Genius

Previously on Genius...

Olga Khokhlova.

Russian aristocracy.

She must be looking for the Duke or Viscount.

I cannot let you in.

We are not married.

She certainly has you under her spell.

You're a married man, with a reputation to protect.

You spend your days with your snob of

a wife pretending you are an aristocrat.

At least I have not abandoned my friends.

I am the only Madam Picasso.

Hey, Olga!

Someday I'm going to paint the perfect painting.

I had no idea you were so talented.

Kahnweiler's been asking me for new works to

show, and I just...

Don't have the time anymore...

Go on.

Play the game you played the night we first met.

Even when you missed, you didn't flinch.

She is so happy when you are here, Pablo.

Do you think Maya wants to watch me cuddling Paloma?

Maya loves Paloma.

And how long do you plan to keep me waiting?

It did not occur to me that you were interested

in an old man.

You don't seem old to me.

Clear!

I don't understand why you let these women hang on.

I should leave you.

Ridiculous! Nobody leaves Picasso!

My hand in your hair will sow the stars of

sapphire, pearl, ruby...

that you never be deaf to my desire...

my oasis and my gourd whence I aspire.

Your writing is exquisite.

It's not me. It's Baudelaire.

You're absurdly romantic, Paul.

And you, you don't have a romantic bone in your body, do you, hm?

To you, it's just photography, politics and sex.

Sex is just a game.

Lately, it bores the hell out of me.

All these great men you've bedded,

not one of them has managed to get his claws into you?

God no.

I get tired of them in a matter of weeks.

You've never been in love?

Paul...

I can barely tolerate romantic.

I absolutely despise sentimental.

Dora, uh, love is the most creative force in nature.

What you need is an Amour Fou.

A mad love?

No thank you.

It's what inspires true artists like us.

You don't have to explain it to me.

I understand the Surrealist dogma as well as anyone.

A magical love, born of a chance encounter.

'Fate.' Frankly, I think it's a ridiculous superstition.

You are a goddess, Dora.

What you need is a God.

Do you have someone in mind?

Oh! Gorillas are chasing us. Yeah!

Pablo, stop that!

What, what?

You're embarrassing yourself. Have you no sense of decorum?

Oh. Andre, Paul!

You've come just in time.

Ah, oh, uh, Andre Breton and, uh, Paul Éluard.

My wife. Olga Khokhlova.

It seems you forgot to mention to your friends that

this is a formal occasion.

For God's sake, Olga, who cares how they are dressed?

If you want to entertain adults,

you should learn to act like one.

Let's go to my studio.

It's the only place she can't torture me.

"I am not a gentleman."

That is exactly why you are our hero, Pablo.

It's intuitive, automatic.

Emanations from the subconscious.

Charged with eroticism,

born from the chance juxtaposition of images.

This painting is everything I've been writing about.

It's a masterpiece of Surrealism.

Andre has just finished a collection of essays,

Surrealism and Painting.

We would be honored if you would endorse it.

Maybe come to our next meeting?

I don't want to be labeled.

Surrealist, Cubist and Modernist.

What is next? Communist?

The Communists are going to remake the world.

Besides, my work lately is nothing but anger.

Bitterness.

No one wants to see that, really.

That's absurd.

You're the most important painter in France.

I am stuck in a golden cage with a woman who

cares more about chandeliers and Persian carpets than

anything I will ever paint.

I should have known better than to ever get married.

I need someone new...

Excuse me, Mademoiselle.

Uh, yes?

Um, you have an extraordinary face.

I beg your pardon?

It was fate that you walked by.

Oh, what do you mean?

I want to paint you.

Oh, I, I don't think so, Monsieur.

I am Picasso.

I'm sorry, what?

You have never heard of me?

No.

Should I have?

Um...

Recognize him?

You're famous.

In certain circles.

Now would you let me paint you?

Why would you want to?

My sisters call me an ugly duck.

Oh, that's absurd.

They're jealous.

Let me show you how I see you.

My studio is just two blocks from here.

Only for a few minutes, I have to get home.

You, your sisters couldn't be more wrong about you.

You are magnificent.

Like a Roman statue.

That's a very special book.

Go ahead, take a look at it.

120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade.

Have you heard of it?

Marquis de Sade destroyed old-fashioned literature the

same way I have destroyed the rules of old

masters of painting.

"Bestowing heartfelt kisses on my mouth and eyes, he said,

'If I am to teach you what to do in order

to give me pleasure,

'tis only fair that at the same time I teach you

what to do in order to receive it.'

He then placed his hand upon my..."

I don't want to make you late.

Why don't you come back and see me again tomorrow?

I still live with my mother.

She, she might not approve.

You seem like an intelligent girl.

I am sure you can think of something to tell her.

If you want to come, be here at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Precisely.

Where have you been?

I'm sorry...

I went shopping and then...

I, um, I played tennis with Nicoline.

In those clothes?

Tell me the truth.

I met someone...

Who?

An artist.

He wants to do my portrait.

He's probably trying to get you into bed.

For all you know, he's not really an artist at all.

Oh, I-I think he's quite successful, actually.

His name is Picasso.

Picasso?

By all means, let him paint you.

You're late.

I'm sorry, Monsieur Picasso.

And you must call me Pablo.

I promise to always be on time...

Pablo.

Don't be shy. You can look at it again.

Read out loud.

"She had very handsome eyes,

exceedingly fair skin, and one of the most splendid

and plumpest..."

Are you a virgin?

Yes.

Then I will be your first.

Shh, don't laugh.

It's Amour Fou...

This girl, Geneviève.

She's so young and vibrant and...

It's different this time, Paul.

All my romantic adventures have been ruined by friction

and-and suffering; Two bodies coiled in barbed wire,

you know, chafing against each other, tearing their flesh.

But with this one, it's been all sweetness and honey.

She's a hive without bees.

She must be very good in bed to

elicit such poetry from the great Picasso.

She makes me feel alive.

And Françoise doesn't?

She looks at me like I am old.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask you.

Of course, anything.

I have to sneak all the way to Paris when I want to see her.