Genius

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.

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.