Original subtitles

You are in my place.

- This is a public library. - I always sit here.

- You cannot reserve. - Ask him.

My place, please.

Why don't you sit there?

Why don't you?

Thank you.

I'm lonely.

Are you lonely?

Of course, I am.

You're a genius. I know you're a genius.

Because, I'm a genius too.

When there are no fish in the pond, the shrimp is great.

Oh, philosopher! I thought you're a poet.

I'm a writer, and I want a paper.

I'm an artist. I don't read the papers.

Give us a kiss.

- I do not like men. - Oh, I do.

Sometimes I think men are more beautiful than women.

Beauty is dead.

I think you're wrong. I make beauty.

You make beauty.

Most people struggle to make something beautiful.

Many fail, that's true. But I shan't fail.

I have enough for everyone.

You mustn't boast, boy, or you'll never become a genius.

Do you think Michelangelo boasted?

I loathe Michelangelo.

There, Michelangelo at his worst.

That's not by Michelangelo.

'It's dead. Just look at it.'

No holes, no muscle, and no mystery.

Consider these tipsy tits.

And who wants a whooping great ass

staring them in the face in the middle of the working day?

It's indecent.

There is a good chance some innocent young child

will be corrupted for life.

Art, good people.

Nothing but luck backed up by slave labor.

'So good citizens, I implore you'

have nothing to do with art.

Art rots your moral fiber.

Ladies and gentleman, observe that charming woman

'in the straw hat with a wicker basket.'

From the look of her, you would imagine

she was a... famous lady of fashion.

'But there, you would be wrong. She is a great novelist.'

'But she does not set her immortal stories'

'at the time of the Crusades, does she?'

And why?

Because you can't make art out of dreams.

'Art is dirt. Art is sex.'

And art is revolution.

- We want a word with you. - Stop.

I'll see you tomorrow, in the library.

'If I'm not there, come and bail me out.'

Hello.

I forgot to tell you my name.

It's Gaudier. Henri Gaudier.

G-A-U-D-I-E-R.

Hey let's get married. I earn good money.

One franc an hour at the Lartigue Art Gallery.

- No. - No.

Well, let's live together then.

- I sleep with everyone. - Good.

I'm part of everyone.

You shouldn't have made that scene in the park.

You should have taken the hat around.

I come from a good family.

My father's a carpenter.

What's your book about then?

Conflict.

- Conflict? - Yes.

- Ah. - Perhaps you should read it.

- Yes. - Leave it alone. How dare you?

I know you.

Doesn't give you the right to pry.

- Yeah true. - Anyway, it's in Polish.

I'll learn Polish. I shall learn Polish tomorrow.

You tire me. Ten minutes with you is like a week's work.

- I'm sorry. - Give you 1 sou for that leek.

- Three. - One.

Three.

Shall I send it or will you take it wrapped?

What's it like, this work you do in the gallery?

Oh it's piece work. Come and go as I please.

But they get their pound of flesh. Here.

Your flesh?

Sometimes I do feel as if I'm always going uphill.

Now, don't get me wrong.

I don't want to be other than I am.

I know it's lucky to be what I am.

But, sometimes, I don't think I'll be able to do

what I want to do... on my own.

Let me make one thing clear.

My asking you in is a simple act

of artistic companionship.

I understand, Miss Brzeska.

Why should you be special? I know dozen of artists.

- Who do you know? - I know..

Never mind who I know.

What does it matter who I know?

I don't know anybody. That's who I know.

- You know me. - I know your kind.

You think art is all sex and material things.

Art is above sex!

When my books go out into the world, people who read them...

- Read. I'll read anything. - You?

You're the worst read man I've ever met.

You wait until you meet my friends.

- You have no friends. - And neither have you.

And you're old.

I would like to see Henri Gaudier.

Staff are not allowed through the doors, madame.

But I must see him urgently.

I'm-I'm his sister and-and...

And his poor dying mother is calling for him.

- My condolences, madame. - But...

The trade entrance is around the corner.

Bourgeoislackey.

My God!

A forger.

Help! Help!

Brzeska.

So I'm entertaining a criminal?

Better a good copy than a bad original.

- What's 'to draw' in Polish? - Rysowac.

Oh, don't make a mess all over the floor.

'Anyway if people with more money than sense'

'can't tell the difference between a genuine Gaudier'

and a genuine Gainsborough, they deserve to be cheated.

One day, someone will be forging my work.

Work?

You don't know the meaning of the word.

Dabrowski, to work. Yes?

Well, star of the morning, I have Dobrowsk'd on the roads

from Paris to Marseille.

I have Dobrowsk'd in Wales, in a coal merchant's office.

And I got a Dobrowski's scholarship to study business.

Till I chucked it for this.

And soon, I shall be in the Dobrowski's house.

While you, I imagine, are in Paris to do a little shopping.

I came to finish my book.

I needed a creative atmosphere.

You have to create your own atmosphere.

Knife, please.

- What's in there? - 'What? My trunk?'

All I possess.

- Is it full? - 'Yes.'

Who said you could open that?

You have too many things. You should get rid of them.

Those artistic, they have nothing.

If there was ever any good in nothing

it's hard to find when you pass 30.

Thirty! What am I saying?

Twenty, ten, being alone

getting sick on nothing of nothing in the head.

Arms minus the will to wash their face.

Taking a letter to post harder than shifting a ton of rock.

Alone.

"Write. You want to write," mother said.

Poor, flat, flabby, chocolate munching.

I only want what's good for you, mother.

Gone saggy with one after another born dead

or dead three weeks later... boys..

Till they held me up, looked between my legs and frowned.

Stupid, they said. Stupid. Can't write. Girl.

She said, "Girl, Better find a man as stupid as yourself."

Writing. Writing? Put that book down.

However will we get rid of you, I'm sure I don't know.

Ms. Nice, fluttery, home-loving, reading, eating, sleeping.

So... they found me an old fish fop with a moneyed mama.

Her darling father's gambling and whores gobbled that up.

So, then a fish fop gent, a well bred cast-off

can become a governess.

Her empire, a cloud of vomit and baby shit.

And then evening, up two women write out

your thoughts on the soul.

Oh, what is this I hear?

It's my God-fearing, upright employer ready to jump on me.

Keep your love, I know what you've got at top of your legs.

I'm the biggest whore in the Latin quarter.

I've started more books

than all the drawings you'll do in a lifetime.

'My book is about sleep.'

That thick oily substance

under whose surface you float, half dreaming, half waking..

...hidden in your hope that the world comes through.

You cannot imagine the ways I have evolved

to abolish myself there, under the surface.

Half sleeping half waking.

Leaving your worries and your clothes asleep.

But the rent never sleeps and time never sleeps.

If only we had met 20 years ago.

But it's gone, you see. It's gone, you see.

Old enough to be your mother. I'm a snaggletoothed old hag.

And do not imagine I mourn my lost loveliness.

From the start, I knew my face was not my fortune.

But I was young enough to have prospects, like you.

I'm not worth your love, boy.

Love me like love must be and you'll loathe me soon.

You are so young.

You will be a great artist.

Keep yourself for someone kinder.

The cabbage is burning.

Oh.

Ah, you'll like my mother. She is wonderful.

Thought you mother lived in the country.

That's my natural mother. My real mother is.

The Louvre! Oh, rubbish.

Pretentious townhouse full of junk stolen from savages.

Art is made from art.

- That's not what you said. - That was yesterday.

Look, you said it and don't you dare tell me I'm wrong.

That today's art cannot be made from anything except today.

And where do you think today comes from? Yesterday.

Or do you see some clean break along the line of days

stretching back from here to Babylon?

You never say the same thing twice.

Yes, I change.

When I lie down at night, I lie down like I'm gonna die.

When I get up, I get up as if I'm gonna live forever.

And you expect me to fling myself.

Into your arms for always?

I know your sort. You'll be off in a week.

I will carry my love for you wherever my mind leads me.

- Excuse me, sir. - Ah, good day, kind sir.

In which direction lies the newly acquired primitive head?

- That way, sir, but... - Thank you.

But, sir, sir, sir. Pardon me for mentioning.

- But your shirt is hanging out. - That's al right.

Most of the people in here are naked.

Henri, look. This is where your mind leads you.

- Rape. Rape of a Sabine woman. - Oh!

He's got more hanging out than his shirt.

It's more like wax-works.

Hello, hello.

In a bit of an artistic tizzy, are we?

I'm about to take my hat off to the Mona Lisa.

I fully appreciate your desire to do that, sir.

I take my hat off to the Mona Lisa at least once a day.

However, sir, I am decently dressed.

Madam, would you take your hand out of my trousers?

- Ah! - One other thing, sir.

My God! My brother. This is where it all started.

- Your voice. Sir! - And where it'll all end.

This is after all a museum, sir.

Amongst your enthusiasm for these eternal works

of the human spirit..

...strikes a chord in my own heart.

We don't want to disturb the tax-payers

enjoying the benefits of cultural democracy.

Do we, sir?

Disturb? Of course, they should be disturbed.

Shocked into life. This isn't a morgue.

Now, that, sir, is stone.

And a very valuable stone, if I may say so.

And if we allow one visitor to touch it

then everyone will be wanting to touch it. Won't they, sir?

Art is alive. Enjoy it.

Laugh at it. Love it or hate it.

But don't worship it. You will not enjoy it.

'Hang it on your walls.'

'Wipe your asses on it.'

But use it.

I'm a man whose work will be here tomorrow.

They'll all wait until tomorrow.

- Get off me. - Jump that one.

Nincompoop. Never calm down. You sprainy, rat-faced fool!

You have no mother!

Your old man came up against a shithouse wall.

And the sun hatched you out.

- We'll come back another day. - No, we won't.

I'll never set foot there as long as I live.

Then I'll give it purely

air-conditioned for the American tourists.

Boy, your real mother turned out a real bitch.

Right. Let's see if my natural mother treats us any better.

What do you mean?

I mean a few days in the country would do us good.

What about your parents? I've got nothing to wear.

I don't want to go. I wanna go home.

We have no home.

'Henri.'

Breathe..

- Who is her publisher? - Oh, she has several.

- She is internationally famous. - She looks like a widow.

Oh, love is platonic.

Such quietude.

Did you have a pleasant journey, Miss Brzeska?

I'm terrified of trains.

We find them rather convenient.

What is this place?

The estate of the Countess of Mont-de-Masan.

We are her tenants.

It is very good of you to have me.

I'm afraid, there's no room for you at the house.

But we fitted out the old dairy for you.

- Oh, well... - We are a large family.

I need solitude.

- She's a pearl. - Do you know her well, boy?

- Good morning. - Intimately.

- Good morning, ma'am. - Now, listen...

We are fused in the mutual radiance from ourselves.

Your mother's very worried.

Papa, your forbears carve

the west front of Chartres Cathedral.

There's no need for me to tell you about beauty.

And beauty is in her bones.

Hello, Alma.

- Hello. - What are you doing?

- What? - What are you doing?

Well, I just came to see if you had everything.

- This used to be my room. - It's beautiful.

It has everything. Now, just let me alone. I'm tired.

- You're tired of me? - No. Not of you.

Your parents will get into trouble

if it gets about that you're in here at night.

Well... I'll go then.

- Goodnight. - Goodnight, boy.

Let us plight our troth.

Yes. Let us plight our troth.

- Are you sure? - Yes.

Then we must give each other something.

Something that will last forever.

- I'll give you my name. - I'll give you mine.

- Henri Gaudier Brzeska. - Sophie Gaudier Brzeska.

- Now, I am your brother. - I'm your sister.

You are my love.

All my life, I have looked for such a love.

Even when you were young? Very young.

Even then. If you can't find love in your own family

I thought find it in someone else's.

A good governess is worth her weight in gold

and travel broadens the mind.

But mothers become jealous and fathers lustful.

And then you're walking the streets in a foreign country

with no references. What price is love then?

Well, then you settle for something else.

Friendship? Companionship?

Less than that.

- Charity? - Less even than that.

You settle for.. anything.

I came to Paris to kill myself, boy.

But I was frightened of the worms and the dark.

My sister.

My little sister. My maleska.

You have found your lover.

And we will live only for each other.

And you will do work for everyone.

And you too.

Right. Up off that bed, you two.

Come along now. His lordship has something to read.

"Honored sir." That's me.

"It is my most unpleasant duty

"to inform you that a woman of foreign extraction

"is using the countess' disused dairy

"for the improper reception of men.

"'As mayor of this district, it is your duty'

"'to evict the said alien'

"'and not only from the estate'

'but from the district as a whole.'"

Signature illegible.

Right. Form a queue... outside.

Youngest, first. Go on.

Please, my son. Send her away. Stay here with us.

Vermin. Scum on lice. Get out!

Greetings, father.

And help us find a cheap room in London.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Mister.

Oh, hello. He's for me.

Gospel. sir. See what Jesus can do for your life.

- Dominus vobiscum. - I'm a convent girl.

Clean as a whistle. Tight as a drum.

Six pence for a short time. Five bob all night long.

With a gobble at the end.

You're so nice, you can shit chocolate bonbons.

Bless you, sister.

How's the great novel?

- There's a letter for you. - You open it.

If you didn't read so much

perhaps you'd get some work done?

In this din?

It's London transport.

It's the damp or the fog or the right idea.

The East... only... now.

- You've got a job. - What?

You've got a job!

Fifty-five shillings a month.

Fifty-five shillings a month?

Hey! Well, now I have everything.

My studio, my work

every one a masterpiece and my woman.

What more could a solid middle class citizen want?

He wants a kiss.

Right!

What? No! No!

- Oh, stop! - This is lovely.

What are you doing? Stop it, boy! Savage!

How often do I have to tell you I don't like sex?

You think of nothing else.

Nine cases of indecent exposure in the papers today.

All because of women like you.

You want sex. Go and find someone who sells it.

Right. Will you give me the money?

Five shillings? Woman, you're out of your mind.

Do you imagine I'm going to allow my beautiful young body

to be clasped in the embrace of a five bob whore?

It's all we can afford.

Well, let's economize and eat at home.

Al right.

Bless you, holy brother!

You're hired!

Why do you do this?

You know you will do it but not for you!

- Gaudier. - Yeah?

Gaudier, I want you to do this Polish invoice.

I'll do it tomorrow, Mr. Saltzman.

I have to show my sister.

Corky's looking forward

to meeting you and your sister very much.

Gaudier, you haven't forgotten Mr. Corky, have you?

'My friend, the art dealer.'

I never forget anyone, Mr. Saltzman.

'Good.'

I mean... you know he's supposed

to be having supper with both of you tonight?

Lotsky, Zavaroshky, forgotsky!

She's been at it all day, Mr. Saltzman. All day.

Mrs. Gotzmann thanks you very much for your drawing.

It is framed and hanging already in the drawing room.

My boss has arranged for me to meet with Mr. Porky.

One of the world's most celebrated art dealers.

Offices in London, New York, and Paris.

So soon, you will be a wealthy woman.

Meanwhile, I've written for that job in Blandford.

They can't afford you.

You're the sister of the world's most famous sculptor.

Supper, genius.

Of course, I retain my simple way of life.

A great artist must reserve his contact with the people.

Ah, the people.

Out of season watercress soup and leftover goat's milk?

The last of the herrings.

Keep it warm.

I've invited my important art dealer to supper.

Tonight?

Now he tells me!

Oh, my God!

Ah, that's him! We're rich!

Start spending!

Ah, Mr. Porky, I presume.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

My name's Angus Corky.

And I am Henri Gaudier-Brzeska.

'That's small stuff.'

Soon as I've borrowed the tools, I'm starting stone carving.

- I'll get you the tools. - Thank you.

You like those?

Very much.

I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. You're a genius.

Would you accept five pounds?

How much?

Five pounds?

Shakespeare!

You know, I can't afford that much.

It's a lot of work.

I'll just take this one for now.

You mean, five pounds each?

Well, of course.

You're an idiot.

Brzeska, allow me to present my new art dealer.

The one with offices in Paris and...

He has just bought one of my drawings for five pounds.

Zoot!

'Mr. Angus Porky?'

I'd like to present my sister Sophie Gaudier-Brzeska.

The pleasure is entirely mine, mademoiselle.

And mine to surrender, Mr. Porky.

'Delicious!'

Snouts down, fellow pigs.

Do begin, please, Mr. Porky.

Oh, the kind of rare vegetables we like are out of season.

We are poor.

- We have five pounds. - Oh!

Oh! Oh, dear. Well, I, well I didn't actually..

Well, I was lying about the money.

He's my friend. I gave him the drawings.

Well, didn't I, Porky? Yeah?

You'll have it tomorrow. I promise you that.

Well, there. You see?

Come, food will get cold.

Of course, he'll pay. I know he will.

It's just that you're so easy to cheat!

Yes, I'd rather be cheated than cheat.

- That's not the alternative. - Look, I'm the host here.

- I will decide what... - He's the host.

What does that make me? The whore?

- 'Who buys the food?' - 'Who pays the rent?'

Well, who wastes money on stupid trinkets?

Oh, boy! You shouldn't have.

They're for me. For my new outfit.

The first to see the light of day

at the exhibition Porky has promised me.

A small thing but guaranteed to set

the art-buying public aflame with enthusiasm.

Zoot! A mark of a slave!

A revolutionary gesture.

I'll have to wear them. Your ears aren't pierced.

No sooner said than done.

Stop!

They'll think you're a pansy!

They love pansies! You know the public.

If an artist isn't miserable, he's nothing.

- I paint revolution! - Boy, stop it!

See me in my barbaric splendor.

What is the main difference between men and women?

No!

Oh, boy! Boy! Boy!

You!

Brzeska, I surrender!

I'd like you very much to come and have dinner with me

one of these evenings.

Naughty boy!

Make it... soon.

I surrender!

A tiger burning in the night.

A woman's body burning in the day.

Sensual lights and shades.

But with sounds, instead of tones.

It sounds more like Blake than Debussy.

I don't smell tigers, but it reeks of sex.

I see light.

One never sees anything else with an impressionist.

I thought, it was a ballet about homosexuality.

Oh!

Just what you'd expect from people like Diaghilev.

They say he's had the entire corps be ballet

boys, girls, and all the electricians.

And you associate impressionism with homosexuality, Mr. Brzeska?

It's a lot of cock.

Supper everyone?

- Did you read Hardy's latest? - I read the reviews.

- 'Pass the salt.' - I don't read reviews.

Lies. Scumbags!

But where else would you get your information?

- Information? - Information?

You get about enough information outta the reviews

to satisfy a very small, illiterate pygmy.

True.

You're always blaming me for ignoring the papers.

Oh, fiddlesticks! It's the news, not the views that count.

How do you distinguish?

I don't. I wipe my ass on both.

Pippa, have some more cider.

Mavis?

Mr. Shaw?

How much a year do you make out of art?

Yes! More than Tom does out of publishing my poor books.

You have no idea of the overheads.

Do you include your jewelry in that?

'And when the war comes'

'dear Lionel, will make even more.'

And when the refugees start to move

they'll give you a statue for a passport.

A Michelangelo for an American passport? It's cheap.

But if the war comes, it'll kill the artists, too.

But not the dealers.

Tom, what a cruel thing to say!

- I love war! - Ah!

War is good for the human soul.

The bigger the war, the better I like it.

- He doesn't mean it. - Oh, yes. I do.

I like what everyone likes, and everybody likes war.

- Otherwise... - Why is it so popular?

If I hear you say that again, I'll..

- What? - She'll shed a pacifist tear.

Why make it all so personal?

Men always make it personal.

What do you do, Miss Brzeska?

I write.

She sings, too.

I am a writer.

And have you published anything? Recently.

The third volume, of her nine volume philosophical romance

has just been received with acclaim in Moscow.

So, three are out, and six in typescript?

Exactly. Except, that my sister prefers longhand.

Do you know Polish folk melodies?

I loathe the peasants, and their awful melodies.

She's a noble woman.

I am a communist.

Then I will cut off your head.

A song... entitled Melancholy Mazurka.

'Translated from the Polish by Sophie Gaudier Brzeska.'

- Beautiful. - You, none of you like it.

You hated it. You, yapper-faced

yobber trapped offspring of chimpanzees!

I liked it.

But I don't think I liked you.

She thinks your breath smells.

I wonder, how she distinguishes it from your... feet?

'Tell me, what is your favorite medium, Mr. Brzeskit?'

Brzeska. Stone.

- Granite? - No, marble.

But you could carve... granite?

Well, naturally.

But, you've used marble a great deal?

My brother carves in most stones, Mr. Shaw.

Sophie.

Marble is my favorite.

Sophie, help me with the coffee, would you?

Excuse me.

Shaw's gonna pin him down, if we're not very careful.

How?

He's gonna ask to see one of his non-existent stones.

I'll see him on his way.

Do you sculpt from life?

Life, death, all part of the job.

Henri, we must go.

Actually, I have just finished a torso in marble.

Neoclassic style.

I'll model for you. That is, if you'd like me to.

He would be delighted. Oh, I'm so tired. I must go.

Henri, we will miss the last bus.

Oh, sit down. I'm eating my pudding.

That new piece you mentioned

the neoclassical torso.

- May I come and see it? - Gladly.

'When?'

At 8:00 tomorrow.

- I'm going to the theater. - 8:00 am?

Yeah!

Make it 9:00.

Done.

Mr. Corky will give you my studio address.

Bye, all.

Oh, boy, you've done it this time.

Bye.

Well, isn't Corky's sculptor divine?

Let's hope his talent will mature.

We'll see. It's easier to become

the prime minister here than be one of its artists.

But I can't stand her. The sooner she goes, the better.

Hear, hear.

You must come again.

Corky! Come on!

Oh, sorry, madam, wrong window.

Hey, come on, we've got to get Shaw's stone.

'And bring those tools, you promised.'

All the shops are shut.

- Debrovsky, Pukovsky. - Come on!

Sophie?

'Sophie?'

Is this any good?

Too much grain.

Do wish you'd make up your mind.

Oh, we're too near the main road.

Henri? Henri?

Oh, come on, don't play games.

We're not buying vegetables, you know.

Choosing the right stone is a creative act.

Michelangelo used to spend six months

in his favorite quarry, before picking a piece.

You loathe Michelangelo!

Oh, I have to admit he's getting better.

- Getting better all the time. - Eureka!

This is it. Come on, quick.

You will be cursed by Edward Timothy West!

Nonsense!

I'll be blessed for taking a load of his chest.

Oh, for God's sake!

Oh, it's hardly the place to mention Him.

I'm wet through.

Think of the Jews crossing the Red Sea.

I'm not Jewish!

Please, Gaudier, can't we stop for tea?

No resting!

What time is it?

It must be 3:00.

Six hours to go then.

Shaw won't come, Gaudier.

I know him.

He never leaves his gallery before lunch.

He will! He'll come! He'll have his stone!

9 o'clock. On the dot.

Excellent tea, Sophie.

It's nice to be appreciated.

Right. I'll tell you a story.

Oh, I hope I haven't heard it before.

A man was walking across the field one day.

And he came across a little bird.

So young... it couldn't fly.

Oh, how sweet.

In fact, unless, he did something about it

the little bird would die.

Nearby, there was a newly laid cow puddle

big, rich and steaming.

So, he picked the little bird up

made a hole in the cow puddle

and popped the little bird in.

'After a while, wrapped with the cozy warmth'

'not to mention, the delectable aroma'

the little bird perked up and began to chirrup.

Cheep, cheep, cheep.

A fox was walking along the ditch.

He heard the little bird chirruping away

comes over to see what's going on

and scrunch.

Ah!

Bites off its head.

And the moral is..

...it's not always your enemies, who drop you in the shit

and not always your friends, who get you out.

But when you're in it, keep your mouth shut.

I want some sleep.

What a pity.

Why don't you go and find a nice park bench?

'Go on, it's only a couple of minutes.'

'You're admirer, Mr. Porky will take you.'

Al right.

My darling soul.

My free one.

My life outside my life.

My permanent reminder of splendor.

My soft voice.

My happiest when sad.

Not you, Corkums, my love.

'I need you still.'

Put the chisels in the stove... and stoke up.

Oh, God!

'I'm so tired!'

You know, the kind of work I like?

Where every blow is a good one.

Where the man could see the thing he wants in the stone

before he opens the stone.

Chisel.

No messing about.

You ask your carpenter.

And yet, and yet, unless, you let the stone influence you.

Unless, you let it, to quite a large extent

lead you in, you're lost.

Every blow must be a true one. Every blow is a risk.

You take your whole life in your hands.

You can always tell a bad artist, like a bad doctor.

By the fact he surrounds his work

with some sort of hocus-pocus.

Sure, there's a mystery.

But it's as much a mystery to the one doing it

as to the one who's looking at it.

Exactly the same!

I need an audience.

No such thing as an artist who doesn't need an audience.

Well, maybe there is.

But in that case, he's a saint as well as an artist.

And a saint first.

You take Cezanne. Bad tempered bugger.

Now, he was a saint.

Paint, paint, paint, all bloody day long.

And sells nothing.

But what does he care? His father was a banker.

You buy some of this stuff, Corkums.

Keep us all in luxury when we're old and gray

and sick of sleep.

It'd be wrong to be taken in by the solitary genius stuff.

Of course, I do it because it pleases me.

There's nothing wrong with that.

If it doesn't give me a lot doing it

how the hell is it gonna give anything to anybody else?

That's the mystery, Corkums.

Why anybody else wants to look at the work someone like me does

and give good money for it, is amazing.

Why don't they just do their own?

I'm not interested in somebody else's work

unless I can steal from it.

Unless it gives me something I can use.

And yet, if there isn't somebody there to see it

then... zoot.

As my divine sister would say

it's just a lump of stone.

Put St. Paul's Cathedral in a cardboard box

and what have you got?

A heavy box.

Off to work, good citizens. Go and buy a boiled egg.

Oh, you've never done

an honest day's work in your life.

Now, my little sexy darling.

Just a bit more off the shoulder.

File on your titty.

Thought he could catch us out?

Mr. Bronsky?

- What number? - Twenty-five.

Are you Mr. Bronsky, mister?

I am Bronsky, the world's most famous brain surgeon.

Telegram.

Read it out.

"Desolate.

"Just remembered prior appointment in the gallery.

Do call. Shaw."

Oh, no!

Let me go!

I'm a hooligan. I don't deserve my liberty.

Let me into this cell immedi...

Out!

'Oh, stop it, boy!'

Shaw has withdrawn the charges. Corky's paid for the window.

As a down payment on the statue.

What right have you got to pay for the window?

I insist on repaying you.

As your agent, I gotta right to sell your work

to whoever I choose. Myself included.

'You're cheating a man outta his punishment!'

'You did it because you like me, not because you like my work!'

If I get away with my... he gets minimized.

You people make me sick! I don't want to get off!

If I get off, it means, I didn't do anything.

I did it! I'm glad I did it!

You will be deported, boy.

Please, let's forget it.

I must go, Corky. I get no rest with Henri.

But do you really want to be a governess, again?

Yes. I shall have time to do my own work.

We're nearly at the end of my savings.

Henri's wages go nowhere with all those materials.

- They just eat up the money. - Sophie, please, let me...

Don't be silly.

But it is good if you could pay for the cab.

Anyway, I want to go. I love him, but I want to go.

I must have my life to myself for a few months.

- Yes. - Look after him, Corky.

Sorry I can't see you off at the station.

- Bye, boy. - I must find some work today.

- Sorry about your job. - Don't worry. It was no good.

Oh, he'll soon find another one.

- You will write? - Yes, of course, I will.

- Keep the change. - Here you are.

Oh, boy! Goodbye!

- I'm sorry. - It's al right. I love solitude.

Goodbye.

Fre-e-e! Come on, Corky. Let's find some women.

- Well, we could go see Mavis. - Really fantastic women.

Big, fleshy, sexy, breasty, man...

Excuse me. Could I have a light, please?

Yes, of course.

- What the... - Wait there.

Votes for women!

Votes for women!

- My God! look at that, Corky. - A-ah!

Give us your hat. A contribution, sir.

Just a few pence. Your wife will be pr...

- She ought to be horse whipped. - I dispute that.

Someone who provides a little public warmth on a cold night

like this, can't be all bad.

Come along, ladies! Now, is the time!

- Join the group, men. - Yes! Yes!

Seize the day, we want it, now.

- Seize the day! - Votes for women!

Come on, Corky. She's our man. After her.

Evening, Miss Boyle.

The Vortex, Shaw's new nightclub.

Come on then, she may need help.

One moment, gentlemen, please. May I see your membership card?

Old masters exploit young mistresses!

There she is, Corky. She must be fireproof.

- Show us your knickers! - 'Shut up!'

- Who's that? - Gosh, isn't she gorgeous?

- Gosh, that's ejaculation. - She's certainly worth one.

More!

Take your clothes off, Gosh!

You've got a great ass!

'It's red hot! Oh, no!'

Well, now, if our priapic fellow European

has discharged his creative impetus...

I can't read! How can I understand you?

- Shut up and grow up. - Thank you for your song, Gosh.

Don't slash many pictures. One day, you may destroy a good one.

By accident.-...

In a moment, Miss Gosh will sound off

a serious blast on behalf of the women...

- 'Get on with it!' - Women suffrage movement.

Yes, the women suffrage movement.

Give her the vote and take off her knickers!

'Do sit down.'

Of course, we had hoped to follow this

by having a quick sketch by Pablo Picasso.

Never heard of him!

However, it being Monday, he's having his drawing.

You're lucky. I'm here to replace him.

A poem, by the new genius of the planet earth.

Concrete by Henri Gaudier Brzeska.

Play the Maestro's March. My assistant, Miss, Gosh?

- Gosh Boyle. - Miss Gosh Boyle.

Take your clothes off or we're sunk.

One, two.

- 'That's it.' - Thank you! Thank you!

Long live free expression.

Damn. I've just thought of a much dirtier song.

Oh, no, don't worry about them.

I know something much better we can do.

What?

Blow up the Royal Academy of Art!

'As I'm coming this weekend, I'll bring the grammar book'

'instead of sending it with Rappals.'

'Since your landlady does not permit male visitors'

'let's meet at Portland, which is about halfway'

'and I'm told, has excellent sea bathing.'

'I will arrive on the 222 from Waterloo'

The train arriving at platform 4, is the 222 from London.

I caught an early train, and it didn't stop

so I had to jump out. Ah!

'Train.'

Boy! Boy, stop it!

Train! Come up!

Come up!

'Please! Look out, please!'

Oh!

- Above all, we must keep calm. - Yes.

- We mustn't upset each other. - We must be tranquil.

I'll do exactly as you say.

Oh, these are from Corky, and these are from me.

- Boy. - Come on.

I'd like a room for two, in which I could also stew

some herrings for my brother.

Sorry, lady, our helper forgot to turn the sign around.

Oh, what is this? St. Moritz or something?

In the middle of winter, there are no vacancies?

Come on, I want to see the sea.

- I haven't in 30 years. - Oh, wait a minute.

Please, do you have chambers for my brother and myself

in which I could stew some herrin...

Oh, bugger the herrings. Which way is the sea?

Down the lane, over there.

Oh.

Thank you. Henri, wait for me.

Come back, boy. We got to find somewhere to stay.

Later. We've wasted enough of the day as it is.

What about the night?

You're always looking on the dark side.

Oh, boy, wait for me.

I shall be lost, ah!

Bastard! Bastard.

Bloody herrings.

Oh, bloody, bloody herrings.

What!

The child is a snotty-nose, spoilt brat. Hates me.

Locals come out of their holes to stare at me when I go by.

Ugly like-like, pigs filled up with beer.

They think I'm an easy foreigner. Sex maniacs.

They make me sick, give me a pain in the chest.

The-the cook told me the last governess died of consumption.

So I bought buckets of water, scrubbed out the entire room

every week. To write is impossible.

A great white moon shining on me, menacing, horrible.

- You can always come home. - Soon, boy, soon.

Just battling with the weathercocks.

Oh, why did we choose this shortcut?

Listen, I've got something to tell you. You listening?

Yes, I'm listening, just because my eyes are shut

it doesn't mean, I'm not listening.

Corky really is gonna give me that exhibition.

- He is? - Yes.

Oh, boy! I'm so happy for you.

It'll be a huge success. Thousands will attend

and I shall cover the floor with drawings.

- They'll be ruined. - Only the bad one's.

It's gonna be my world.

Oh, I so want you to be mine.

Oh, and you will write the catalog notes.

- Corky, better do that. - No.

- I've never done such a thing. - You're the writer, aren't you?

My God. Look at that.

Enough stone for at least a fortnight!

Now, I feel it.

I love this stone.

Great Father Sun!

Behold your children in their delight.

Dance, Sophie, dance!

We must stay here forever. We'll live in a hut.

We'll have the exhibition here.

The customers can float away their statues in boats.

A fleet of statues stretching to the far horizon.

- Just imagine. - I can do it.

- I'll find a studio then. - I know I can do it.

It will be no ordinary catalog.

It will be a poem. A hymn.

To truth.

And beauty! Oh, boy, I'm so happy.

- Your beautiful home. - It's good, it's good.

And it is beautiful. And it's quiet.

- And holy. - Oh.

Oh, I love you, Sophie, I love you.

I'm sorry, if I hurt you.

I'm only cruel because I'm afraid.

I'm afraid you might leave me.

I get-I get afraid, you don't love me.

But you do love me. You do.

I do. Of course, I do.

I love you. Oh, my love.

My love, my only love.

No, no, we mustn't.

Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm mad.

- Why? - After this exhibition.

You'll be famous. You'll be rich.

- And if you still.. - That'll make no difference.

We'll see, we'll see.

If you still love me, then, then maybe we'll get married.

Come on, it's getting dark.

Oh, where did I put my bag?

Did you see it? I was dancing.

Oh, I put it near this rock.

Oh, where is it? Oh, where is it?

Oh, God.

- Do you think, I'm beautiful? - 'You'll do.'

- Sexy? - 'Sexy?'

'I thought that was a dirty word to you suffragettes.'

I'm bored with politics.

- I want to be an artist. - 'Excellent.'

'The world needs more artists, and fewer politicians.'

You know, all my lovers are poets.

Can I show you some of my poems?

Show them to my sister, when she comes back.

She knows, all there is to know...

Why are you always talking about your sister?

I hope, she never comes back. I get fed up hearing about her.

Are you looking forward to sculpting daddy?

I'm looking forward to his money.

Why else would I lug a hundred weight of clay over here.

Could you give me sculpture lessons?

Lesson one. If you want to be a sculptress

you better stop sleeping around with poets.

Get to know a few quarrymen.

You get a much better ride out of it, anyway.

I don't care what I do so long as it's creative.

I want to leave something behind me that was never there before.

We'll have a treat outside.

Oh, I get so bored!

You know, my astrologer says that.

Virgo's are subject to cosmic boredom.

I know, I should dance naked at your exhibition.

I shall dance to the spirit of nature.

Ke-e-e, yeah!

Vok-chu! Ka-a-ah!

R-rah, tu, ah.

Do you think, animals have souls?

You know, daddy thinks Hannibal is almost human.

'Attention.'

He has the makings of a first class general.

I'm coming back to your place tonight.

- Hello, daddy. - Good morning, miss.

Good morning, sir.

I'm glad to see you're punctual.

Give him the measurements, Brown.

Sir!

They are accurate. I got them from my tailor.

Daddy, Mr. Brzeska is an artist.

He looks very poor for an artist.

That's why I'm so cheap.

Do you want me to keep still?

No, you ride where you like, Major.

I'll sculpt you just as you are. Horse shit and all.

If it doesn't look like me, you won't be paid.

And if you see yourself anew, I'll get more.

I hope you're not going to have a waffle about artistic insight.

We're not here to make your reputation

but a regimental souvenir. Something recognizable

to the naked eye of a well trained fighter

for the distance of 40 paces.

What you need is a photographer.

Frankly, I'd have preferred it. Quicker and cleaner.

I should warn you, Major Boyle.

- I charge by the cubic inch. - M.

Maybe, I'll have a head and shoulders only.

Half the regiment would like to do that.

When's the war starting?

First week in August would be a good time.

- Have you got that nose right? - Do you think we'll win?

Hard to say.

By the look of some of our recruits, I'd reckon on

us taking a hiding at first.

I'm sure you're making that nose too long.

It'll shrink.

They tell me some young men rather go to jail than to war.

Yes. It's all that education that's about.

It's too many fancy ideals.

Like art and so forth.

Art never won a war, laddie.

And there is no higher ideal than patriotism.

Where are all the brave young men of yesterday?

Dead.

Would you die for your country?

You're right, you know, this nose is too long.

- Would you? - Definitely.

I give you my solemn assurance in less than a year.

This country will be at war.

People like him would be put into prison.

Prisons are full of them already. Better kill them.

Yes.

And then sadness in the stars. In there.

You don't live in that hole, do you?

'I know, what they mean when they say..'

Oh, why bother with that when you can have naked me?

If we live in an age of beggars, then we must draw beggars.

Put some tea on.

God, what a barn!

Good afternoon, Madame. Can I help you?

Oh, I didn't know he had a servant.

Ah, yes, I'll have some tea, please.

Certainly, Madame.

- Indian or China? - Indian with a dash of China.

Has Madamemade an appointment? To see some drawings, perhaps.

Oh, no, I'm his model. Ah! Oh, No.

- Pardon, mademoiselle. - You stupid bitch

I'll have to speak to your master about you.

Oh, It's me. Sorry to disappoint you.

- I should have sent a telegram. - Hello.

Oh, is that all you've got to say?

Have you got a cigarette?

Oh, my God.

I didn't realize.

Yes. Here, darling.

- Thank you, darling. - Darling, is it?

Well, don't let me interfere. Act as though I wasn't here.

I'll just continue cleaning up the pig sty.

None of that, boy.

Save that for your so called model.

Take no notice of me.

- There. - Right.

Show us some more of those tricks you picked up.

On the Left Bank.

'I've got the time, darling, if you've got the energy.'

- 'You loose pussy.' - 'Foreign bull.'

You sure don't mind that when he's got a cock.

'What do you know about men?'

I've had more men than you've had free dinners.

'You simple-minded petty bourgeois.'

'You couldn't tell a man from... '

Any minute now, you'll be screaming.

Never darken my door again.

And all the other various cries of a confirmed property owner.

You? An artist?

You've had the wrong sort of education.

You're educated, and that means you're sunk.

Deary.

Why don't you go back to the country?

Find yourself a soulful old ploughman.

Somebody more your own age.

Someone you can sit in communion of spirit with.

In front of an attractive dunghill.

You can't help Gaudier.

You just want him to fail.

Like you!

When you come to your senses, I shall be at daddy's.

Mamaluschka.

You haven't changed.

Oh..

It's so good to be back.

Hold me. Hold me. Hold me.

Mamaluschka. Mamaluschka.

Mamaluschka.

'I don't wanna hear any more about it!'

You knew full-well we can't afford two rooms.

We've lived together before so why not now?

It's only two minutes away.

Two minutes? Two million, zillion, trillion light years.

What's the difference?

You want your own room? Have your own room.

I can't live with all that noise.

Damn noise.

It's that exhibition.

I almost wish Porky'd never suggested it.

Don't forget your promise.

You'll get your catalogue.

You said we'd get married after the exhibition.

I said no such thing.

I said we'd see.

You promised.

We'll see.

I said we'll see.

Henri.

Isn't it wonderful?

There. Designed the handbag myself.

I'm glad you found a creative outlet.

- Well, when are you going? - Where?

Where everyone's going, silly. The front of course.

Do you fancy the French dragoons?

Oh, daddy knows the man who's in charge

of the artist rifles.

He'll get you a commission if you like.

- 'Well?' - Well?

Well, who do you wanna go with?

I'm staying.

With these birds!

Where on earth would I see a bird like that?

The same place you see yourself bandaging

the slightly wounded brow of some handsome young officer.

With star shells illuminating your dazzling new war outfit.

- What are you going to do? - This. Now, bugger off.

You ill-bread treacherous savage.

How many of the enemy do you think

that sort of rubbish is going to kill?

Well, I can break your head open for a start.

Well, I'm not the enemy. Am I?

People who are always talking about enemies are my enemies.

O-oh, listen to the Messiah.

The Kaiser was quite right to burn those paintings

by that Diego Picasso.

You so called "modern artist."

Just a lot of degenerate cowards.

O-oh, yes.

We'll soon have enough for a beautiful show

around Christmas.

It'll all be over by Christmas.

And

...how do I catalog exhibit number 52?

You christen this one.

Al right.

How about Trench Mortar Firing A Grenade?

No.

Bird swallowing a fish.

How are your parents? Safe?

As yet.

You'll never guess.

Augustus John has just signed up.

I thought he was a pacifist painter.

No. He's an official war artist.

No fighting. But a..

...a full commission, a paint brush

and a king's uniform.

Hypocrite.

And no one thinks any the worse of him.

Look, my effort is just as important as the war effort.

Anyway, when are you going?

Unfortunately, I've got a weak bladder.

Then piss off.

What happens to all this so called art

when it's sold at the exhibition?

Goes into the houses of the rich.

Nobody sees it for 200 years.

Or it's sold abroad.

How's your new room?

Al right.

A parasite who feeds off a parasite can always say

he's working to kill his host.

I am not a parasite.

I put something back into the pot.

You amuse the educated.

Nothing else.

I'm ignorant. How can I amuse clever people.

That's the function of the mediocre.

What I do will help people.

I am responsible, and I don't care what they say.

Things are beautiful, and that helps.

Definitely.

It helps.

...Ring's Cathedral in flames. Big German bush.

'Allied retreat on all France.'

Extra. All the latest.

'Paris threatened. Paris threatened.'

'Star News Standard. All the latest.'

'Big German advances. Ring's Cathedral in flames.'

'Hey, Mamaluschka.'

'Mamaluschka'

Let me in. I want to make an honest woman of you.

Go away, boy.

Go away, boy. I'm tired of your tricks.

Let's get married, Mamaluschka. I'm going away to fight.

Oh, stop all this nonsense. Go home to bed.

We'll get married after the exhibition like I said.

Courage, Mamaluschka.

'Dearest, Henri..'

'...you were joking I thought, when you said'

'you were going to fight.'

'I wanted to call after you but you weregone.'

'I will marry you after the exhibition'

'as I said.'

'Of course, I love you.'

'I always have.'

'Take care of yourself.'

'Sophie.'

"I'm not at all bored in the trenches."

"I'm doing some little pieces of sculpture."

"Few days ago I did a small maternity statue"

"out of the butt-end of a German rifle."

"It's magnificent walnut, but I managed to cut it"

"quite successfully with an ordinary knife."

That's a saleable item.

"In the last 12 days, I have succeeded

"in making the enemy angry.

"We were only 50 yards off, and I got a bugle to blow

false alarms."

Still blowing his own trumpet.

"Then I insulted them, and went out of the trench"

"to the French newspaper."

"A German came out to meet me"

"and gave me the Hannover Zeitung"

"in exchange. It was very amusing."

'"But I profited by the excursion'

'"to discover an outpost on which'

'"I directed our artillery.'

'"At three P.M., four big showers fell on it."'

'"And twenty chaps in it went up to heaven.'

"I like the war. I'm in lots of action.

"Each night we go out and kill Germans.

"I have killed at least four myself.

"When the shells go off it reminds me of thunder.

"And I look up and say, "father."

Whoever wrote that should be shot.

He was.

Last Thursday.