All language subtitles for The Wolf at the Door (1986)

GAUGUIN - A WOLF BEHIND THE DOOR

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He told me, when he got back from Tahiti,

that he had only 4 francs.
But that didn't worry him.

Because he had many
paintings, and he was convinced

that everything would be different
once the paintings were exhibited.

Julien!

They will not fail
to be impressed.

I've waited a long time for this.

Long time.

"Nafea Fa Ipoipo".
What does that mean?

This means: "I would
like to know how to paint".

A red dog!

- That's what I feared.
- What?

3000 francs is too much.

We don't sell anything.
We have to lower the price.

- We don't sell any?
- Certainly not.

In that case, I have a better idea.

- Which?
- Double the prices!

Mr. Vollard. Madam...
This is Mr. Gauguin, the artist.

- Extremely interesting.
- I've heard that before.

I didn't say that I liked them,
but that they are interesting.

What does that mean?

The lack of perspective, for example.
It's an interesting gesture.

It's not a gesture!
It is the result of a struggle!

But the perspective...
How can I put it?

See? Many find it difficult
to express ideas in words.

Then think how difficult it must
be to express them without words!

I like this painting. Not you?

Yea...

But I never really understood
the principles of symbolism.

It's not about understanding.
It's a matter of emotion.

Degas is here.

- Number 37.
- Yes, sir. Of gas?

I want to buy it.
Send it to me.

Mr. Of gas. Mr. obviously
admires the work of Mr. Gauguin.

He paints like a wolf.

Mr. Of gas!

He forgot his cane.

Mr. Leclercq!

- Do you know Mr. Gauguin?
- No, but I've heard of him.

Madam Ida Molard. Paul Gauguin.

My husband is also an artist.
Hope you will be patient.

He is very noisy.
He's a songwriter.

- He is working now.
- I don't hear anything.

I mean, he's working at
the Ministry of Agriculture.

- His exhibition started today?
- Yea.

- Hope it went well.
- It will be a great triumph.

Excuse me. Bye, Julien.

- This is amazing.
- Show one of your myths.

- What does the myth say?
- It's complicated.

That says something very simple...

- What?
- That there is no life after death.

I would never have guessed.

No...

It seems that my work
is difficult to understand.

- May I come in, Mr. Gauguin?
- Clear.

Sit down.

Do you like this color?

Yup.

I had a painter friend who
was obsessed with yellow.

Back then, I liked red.
We argued about it a lot.

Since his death, I've had a lot of
sentimental relationships with yellow.

Only a quarter of the paintings
in my exhibition were sold.

It's sad to see them go,

but others are coming, and I
need the color that makes them sell.

Mr. Leclercq said that Mr. Degas
bought one of his paintings.

I wish I could buy one of them!

Mr. Degas also said
that you paint like a wolf.

What did he mean with this?

Want something to drink? Tea?

- Absinthe?
- No, thank you.

Do you know the story about
the dog and the hungry wolf?

Sit down.

There was a hungry wolf,
who met a dog on the street.

He looked at him and said, "You
are very fat. Where do you find meat?"

The dog said, "I live with
people who give me food."

And the wolf said, "Your
fur is so pure and shiny."

The dog said, "I have
a comfortable place."

“Go home with me.
There must be room for you."

"You'll be taken care of.
They'll take you out, feed you."

The wolf agreed. But when
they got to the doghouse,

The wolf said to the dog: "What
are you wearing around your neck?"

And the dog said, "Well,
this? This is my collar."

- What happened then?
- The wolf starved to death.

You won't starve!

It's amazing how at the last moment
someone always gives you meat!

- Like this?
- My exposure.

I paid for posters,
publicity, invitations.

Frames.
It cost more than I earned.

Result: hunger!

But as always, I was lucky.

- What there was?
- My uncle Zizi.

He was never of any use.
Finally, he did something.

- What?
- He died.

And he left some money.
Not much, but enough.

- How old are you?
- 14 years.

My daughter Aline's
age when I last saw her.

- My father is an opera singer.
- No, he's a composer.

I mean my real
father, not that fool.

- Do you have many children?
- Yes many.

But she...

I love her more.

Is not she Lovely?

There's a letter from her father.

- Looks like he's in Paris.
- Is he coming home?

Not. He wants me to go to him.

- When you go?
- Why don't we all go?

He knows where to find me.

He can come, once he has money.

After all, half belongs to us.

I don't intend to play
around the world like crazy.

- What was Tahiti like?
- It must have been good sometime.

Before we come and destroy it.

But it's still beautiful
when you leave the city.

Of what we call civilization.

Tell me about Tahiti.

I was there for a few months.

I decided to travel around the island.

Passed through a small
village on the east coast,

and some people invited
me to their hut for dinner.

A woman asked
me what I was doing,

and for some reason I said
that I was looking for a wife.

Then she smiled at me and said:

Take my daughter.

I made it.
I brought her with me.

At first I didn't understand
what the girl was thinking.

Then I realized that she was happy.

And then I noticed something
else more strange and unknown.

I was happy.

That scared me.

Why did you leave her?

I don't know.

Take the third painting
above the piano.

It's her.

Her name is Teha-Amana.

She said she was happy.
Why does she look so sad?

It's because they know
how to be really happy

and how to be really sad.

One of the many things
they understand is that,

somewhere, waiting for them,

this is the worst thing
that can happen to them.

How old was she,
your wife in Tahiti?

13.

Younger than me.

Is she a boy or a girl?

Oh God!

A girl.

Good. What should we call it?

She is two years old.
Her name is Germaine.

Won't you kiss me?

Why didn't you say
you would come?

Where is she?

Germaine?

Could you imagine
living in an atelier?

- Paul, no.
- Why not?

- You got married?
- No!

What is it then?

I don't want her to
know you, love you,

to later abandon it, or
perhaps take it with you,

and leave me alone.
I couldn't take it.

- I would not do that.
- How can I trust you?

If I give you my address,
would you come visit me?

Perhaps...

I would have brought some cash.
I had an exhibition,

but I didn't sell much.

I brought this to Germaine.

Nice to see you.

Ambroise! Are you
the one behind this?

You said you wanted a
black one, so I bought you one.

Impossible!

Watch out!

- Who can handle being a composer?
- Composers are privileged.

- They are?
- A private and independent world.

Just sounds, harmonies. Just it.

- Except for the Ministry of Agriculture.
- That's your mistake.

If you left, it would
be easier for you.

- He is afraid.
- Be quiet!

She is right.

I need security.
Knowing that I can earn bread.

For the first three months
of 1880 I was a stockbroker.

I won over 40,000 gold francs.

Enough to live for
10 years in Tahiti.

But I was on the stock
exchange, dying on my feet.

- Aren't you afraid of anything?
- Artists are like criminals.

There is one thing all
criminals fear: prison.

That's what Denmark
was to me... a prison.

My wife was the jailer, who
had thrown away the key.

That's why I had to run away.

Mette, my dear wife.
Now I'm leaving you.

Ladies and gentlemen...

With all due respect, I say goodbye.

And so I ran away. Now
the problems are quite simple.

- Which are they?
- Nobody likes my paintings.

- It is not that easy.
- Do not you think?

I always think that other
people's problems are simple.

Simpler than mine.

Are you moving in... with Germaine?

Are you staying in Paris?

- For a while.
- But not forever?

I won't say I'll be
somewhere forever.

And frankly...

If I could, I would go back tomorrow.

So I just,

I will visit it from time to time.
It's the best.

Better for the child.
It's better to me.

COPENHAGEN 1894

- I don't think you'll like it.
- There's no harm in looking at them.

- Is he still in Paris?
- As far as I know, yes.

You won't be surprised to hear that
he's been quiet about the inheritance.

Two weeks ago he said he
hadn't arrived. I don't believe him.

I have to go to Paris very soon.

Would you like me
to get your share?

Yup.

Look. I thought children
weren't supposed to see them.

Undoubtedly. They are
unpleasantly primitive.

But let me take them anyway.

- Our usual arrangement?
- Don't feel obligated.

- There must be a lot of them.
- Well, about 30.

- I don't know where to put them!
- Well, it's a spacious house.

Yea?

You are?

Hang up your coat and sit down.

- A glass of water?
- No thank you.

On days like this you
must be craving the tropics.

Not just on days like this.

- I can?
- Yes please.

- Van Gogh?
- Yea.

Prices for his
paintings began to rise.

Good for him.

I see you learned a lot from him.

Yup. He taught me
that a chair can be tragic.

I taught him why.

Won't you sell me one of his?
I can pay well.

You could pay me well for
one or more of my paintings,

and I could accept. Or you
can try to convince me to sell

one of my few memories
of my closest friend.

And then I could kick
you down the stairs.

Sorry. I'll tell
you why I came.

Yes tell me.

- See her. She is from Java.
- And?

I gave it to a friend.
I thought she would like it.

But it was a disaster.
She has no training.

If you want, I could use it as a
template, or something like that.

Do you want to get rid of it?

In return I could show some
of her paintings in my gallery.

Interested?

Won't you buy them?

No!

In between.

Started early today?

- He is cute.
- He and she.

I never resisted exile.

Good Morning!

- Why are you so happy?
- I decided to work.

- Wouldn't you use me as a model?
- I went? Likes her?

You can play with her later.

Time to work!

I brought a friend.
Her name is Taoa.

Now to work.

- It's all right?
- It's not very comfortable.

Best?

Not like this. Cross your feet.

It got better.

That was all for today.

No one said it's a nursing home.

Makes you hungry, doesn't it?

I thought I could
sleep with me tonight.

- Do you have Absinthe in Tahiti?
- O'Connor, they have everything.

I can't imagine you in the
middle of coconut trees.

There was only
one thing I missed...

Being able to go out
and drink with my friends.

The colonists were insufferable,
so I had no one to talk to.

When you get back,
how about I go with you?

- Are you serious?
- Paris means nothing to me.

That would be wonderful.
Why don't you all come?

- Are there many women?
- Three a day!

- Too much to drink?
- They give it away for free.

The Ministry barely excuses me.

I didn't mean you,
William, but Paco.

And you, Jourdan?
He's afraid to even cross the street.

If everyone goes, I'll go too.

Do you know what would be better?

We could unite
and fight corruption

of the French administration.
We could make it.

MINISTRY OF THE COLONIES

Let me explain this clearly.
I don't think you paid attention.

Imagine that you are
a provincial policeman,

ignorant and prejudiced,
who is sent to the colonies.

Wouldn't it be better
to say it in writing?

I don't care what's best.

I'm listening.

When you get there, you discover
that you have power over people.

Stupid enough to consider
themselves inferior.

Wait one moment!

And the law says you can fine them
for things they never thought was wrong,

and then takes a
third of the money.

Of course there are big
administrative expenses.

Bullshit! We are talking about you
bribing people to commit any crime

that you can imagine!

Why be rude?

I had to find the best
way to get your attention.

That was just the beginning.
Then we went to the conservatory.

I told the director that if
he didn't play his symphony,

I would go back
and step on his face.

You're better off letting
me handle this myself.

You were working.

And I always hope to be.

I'm sure it will be.

What is wrong with you?

Anything.

- In between.
- I didn't know you had visitors.

- I will be back later.
- Do not enter.

Tell them I only speak Swedish.

It's a friend from Sweden.
Mr. Strindberg. He's a writer.

Strindberg.

- Gauguin is a painter and lives up there.
- What kind of writer?

Mainly for theater.
Unfortunately, he only speaks Swedish.

What a shame.

I've been thinking about what
we talked about yesterday, William.

Why don't we go to
Tahiti? Bring the family.

I think not.

They have pianos there... and clay.

- We Swedes are already far from home.
- I would like to go.

He looks interesting.
If he spoke a civilized language

we could invite you to
our Thursday meetings.

Mr. Gauguin, I would
be happy to come.

- Has arrived!
- What?

Poor Uncle Zizi's money.

Finally.

- Take it. That's right?
- Yea.

Dead uncles.
There should be one in every home.

If my grandfather
had acted more,

this would be an annual event.

William!

15,000 francs.

If he thinks he can
get away with it.

- My uncle is dead.
- I'm sorry.

No, that means I got to
buy Germaine something.

And something for you.

- Does that mean you're leaving?
- No.

Not sure there's
enough for that.

Are you expecting customers?

Shouldn't I go to you?

The doorman will complain.
It's better in the afternoon.

- What about Germaine?
- She can stay in the playpen.

It's going to take at least
an hour to unwrap this horse.

Where is she?

Did you mean it when she
said she would pose for me?

What does that mean?

- What?
- "Te Faruru"?

This means: "Here love is made".

Do not move.

- Where have you been?
- Outside.

- Out where?
- I had things to do.

- You work for me!
- I'm here, right?

Well, get ready.
You will replace her.

I thought I was the one you painted.

It's not a portrait.
I just need the form.

- Don't be upset.
- I'm not. You tricked me!

- Don't be silly!
- I won't do it again.

As you wish.

My mom wouldn't
like it if she knew.

In between! The door is open.

- Who is it?
- Edvard Brandes.

Who?

Brandes.

- My brother in law? Ingeborg's husband?
- Exactly.

- What can I do for you?
- Your wife sent me.

- Maybe I should...
- Don't worry about her. Sit down.

Looks like her uncle
died and left some money.

What made me
think that God exists.

His wife thinks she is entitled
to half of the inheritance.

She must be right. But I
wonder if I can give half?

- This is the question.
- Why can't you pay?

She wrote that her
exhibition was a success.

A critical success, I wrote.

On the other hand, didn't
she sell most of my paintings?

Yup. Almost exclusively for me.

Shouldn't I get half the money?

I think I have a
way out of this.

I could

use half of it to buy
back my paintings?

Should I let you buy back
my paintings with her money?

No, I buy my paintings
with Uncle Zizi's money.

She needs the money, not me...

I understand.

Impasse!

In addition, I created a
connection with her paintings.

Don't tell me that
abominable little country

finally produced a
man of good taste?

- You don't like Denmark?
- I hate.

It is tragic that almost all of
my children became Danes.

- I do not agree.
- No of course not.

I better go now.

I enjoyed our conversation.

- You forgave me?
- Whereby?

Clear.

Help a little.
Offer the cookies.

- Are you having fun?
- I'll go upstairs.

I'll be right back.

I understand well
why it will come back.

If these paintings could
talk, they would say this:

"I have found my home".

I want to create an artist colony
there, with my friends down there.

Julien will be the chronicler.

It is primarily a
financial issue.

Well, the finances...

We usually discuss
aesthetics on Thursdays.

Tonight is an exception.
We celebrated an amount I received.

Which you'd rather use
on drinks than boat tickets.

What can be more understandable?
Do you have a monkey?

I'm very interested in monkeys.

I did a lot of research
on Darwin's theories,

and I am able to determine
that he is wrong on many points.

I have, for example, proven

that the gorilla is the offspring of a
shipwrecked sailor and a female monkey.

Seriously?

Yup. And that brings
us back to his paintings.

Thanks Julien.

You like them?

Not. How can you like
something you can't understand?

- Who are these women?
- Like this?

The civilized woman,

the kind of woman we idealize,

is inferior to man.

And how much lower
to call an artist's attention

shouldn't these be savages?

It's completely wrong.
The call of the wild

it is infinitely more
civilized than we can be.

This is an absurd assumption.

Why do we suffer?

Why do you suffer?

What I want to say is that here in
Europe we are constantly suffering.

Jealousy, possessions,
financial problems, resentment.

Constant dissatisfaction. These
people also suffer. Intensely.

But in moments of sadness and pain.

It's not like us. We spend
a lifetime fighting blindly

for everything that is a
natural part of their life:

Acceptance, calm,
confidence, respect for others.

But we never achieved
that because we

we forget what they
have not forgotten:

The secrets of innocence.

Anyway,

it's pretty clear that
you're a true artist.

I know I'm going to dream
about these paintings.

Outside!

What is wrong with you?

She poses for me.

I will never see you again.

- Who was that?
- A friend.

I hope we are not
visited by your enemies.

- Shall I sit down again?
- No.

No, that's enough for today.

- We have to leave Paris.
- I like Paris.

As soon as I finish
this, we're off to Brittany.

- Shall we leave in the spring?
- Yea.

That only gives us 4 or 5
months to raise money for the trip.

If anyone has problems,
there's still a little Uncle Zizi left.

Long live Uncle Zizi!

Long live Uncle Zizi's money!

Black! Black!

Which one is the monkey?

- Shouldn't we go back?
- No. I know sailors, I was one.

They are blowhards.
Do not mind.

Why are you bigger
than your brother?

Dirty black!

You hit him! He is my son!

So you should educate him better.

- Pace! O'Connor!
- Pace!

Why not stop if it hurts?

Everything hurts.

- How long will you stay like this?
- "Seven weeks", said the doctor.

I'm freezing.

The color of an object
is almost irrelevant.

Colors have feelings.
Each has its emotions.

It is necessary to try to unite the object

with the best color that
expresses your true being.

You will see that it
is much easier to see.

The clarity. You will
understand that the simplest forms

express the deepest emotions...

And also the hottest.

Then go back to Paris.

- And how will I live?
- You lived before you met me, didn't you?

Why do people want
to depend on others?

Go to my studio and
choose a painting.

- Take it to Ambroise Vollard.
- Nobody wants your paintings.

Gauguin broke his leg.

He asks if Judith can
go take care of him.

Let me go. - No way!

- I want to take care of him!
- No way!

You must tell them that
they need to prepare.

- I want to go as soon as possible.
- Clear.

Did you know that Mrs
Gloanec took them for rent?

- Annah said no one wants them.
- She doesn't know anything.

I heard that my paintings
are very popular here.

The owner of the ones I
last sold got tired of them

and used the fabric from the
canvas to make insoles for the shoes!

Don't eat the model!

I wish I could live
off eating flowers.

Christ! If you live in
Europe for a long time,

cannot discern
between food and poison.

I wanted to come, but they wouldn't let me.

My dear.

- What there was?
- Annah moved out.

She took everything
with her, all my money...

All.

I always knew she
was very civilized.

What's worse is that I don't have
enough money for the ticket right now.

- Which ticket?
- Back to Tahiti.

So I'm glad she
stole your money.

It doesn't stop me.
I'll find a way to go.

As?

Desperate steps.

Did you bring cash?

No, on the contrary. I was
hoping I could borrow some.

But what about our
share of the inheritance?

Was stolen. Every penny
was stolen from my studio.

- Do I really need to believe?
- It is true!

Did you come to beg?

I just need enough
money to go back to Tahiti.

It was a big mistake
to go back to Europe.

Europe has nothing to offer me.

Once there, I'll never
bother you again.

Do you expect me to give you money?

- And your children?
- Yeah, what about them. Where are they?

When I heard you were
coming, I sent them to my sister.

If you don't have any money,
maybe I can talk to Brandes.

- Don't you dare approach him!
- Why not?

Because I don't want
to, simple as that!

He already has many of his paintings.

The ones you sold him.

- I said...
- Dad!

My dear!

You came back?

No, I'm going back to Tahiti.

- I came to say goodbye.
- No! Do not go!

You will always be with me.
I think about you every day.

Go to your bedroom. Your
father will talk to you later.

Now you've upset her!

Why don't you leave us alone?

I will.

You will never see me again.

Because? You...?

What?

I said... good.

- Mr. Strindberg.
- Mr. Gauguin.

I understand it's your birthday.

And this is the worst
place to spend it.

It's the first time
I'm in a hospital.

I did well to stay away
from one for so long.

Only people from the lower class are found.

Unfortunately I didn't bring
this one. On the contrary.

I want you to give me one.

I am selling my paintings
to raise money for the trip.

I want you to write the
preface for the catalogue.

- No. Not.
- Why not?

I said I don't understand
primitive barbarism.

I saw your play last
month... "The Father".

It was much more barbaric
than my poor paintings.

- You think?
- It's very clear

that the bourgeois home is
more lethal than the jungle.

The hero should use a machete!

Top hats or naked savages:

Where there are men and
especially women, there is destruction.

I'll tell you one thing.

Write a letter saying why
you don't want to write it,

and I will use it as a preface.

Do you know why I'm here?
It's called psoriasis.

When I close my hand to write,
blood oozes from my knuckles.

It is not enough for
artists to suffer mentally,

as they should, and
materially, as they do.

Eventually, they physically suffer
in the act of creating themselves.

Life being what it is, we
thought about revenge.

If I leave, I can
escape all of this.

Will not. But hats
off to the attempt.

I leave the hospital next week.

- I'll write your letter.
- Thanks.

But you will never escape.

Miss...

Do you understand? They
will bid up to 300 francs.

I cannot sell them for less.

200 francs. 220, 250...

280, 300 francs.

- 320.
- It was just the first one.

400 francs, 450? 450 francs.
I give you one, two, three.

Sold to Mr. Of gas.

The next batch is this
remarkable portrait entitled

"Annah the Javanese".
Does anyone offer 100 francs?

No offer?

Does anyone offer 100 francs?
100 francs for this portrait?

Nobody offers 100 francs?

100 francs!
Who will offer 100 francs?

100 francs?
100 francs were offered.

Other offers? 100 francs!

120 francs!

150 francs, please.

180 francs.

200? 200 francs.

220?

250?

280?

300 francs.

300 francs.
I give you one, two, three.

Sold to that gentleman.

Next batch...

Counting the purchased
and the percentage of them,

his gain was 1800 francs.

Only that?

My God!

The ticket costs almost 1000.

There will be nothing left to live on!

Paco, Jourdan and O'Connor
asked me to tell you something.

They decided not to go.

I understand.

- So it's just us.
- I don't have any money.

Look...

There's enough for
both of us to get there.

We'll have to work for
a while when we arrive.

I can not go.

I wanted. I thought yes.

But I lay awake thinking.

I am scared.

I'm sorry.

Go. Tell the others I'll be coming soon.

Do you want them?

You know it does.

1500 francs.

- I don't know...
- I won't discuss the price!

- You will return?
- Yea.

It's good.

If I may say so, I don't think
I should have come back.

It's your personality. People
see you as the man from Tahiti.

They don't want to see you here.
It makes them confused.

- I have a proposal.
- I'm listening.

Send me 200 francs a month

and then I send you all my work.

- No. It will stay that way, if you don't mind.
- So how am I going to eat?

- Doesn't everything grow on trees there?
- Not since we arrived.

You will. I'll send someone
to pick up the paintings.

No, take them!
I don't want to see them anymore.

- I can't carry all three.
- Do you want them or not?

- I said no...
- I know.

I just want to give
you a parting gift.

Can I come in and drop it off?
He's heavy.

Yes, come in.

- Where is the girl?
- With my mother.

Are you expecting a boyfriend?

- Where are you going?
- Back to Tahiti.

This time forever.
Do you want to come?

What is the problem?

If you really go forever,

so shouldn't we say goodbye?

I don't understand why you want to go.

I can starve anywhere.

Like the wolf.

Take me with you!

- You wouldn't be happy.
- I'm not happy here.

Mum treats me very badly,
and William is an idiot.

He won't want a
totally different world.

We could live
together, have kids.

I always felt like
a father to you.

How could he, if he is not even
the father of his own children?

Can I take a lock of your hair?

Don't swallow it all at once.

And to you.

I'm thrilled.

Anything. Everything you want.

- No!
- Please!

No! No!

I never heard from him again.

But I heard that in the autumn
he finally reached Tahiti,

where he was very
happy for some time.

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