

My God, it's true.

It's extraordinary.

When was this done?

1913.

And who taught Soutine to tattoo?

I did.

You're a professional tattooist?

I was.

Nowadays, nobody wants tattoos.

I wouldn't say that.

My dear sir,

we must have a little chat,

you and I.

This woman-- who was she?

My wife. She was killed by a bomb in 1940.

I'm sorry to hear it.

But now to business.

I will buy your picture.

I am perfectly serious.

I'll give you...

200,000 francs for it.

But how? How could I sell it?

Nothing easier.

I'll get the best surgeon in Paris

to remove the skin from your back.

That's impossible. That would kill him.

With respect, my dear sir,

it would not.

Don't listen to him, my friend.

You would never survive a major skin-grafting operation.

How old are you?

I'm 61.

There you are, then. Far too dangerous.

If you don't mind...

Please, I also have a proposal to make.

You have a masterpiece on your back

worth far more than 200,000 francs.

Very well, then,

I'll offer you 500,000 francs.

Do you like to swim? To lie in the sun?

I don't understand.

Fine food, great wines, beautiful women,

tailored suits, shirts?

Your wardrobe does seem a little run-down.

Tell me,

have you ever had a shoe made for your own foot?

Would you like someone to shave you in the morning?

A pretty girl to manicure your nails?

A bell by your bedside to summon a maid

who can bring you anything you desire?

Does that appeal to you at all?

Well, yes. Yes.

Good. Good.

750,000 francs.

[Man chuckles]

I happen to be the owner of the Hotel Bristol in Cannes.

I'm inviting you to come down

and live in luxury for the rest of your life.

Your only duty would be

to spend your time on my private beach

in your bathing trunks swimming, sunning yourself,

drinking cocktails.

Meanwhile, my guests will be able to look at

this fascinating picture by Soutine.

You'd be famous.

People will say,

"There goes the man with," uh...

"10 million francs on his back."

Is this a joke?

Not at all.

This is a mere promise.

I am offering you cash.

And an operation.

Look, why don't you and I discuss this

over a meal, hmm?

Are you hungry?

Yes, I am hungry.

Roast duck au chambertin;

perhaps a souffle au marrons?

How do you like your duck?

Roasted crisp on the outside?

DRIOLI: Oh, any way-- any way at all.

Good. Good.

[Continuing indistinctly]

DAHL: Not long afterwards,

a portrait by Soutine of an unusual nature

turned up for sale in Buenos Aires.

That, and the fact

that there is no Hotel Bristol in Cannes,

causes one to wonder a little.

Captioning made possible by Acorn Media

Captioned by the National Captioning Institute

--www.ncicap.org--