Original subtitles

If love is an emotional necessity,

then perhaps art is a spiritual compulsion.

Mr. Alec Harringay, artist, a painter,

possessed of that mostfrustrating of blessings--

a moderate talent.

Alec intended to submit a canvas at the academy.

Yet, he had spent the best part of a week

failing to get any sortspirit into a portrait of St.

Catherine.

Rubbish.

Alec?

- I'm going to bed. - Bed?

Goodness, I had no idea it was getting so late.

Well, you, my love,are working far too hard.

Who was she?

I mean, who is she?

St. Catherine, patron saint of artists.

And what happened to her?

She fell.

What?

She fell short of what was required.

A submission to theacademy should be original.

It should be dazzling, not this.

But I think it looks very fine.

No, it doesn't.

It lacks the creative spirit.

I want to take canvas and pigment

and make a woman as Godmade Adam out of red oak.

But this thing, if he mether walking about the street,

you'd know she was fashioned in a studio.

Alec, you're becoming positively bilious.

I know, I'm sorry.

You're right, when you saidI was working too hard.

Come to bed?

Darling, what's the matter?

Over the next few days,

Alec made several furtherattempts at the portrait.

Let me see if I can capture you this time.

Your grace and your sublime beauty

shall dazzle the academy.

Sadly, St.Catherine's true face remained

stubbornly out of reach.

You are being deliberatelyelusive, Catherine.

You're-- you're teasing me.

Don't think I don't that you're laughing at me.

I shall make you mine, yet.

Alec?

Do you know the time?

It's nearly midnight.

Alec?

Alec, are you going to paint all night?

Yes, if I have to.

I only wanted to spend some time with you.

An artist doesn't

choose his working hours.

They choose him.

And for all of the hours lostto work, when was the last time

you sold one of your paintings?

What?

Your art does not seem toimprove our coffers, no more

than it improves your humor.

Meanwhile, our debts are mounting, Alec.

Will youplease just let me get on?

Damn it all.

She's no more a saint than I am.

Such strong manly hands.

What is this?

I've beenwanting to talk to for an age.

We've been staring at each other for so long.

I couldn't bare the silence any longer.

Who are you?

Who are you trying to capture?

St. Catherine.

I've watched you struggle.

And I have come to inspire you.

It must be difficult for you, living with Isabel.

I've seen how she treats you.

She doesn't appreciate whatit takes to be an artist.

It's true.

Isabel has little passion for art.

The fact of the matter is, she doesn't seem

to appreciate that I'm--

A genius?

Well, possibly.

That's arisk all great artists run,

that their genius will not be recognized.

And yet, I have the power to help you.

Help me?

How?

I can bestow upon you the ability to create

an undisputed masterpiece.

It would be globally recognized--

a true addition to the gallery of great works.

Nobody would ever question your genius,

not even simple, little Isabel.

Your name would echo down the ages.

And all I ask in exchange is your soul.

My--

my-- I'm-- my soul?

I-- I don't--

Isabel does not deserve you.

She doesn't deserve you your kisses.

Alec.

What is it, my love?

What?!

Wait! Wait!

No, wait!

Wait!

Get thee gone!

Your paintingwould be world famous.

Alec!

No please, please stop it!

Enamel?

No, you wouldn't dare!

Alec!

Alec!

Alec!

Have you been up all night again?

You're going to make yourself ill.

Alec, you need to get some rest.

Isabel.

I love you.

Come.

It would be anothertwo days before Alec felt

ready to reenter his studio.

Starting from scratch?

You!

But-- yes.

I do love an optimist.

You start with the vaguestof presentment of an idea.

And you hope inspiration will strike.

It always does.

Does it?

Eventually.

Can you really face another blank canvas?

It's truth-- becomesmore difficult each time.

Remember my offer.

You could paint an undeniable masterpiece.

And a masterpiece would command a high price.

You could easily get those debts.

But the price you ask is high and--

Sh.

Give me your soul, and your artistic spirit

will live forever.

Your masterwork would exert an influence

on future generations.

Yes.

Yes.

So now, are you not inspired?

I've--

I've been approaching thecompetition completely wrong.

I know exactly what to do now.

Thank--

From the moment Alec Harringay

sold his soul for the abilityto print a masterpiece,

his mind was flooded with amultitude of dazzling ideas.

He prepared paintingcombinations which had never

previously occurred to him.

And his techniqueadvanced a thousand fold.

Alec, I haven't seen you for days.

What is it you want?

To see you, to hear yourvoice, to know that you're

aware of my existence.

I'm busy.

You can see that.

This-- this surpassesanything that you've ever done.

It's almost like it's--

Like it's what?

Like it's the work of another painter.

I have developed.

Now, please leave us.

Us?

Leave me.

Don't you understand, this is my masterpiece.

It's beautiful, Alec.

But it is making you ill.

The academy's deadline forsubmission is one week away.

I need every moment betweennow and then to complete this.

I can't waste any time.

Damn you, Alec.

Can you not see what is happening to you?

You're losing your reason.

For pity's sake, can you just step

away from the easel for just--

just one hour.

Please!

Please leave me be.

Now, finally,Alec can work undisturbed.

As the days passed, he feltneither hunger nor thirst

and slept only fleetingly.

But he knew now for certain thathis immortality was assured.

Piccadilly,please, Burlington House.

Right-o.

On his way to the academy,

and thrilled by his own genius, Alec could

not resist just one more look.

It's the wrong one.

it's the wrong one!

Beg your parden, Sir?

- nothing, look, um, we must turn around and go back.

Right-o.

H-- how-- how

could I wrap the wrong canvas?

You didn't.

What?

There's only one canvas.

You painted over it.

Remember?

You painted over me.

My masterpiece,what happened to it?

Igave back to what is mine.

No!

No!

No!

Are you all right, gov?

We-- we have to turn around.

All right, all right.

Wait, wait, it-- it's fine.

It's fine, we can go on the academy.

Make your mind up, mate.

Come on! Come up!

How are we feeling?

I-- .

There you go.

It's gone!

It would have been no use to you anymore.

But--

But I-- I'm a--

I'm a painter.

Well, I supposeyou'll just have to learn

to paint with your other hand.

God!

Is there anybodyyou'd like us to contact?

No, no one.

Well, you just get plenty of rest.

And I'll be along to check on you later.

A pity.

A pity about your hand.

You!

You know who I am, of course.

I am your inspiration.

What do you want?

We struck a bargain.

But--

You created amasterpiece, did you not?

It's gone!

No.

It was rescued from the crash.

At this very moment, it's beinghung at the Royal Academy.

There will be no doubt

over the genius of its creator.

There can be no more paintings now.

That's not my concern.

I've lost everything, even poor Isabel.

None of that is my concern.

Please no.

All I sought was to create beauty.

All yousought was glorification.

No, no.

It was all for art!

You made your choice.

Now, your soul shall be mine.

Please don't!

The trick is to find it.

I've looked in here.

But did not find it.

Please, leave me be!

So now--

now we must look--

Leave me be!

-- a little deeper.

Sometimes, an artistpaints a form with no soul

to it.

He paints aimlessly and recklessly

and without inspiration in the hope

that some random spirit may becoached forth into his work.

And sometimes-- sometimes,a spirit does come.