Genius

What, what is it, huh?

God has taken him. We will pray for him.

No... No, no, no, no, give him to me.

I'm sorry, my love.

No, no, no...

Shh, shh, shh...

What are you doing, brother?

He sounds very angry.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,

I baptize thee José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno.

María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.

Ole!

You see how brave the matador is?

But what if the bull kills him, Papa?

He is an artist, Pablito, and he is willing to risk his life to

do something truly beautiful.

Ole!

It doesn't look right.

Nonsense.

You're a great artist.

One day, your paintings will be on the walls of the Prado.

Maybe I should be a soldier.

Well, then you will be general.

And if you're a priest, you will be Pope.

Look what our Pablo has done, Papa.

Hmm? Oh!

My horse doesn't look real, Papa.

Not like your pigeons.

I want to paint like you.

Then I will teach you, Pablito. Hmm?

You are a genius, Maya.

A true surrealist.

Look. Mi papá taught me how to paint pigeons.

What do you think?

Maya, no!

Papa's paintings are very precious.

Oh, well, you know.

She's a critic, the only one I have ever loved.

I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you.

She is so happy when you are here, Pablo.

Can't you stay the night?

Marie-Therese, you know I have to work.

You can work here.

No... with this little devil savage, you know, my ideas...

But I'll be back next week.

Hmm.

The roses are exquisite, Hervé.

Thank you, monsieur.

Cut me a stem, would you?

You should let them grow wild, too much pruning destroys, uh, beauty.

Yes, monsieur.

Vamanos, Marcel.

To Grands-Augustins?

I want to make a stop, first.

You frightened me.

Nonsense. You're fearless.

You're experimenting with double prints again.

What do you think?

You're a brilliant photographer,

Dora, but there is a painter

trapped inside of you.

Oh?

You should set her free.

Well, perhaps I will.

There are thorns.

Be careful.

Never.

We need a passionate statement from

you, Pablo, something to capture the

world's attention.

What do you have in mind?

We want you to make a painting to fill this entire wall of the

Spanish Pavilion at the Universal Exposition.

I have never made a painting that large.

I wouldn't know where to begin.

Franco and his fanatics are winning the war in our beloved Spain,

spilling the blood of those who defend democracy.

Fascism's spreading across the continent.

The threat is enormous, so the picture

itself must be enormous to move the public.

Tens of thousands of people will attend the exposition;

From the rest of Europe, from America.

A bold artistic declaration from Pablo Picasso,

the most famous of all Spanish artists,

would alert the world to our plight and

help us raise awareness and money to save the Republic.

Franco has Hitler and the Nazis on his side, Pablo.

We need you on ours.

How can you refuse?

I don't take commissions!

I paint what I want and what I feel, not what someone else tells me to!

This is a chance to make a real difference.

Even if I had an idea, which I don't,

a picture is not going to stop a war,

no matter how gigantic it is.

It could move people to stand against fascism and violence.

But I am not a poster artist, anyway.

I don't make propaganda.

Do you want to know what I think?

No!

But I am certain that you're going to tell me, anyway.

I think you are scared...

Mm-hmm.

Scared? Of what?

Scared that if you make such a

gigantic painting and it's met with silence,

you will have failed...

That's ridiculous.

Or if it makes too much noise, the fascists might come after you,

and you might lose your nice, easy bourgeois life.

You live like a king, Pablo;

With your fancy automobile and your fancy apartment.

What happened to the rebellious young artist who used to spit in

the face of authority?

Where has he gone, hm?

I want to see, Pablo!

I want to try another one.

Now, sit still.

I can't.

Come here.

I look pretty!

I draw what I see.

You feel warm, Conchita.

It's diphtheria.

Please God, no.

Is there anything to be done?

There is a serum, but I will have to send to Paris for it.

Go back to bed, son.

Everything is all right.

Please, God, spare my sister María de la Concepción.

If you save her, I will never again waste

my time with painting and drawing.

In Jesus's name, I swear it.

To You, O Lord, we commend the soul

of María de la Concepción, Your servant.

In the sight of this world, she is now dead.

In Your sight, may she live forever.

Forgive whatever sins she

committed and, in your goodness,

grant her everlasting peace.

We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

You were a good brother to her.

I killed her.

Why would you say such a horrible thing?

I made a vow to God that if he let Conchita live,

I-I-I would give up painting...

Oh, Pablo...

But God knew I could never keep my promise.

I loved painting too much.

Maybe more than I loved Conchita, so to punish me he took her.

God is not punishing you.

He was telling you that you have a

great gift, one that He has given you.

He wants you to know that you must never stop painting.

Come back to bed.

I can't.

Mm, because you are too old?

You know, it takes a very long time to become young.

Not now!

Sorry to bother you, Pablo, but...

What is it, Jaimé?

"Guernica, the most ancient town of the Basques was completely

destroyed yesterday by insurgent air raiders.

A powerful fleet of airplanes consisting of three German types,

Junkers and Heinkel fighters, did not cease unloading on the town.

Bombs that targeted defenceless citizens on a busy market day,

levelling buildings and setting roaring fires."

"The fighters, meanwhile, plunged low to machine-gun those of the

civilian population who had taken refuge in the fields."

Women and children... ripped to shreds!

Those fascist bastards.

Franco rode in with his Nazi pigs.

They can't be allowed to get away with this.

They attacked your people.

I know you didn't want to make a painting

for the Spanish Pavilion, Pablo,

but now you must.

I am going to need a...

very big canvas.

Where did you learn to draw like that?

My father.

How old are you, anyway?

14.

Jesus Christ.

It's Pablo, actually. Pablo Ruiz.

Manuel Pallarés.

Well, maybe you're not Jesus,

but the way that you shade the folds of his skin,

there is something goddamn holy about it.

To be honest, I'd, I'd rather be drawing a beautiful woman's ass.

You've never seen a woman's ass before, have you?

Five pesetas!

To whichever one of you wants to cure my

young friend here of his acute virginity.

You can go now.

Are you deaf?

Can't, can't I look at you?

You have done more than look.

Now out with you.

No. I mean, without your dress.