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Postcards from London (2018)
Titian was born in 1488
and died in 1576, living well into his eighties. He was the undisputed master of Venetian painting for 60 years. And his contemporaries alluded to him as the sun amidst the stars, which is the final line in Dante's Paradiso. You can see how beautifully he uses and applies colour, a characteristic of his work, which held him in pre-eminence through the High Renaissance and arguably cast him as the greatest painter in Western art. Erm, excuse me, sir. Erm, you mustn't touch the paintings. Er, excuse me? Sir, are you OK? Erm, excuse me, can someone help us, please? Pills, ecstasy, blow? What do you want, fella? I'm all right, thanks. Looking for some company tonight, darling? No, I'm looking for a place to stay. Come on, handsome. Don't be shy. What you doing here? I'm just sitting down for a minute. - Why, is there a problem? - You didn't read the sign? Sorry, mate, rules is rules. Where I come from, people are a little bit more friendly. Do me a favour and spare me that old chirpy Northern routine. - I've got work to do. - I'm from Essex. Listen, wherever you're from, you ain't from round here. Let me guess. You were brought up in the back of beyond. In many ways, it was an idyllic existence. Really, you were bored shitless. One fine day, you had a brainwave. "Move to London," you said. "Make my fortune." I did say that. I said it to my dad. You actually used those words? - Sort of, yeah. - Fuck me. What did he say? If you ask me, you're spending too much time on that bloody computer. Getting all these fancy ideas. No use trying to talk me out of it, Dad. My mind's made up. I'm leaving tonight. Tonight? Look, I've bought my ticket. Well, what about your education? Don't you see? Thiswillbe my education. Streets of London, full of musicians and artists. Piss artists, more like. You'll meet plenty of those. Sometimes, as I lay in bed at night, I imagine a world beyond these four walls. A world full of mystery and possibilities. Oh, never you mind about mystery and possibilities. What are we supposed to do while you're busy gallivanting around Soho till gawd knows what time, eh? - Your mum will be worried sick. - He'll be all right. As long as you don't speak to strange boys sleeping rough in dark alleyways. And with that, they gave me their blessing. Oh, fuck their blessing. Did they give you any money? Of course they did. I'm their only son. All right. Hand it over. Why should I hand it over? Right, this may come as a surprise to you, yeah? The streets of London ain't paved in gold. They're as cold as ice, they stink of piss, and they're full of villains. So basically, it's every man for himself. All right, you've talked me into it. You should stay here, strictly on a temporary basis. Just till I get myself sorted. Ten quid a night. You can't charge someone ten quid to sleep in a cardboard box. Why not? I think you just met your first villain. What the fuck am I gonna do now? Hang on. I'm just getting to that. Right. Now, I'm as open-minded as the next man. Your sexuality's none of my business. If I was you... I'd show my face in that bar over there. Trust me, you won't be skint for long. Thanks. I'll see you around. Yeah, sure. That's what they all say. You mark my words. That bloke ain't gonna last five minutes. Yes, but the thing I love about Velzquez the most is the way he paints the spaces in between objects. I know what you mean. Somehow he makes the object become more real, a lot more intense. Yes. In the way, like, he illuminates the space between them. The man was a genius. - The painter's painter. - Hold on a minute. Do you see what I see? What are you doing here? I'm searching for a world full of mystery and possibilities. Good. Then you've come to the right place. You've heard of Velzquez? No, I haven't, actually. Is he a mate of yours? He was the painter of twilights. Oh, good for him. - Of infinity. - Even better. Of silence. I don't know what that means. You gonna tell me what you want or do I have to guess? Good evening. Erm... I've just moved into the area and I'm looking for a job. I'll wash pots, clean. I'll do anything, really. Does this look like a job centre to you? No, it doesn't but... It's a bar which serves alcohol. Don't tell me your life story, just tell me what you want to drink. Sorry. I'll have a bottle of beer, please. Go on, then. Ask me the question you've been meaning to ask me ever since you walked in the door. Why are barmaids in London so unfriendly? Well, if I had a pound coin for every time a pretty boy came in here feeling sorry for himself, I wouldn't be pulling pints for a living. I can tell you that for nothing. You need to toughen up. - I do? - Yeah, you do. You're young, you're fit. You have the face of an angel. You'll have plenty of friends soon enough. I hope so. David. - Marcello. - Jesus. - Victor. - Jim. I think I just met you guys outside. Come here often? Are you lot thinking what I'm thinking? What are you thinking? I'm thinking about a beautiful painting in the National Gallery. It's on the first floor. You go up the stairs, take a sharp left into the second room and it's the third one along on the right. I know exactly what you mean. I wish I did. Please stop doing that. He could have stepped out of a Caravaggio. That name rings a bell. You ever heard of personal space? I saw the vacancy in the window. - How old are you, Jim? - Eighteen. Er... 21. I'm looking for a job. This is not a job. This is a vocation. I'm not sure what that means. Excuse me for a minute while I just run to the toilet. I think he's the one we've been looking for. "Vocation: A strong desire to pursue or a particular liking for a special vocation." "Vocation: A strong desire to pursue or a natural liking for a particular vocation." It was great meeting you lads. I'll definitely think about what you said. Are you trying to get me drunk? No disrespect, but you're a small-town boy. And this is a big city. Don't worry about me. I can look after myself. How are you gonna survive? Like I said, I'll find a job and I've got my savings. The wallet you left on the table looks pretty empty to me. Look, we've all sat where you're sitting now. We understand the anxiety. I'm not anxious, I'm just... wondering what it is you lot actually do for a living. Sexy Boys Raconteurs. Now I know what it is you're talking about. With the right training, you could go a long way in this business. I'll have to think about it. If it's what I wanna do, I mean. I was hoping to find something a little more creative. This is creative. Some of the finest actors of their generation have played the role you're about to play. - River Phoenix. - Keanu Reeves. Joe Dallesandro. I need to get back in the gym. What is a Raconteur, by the way? I'll explain everything. First I want to show you something. I love London. It's the best city in the whole fucking world. And it belongs to us. It does look great tonight, I must admit. All the cool people come out at night. Writers, artists, queers, whores. It belongs to us and we can do whatever we want. That's why I came here. I've been dreaming of walking these streets since I was a kid. And all of it could be yours. And forget about that boring shit you left behind. Just dream about who you wanna be. Come on. Let me buy you another drink. What do you think is the most difficult thing about sex? I dunno. What to say to the person afterwards? You've hit the nail on the head. Have I? In a society as atomised as ours, people crave intimacy. And that's the service we provide. What about the sex? The sex is the easy part. And we enjoy it. But our speciality is what comes afterwards. You mean smoking a cigarette? I mean post-coital conversation. I've not had much experience in that, but I'm as horny as the next man. Intellectual debate. Exchange of ideas. That's what the world is crying out for. Like, cheap hookers standing on street corners are a thing of the past. Not where I'm from they're not. Our clients want to talk about a novel they once read, a painting they once saw in a gallery. People wanna be inspired by art. - They wanna be uplifted. - I'll do it. I'll do some uplifting. I knew you were one of us as soon as I saw you. First off, we need a profile. We'll sort that tomorrow. And a supply of condoms. Who's your favourite artist? I saw a painting by Caravaggio once. Caravaggio is a great place to start. He's raw, he's sexy, and he painted people like us. We work at the high end of the market. Art dealers, politicians, senior clergy. These people are educated, so you need to know your Goya from your Gauguin, your Fritz Lang from your Fassbinder. Rainer Werner Fassbinder, prolific German film-maker. A genius, destroyed by years of sex, drugs and cheap Russian vodka. Greatest achievement? Fear Eats the Soul. Social media is a definite no-no. People wanna suck your cock. They don't care what you had for breakfast. I'm liking the sound of this. Our clients are of an older generation, so the less you can bang on about technology, the better. Some of them will remember Soho in its heyday. Bet they've got some great stories. Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud, The Colony Rooms. A word of warning. There's always gonna be some fresh-faced kid trying to take your place in the spotlight. Someone with a bigger dick and a nicer smile. So get to bed early on a school night and keep drug-taking to a minimum. Am I allowed the occasional spliff? Well, everything in moderation. But remember, we're a bit like athletes. It's important we stay fit. Potentially we earn shitloads of money and then we retire early. You've got five years in this game, tops. Didn't realise being a rent boy was so complicated. Place your hand on this packet of condoms and repeat after me: "We're the oldest profession and we take pride in what we do." We're the oldest profession and we take pride in what we do. "Our sacred mission" is to drag male prostitution into the 21st century, "whilst paying homage to the artists who came before." Our sacred mission is to drag male prostitution into the 21st century, whilst paying homage to the artists who've gone before. "So help me God." I'm only joking. Welcome to Soho. - I do have one more question. - Go on. So why are all these successful blokes paying teenage prostitutes for intellectual stimulation? I dunno. Maybe they're not getting it at home. Hmm! We were normal teenagers once. - Obsessed by football. - Sex. - Mobile phones. - Jim. Jim, Jim, Jim. Hold it there for a second. - But something was missing. - We craved the big city. - The bright lights. - There were five of us once. What happened to the previous lad? Hold it there for a second. He was beautiful but he met a terrible fate. Oh, I'm sorry. What happened? Did he die? It's worse than that. He went to work in the City. Hold it there, Jim. Perfect. All he cared about was money. And his politics were... dodgy. Well, beauty can't last forever, can it? Tell that to Cleopatra. From what I've read, Cleopatra was really fit. Hold it, Jim. Actually, according to the latest academic reports, Cleopatra was a minger. Liz Taylor's 1963 performance notwithstanding. Listen, Cleopatra was no oil painting. She knew how to play those rumours. Caesar preferred boys. How do you know all of this? While the rest of our generation was shoving drugs down their neck, we were reading books. OK, Jim, it's time to show me the money. The... money? I though we agreed... The money means your cock. - Oh. - I need a picture of your cock. Yeah, no worries. Is everything OK? Everything's more than OK. Wow. I've worked with some handsome blokes in my time but this kid... this kid is something special. I mean, the camera loves him. We will teach you everything that we know. Yeah, but where do we start? Given me a headache just thinking about it. We'll start with Caravaggio, then work our way back to the ancients. Art, poetry, literature. There's a lot to learn and we don't have much time. Yeah, but for now we'll stick to the basics. To be honest, that's the part of the job that worries me the most. I've had some trouble in the past. Forget about the past. You're one of us now. And I've got a good feeling about you. "Police records show that in May 1606, Caravaggio killed the gangster Ranuccio Tomassoni in a duel." "The painter fled Rome at night and made his way to Naples, where he sought the protection of the Colonna family." "On a grey morning in November 1975," the cold, lifeless body of Pier Paolo Pasolini "was discovered on the beach at Ostia, outside Rome." "The poet had been murdered, so we lost a poet..." "As he walked along the shore that night," looking for the company of strangers, "did Pasolini ponder the violent life of Caravaggio?" "Did he imagine young men lurking in the shadows..." "As a student, Oscar Wilde saw the great painting of Saint Sebastian by Guido Reni." "The beautiful image overwhelmed him." "It brought tears to his eyes..." "Did this Irish Sebastian" imagine Caravaggio in the alleyways of Rome, searching for the beggars and prostitutes "to people his religious painting?" "Perhaps... perhaps he imagined himself as a beautiful work of art..." "Legend has it that Francis Bacon" and George Dyer became lovers after George, a petty thief from the East End, "broke into Bacon's studio in the dead of night." You sure you're ready? I can't study for ever. I need to get out there and practise. - Go on, ask me a question. - OK. So a bloke calls up and says Caravaggio gives him a massive hard-on. But he likes it a bit rough, so he's not so keen on all those pretty boys he painted in Rome at the beginning of his career. He wants something... darker, more edgy. After a couple of drinks, I'd probably introduce him to the Flagellation of Christ, painted in Naples, 1607. Caravaggio's on the run after committing murder. He's tired, he's sick, he's a bit paranoid. I like where you're going with this. It's the perfect example of his late period. The lighting is dramatic. Christ's tortured body is lit in a singular spotlight. The other muscular figures appear from deep, dark shadows. Good work. I'm impressed. Thanks. I bet there are a number of distinguished gentlemen struggling to get through even as we speak. - You think so? - I know so. Hello? I moved to London. I saw you in a photograph. I've never done this before. "Fit Lad with Basket of Fruit." I can be with you tonight. - I called you straight away. - Anything is possible. - I couldn't wait any longer. - If you have the money. I want you... Nothing is a problem. So badly. Sorry, I can't stop staring at you. - I'm making you uncomfortable. - Little bit, yeah. As I was saying, do you prefer Goya or Gauguin? - Fritz Lang or Fassbinder? - You've completely lost me. I'm just trying to figure out which kind of things you prefer. Are you on drugs? I don't do drugs. My body's a temple. Oh, I can see that. But, please, just try and relax a little bit. You seem very tense. Sorry. You're my first client and it's hard to relax in here. My mates tell me you're writing a book on Caravaggio. Yes. And I saw that you had an interest. But that's not the only reason I invited you out, Jim. And please don't feel you need to keep talking for my sake. I'm a Raconteur. Talking's what I do. Amongst other things. I appreciate the irony, I really do. But I saw your picture and... you are probably one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen. Thanks very much. When I first saw your picture. I... was reminded of a young man in a painting and... - I wanted to show it to you. - Don't tell me. It's on the first floor, up the stairs, sharp left into the second room, - and it's the third one along. - Amazing. How did you know? Actually, it's right here. Take a look. Are you OK, Jim? Jim, can you hear me? Perfect young lad who... Perfect young lad who moved to Rome. Perfect young lad who moved to Rome. He's delirious. Do you think he even knows which century he's in? Probably not. It was a heavy fall. - Where the fuck am I? - Show some respect. We're posing for a 17th-century masterpiece. Yeah. Destined to hang in the Vatican, apparently. The Entombment of Christ, painted by Caravaggio in 1601. Considered by many to be the finest example of... Oh, not now, George. Isn't he supposed to be dead? I knew I should never have let him out of my sight. Don't worry, Mum. I've met some really interesting people. Won't be long now till I'm resurrected. The resurrection will look after itself. Just tell me how your first job went. The sex was great. The problems came after. I think I'm too serious. I need to lighten up. That's right. He does. I offered to pay him but he was having none of it. That's not a great start, is it? You think we do this for fun? Where's Caravaggio, by the way? Well, there's nobody out there. - Are you sure? - Yeah, I'm sure. Maybe he's on the run. Was Caravaggio such a bad boy or was half of it just made up? That's the beauty of it, I suppose. We'll never really know. One part is true. We know he killed someone in a duel. But parts of his life are legend, I suspect. He's a fascinating character. And a great self-publicist. Just not the kind of man you want to meet in a dark alley. That's exactly where I'd like to meet him. You remind me of someone I once knew. He's gone now. Do you miss him? I miss him terribly. He last wrote to me from Italy. He described a painting. Beautiful. A painting that he saw in a church. I never saw it. Except as a reproduction in a book. I never saw him again either. Why so sad all of a sudden? I'm not sad. Just thinking, is all. I wish you could see that painting. I wish we could see it together. Don't be so serious. Enjoy your time in the spotlight. I'll try. I don't think I can do this job any more. I think I'm too sensitive. It's early days. And part of what we do is listen to other people's problems. It comes with the territory. But I take their problems home with me at night. It's affecting my studies. Lie back and think of England. This is what I do. Shouldn't you think of Spain? Try not to get emotionally involved. I wanna be emotionally involved. I see a lot of loneliness out there, a lot of sadness. This is London. Everyone's lonely to a certain extent. That's why we need to stick together. Hello? Yeah. Saint Sebastian? Painted by Guido Reni in 1625. Yeah, no worries. Be there as soon as I can. Just remember, you're a sex worker, not a miracle worker. I'm a sex worker, not a miracle worker. I'm a sex worker, not a miracle worker. I'm a sex worker, not a miracle worker. Ahh! Saint Sebastian, the most beautiful of all the saints. Now, my own research suggests that this particular saint was a middle-aged captain of the Praetorian Guard, but erm... let's not spoil the party. This is your last chance to save your skin. Do you renounce the Catholic faith? I'll do whatever you want. It's your money. Christian martyrs aren't in it for the money. Have some self-respect. Be careful where you point that arrow, Tony. I'm not wearing any... protection. I'm paying 100 for you to transport me back to the glories of ancient Rome. You could at least call me Diocletian. Ah, good evening, gentlemen. How are you both doing today? - Perfectly fine, thank you. - Glad to hear it. Right, I've got two cheeseburgers with extra bacon, two portions of fries, a cheap bottle of red wine and a bowl of fruit arranged in the style of a 17th-century Italian still life. Now, anything else I can get for you? It's very kind of you, but no, thank you. You gentlemen haven't been smoking in here, have you? It's strictly against company policy. Certainly not. It's a disgusting habit. And now, sadly, I must bid you good night. Sir, I can definitely smell cigarette smoke in this room. Young man, we have urgent business to attend to and you are clearly delusional! But, sir, I may have to report you to my superiors! As I was saying, the year is 288... and the greatest empire the world has ever known is on the brink of collapse. - To the north... - I'm not being funny... To the north... the Germanic tribes are restless. To the east, the Huns are on the march. I'm not being funny, but in the painting, Saint Sebastian was a good-looking bloke. Oh... I give up. I thought we were here to recreate a 17th-century masterpiece. No, we are, and I'm having a great time. It's just... I've been thinking of antiquity, is all. You Raconteurs do too much thinking for my liking. Thinking's what we do, amongst other things. Get to the point. The barbarians are at the gates. My point is you've got him... you've got me. I mean, held captive in a room. Why re-enact his death when you can just fuck him, and we can both enjoy some post-coital conversation? First of all, I don't appreciate the crude language. And, second, what I do in the privacy of a cheap hotel room with a Catholic saint is my concern and not yours. Sorry. I've done it again. I've spoilt the vibe. You carry on. My dear boy, do you even know the story of Saint Sebastian? I know he died a slow and painful death at the hand of the Romans. And he was the world's first male pin-up. Sebastian died for the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. Even a cursory glance at Wikipedia could tell you that. The fact that he had a fit body is completely beside the point. Having a fit body is never beside the point. You know how much a gym membership costs nowadays? Frankly, I neither know nor care. Give us a drag, will you? Despite your undoubted beauty, I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to come away from this encounter... somewhat deflated. People go crazy for Sebastian, don't they? I mean, if he was alive today, he would make a killing. If Sebastian was alive today, we'd all be out of a job. He wanted me to talk dirty to him in Latin, but I didn't have time to practise. Was he a priest, do you think? In my experience, priests tend to avoid classical iconography. They prefer things more down and dirty. Tony just has a fetish for boys of antiquity. On our next date, we're gonna recreate the bath scene fromSpartacus. You need to charge extra for that shit. Did you get the money? I took it. Then I gave it back. You took it, then you gave it back? I felt bad for him. His life's a mess. Your life's gonna be a mess if you keep working for free. I am skint, to be honest. Listen, I think it's about time we introduced you to a proper artist. One who's not dead. I'm well up for that. I've got a friend who wants to meet you. He's been pestering me for weeks. He's... He's super talented, but he's hit a bit of a dry patch. I'm ready, let's go. It's two o'clock in the morning. Come on. Where's your sense of adventure? - Huh? - All right, fuck it. Let's do it. Max, meet Jim. Jim's obsessed with becoming a muse. I'm modelling myself on George Dyer. Without the tragic ending, I hope. Jim, where have you been all my life? What I love about George is that he inspired some of the greatest art of the 20th century, but he could still mash it up at the pub with his mates on a Saturday night. Shame he was a manic depressive. Living with Francis Bacon was no bed of roses, I can tell you that. I've read about you in a book. British Portraiture and Introspectives. I'm told that every phone box within a mile of Soho has become a shrine to your beauty. Something like that, yeah. Go easy. He's not as tough as we originally thought. What took you so long? I've been begging you for weeks. I told you. He wasn't ready. This kid could be the greatest thing that's happened to me in years. I've got a major retrospective coming up. - I need new material. - I know. I know. I'm just saying he's sensitive. - That's all. - You and me go back a long way. - I painted you once, remember? - I remember. I'm hanging in a gallery somewhere. It's... I've been stale for years and you were too polite to tell me the truth. It's been hard. I get it. And muses are thin on the ground these days. Just... break him in gently. Please. If he wants to be a muse he'll have to put the work in, simple as that. Because when it comes to the male form, I am an incurable romantic. If being a muse was easy, every Tom... - Tom, Dick and Harry, yes. - Don't take the piss. Just give me six months with him. Six months? How much are you paying him? How much does he get for the other stuff? How much? Jesus Christ, I'm in the wrong game. I used to be quite a looker in my time, you know. Well, everyone said it. Do you believe in fate, Jim? I do, actually, yeah. Then it's fate that has brought us together. I'll expect you every day at 8pm sharp, except Sunday. We'll work through the night. I won't tolerate any bad timekeeping. Yes, sir. Beauty will only get you so far in this business. You have to dedicate yourself. You have to concentrate. I wanna do this, Max, I really do. I'm going to request that you do not move, that you do not speak. After we finish you can talk all you like. I'm tired of talking, to tell you the truth. Talking just gets me into trouble. Good. Let's get down to work, then. I particularly like the tension between the beauty of the image and the violence of the pose. The taut muscles, the clenched fists. The thickness of the paint, the bold strokes. I can't believe I've finally made it onto a canvas. And this is just the beginning. I imagine a whole series of paintings, exploring every facet of... All you all right? Yeah. Yeah, no, I just... I've been sat in here for months. I need to get some fresh air, that's all. I wish I had your problems. What happened to you? You look like shit, mate. It's nice to see you, too. I've been working a lot, that's all. What, you call that work? Sitting on your arse all day and getting paid for it? You did all right for yourself in the end. And you can say it was me who discovered you. What are you talking about? I was the one who brought you to that bar that night, remember? It was me who took you under my wing, so to speak, on the path to fame and fortune. Hang on a minute. Weren't you the one who tried to charge me ten quid a night - to sleep in a cardboard box? - Listen. Why are all rent boys so cynical these days? I'm not a rent boy, I'm a muse. Exactly! And muse ain't the type of job you see advertised in the job centre, is it? Being in the right place at the right time. You know what? I think I'm beginning to see what all the fuss is about. Stop touching my face. Oh, you reckon cos I'm homeless, I can't appreciate good bone structure? Listen, mate, are you all right? You're acting well weird. Fuck me. Youaretired. What's going on? I was about to ask you the same question. We're worried about you. I'm worried too. I don't know what's wrong with me. Being sensitive is all well and good, but you can't be fainting every five minutes. - It makes people nervous. - The sex I can deal with. - It's the art that fucks me up. - Tell us what's been happening. Go from the beginning, before you met us, I mean. OK. Er... It was my last year at school and all I could think about was moving to London. But I had a thing for my art teacher. And I'd do anything - to catch a glimpse of him. - You had it bad. Really bad. I've got a thing for educated people and this bloke had practically swallowed a dictionary. Late one night, he lured me into the corner of the library, and showed me some disturbing images. - What? Porn? - No. It was art, but like nothing I'd ever seen before. Now I know it was Baroque, but back then, I didn't know what the fuck was going on. Don't get me wrong, the naked bodies were a turn-on, it's just... Did he ever touch you? No. He just stared at me for hours. He objectified you. I was proper objectified, yeah. But that was when it got more serious and we started going to galleries, and whilst I stared at the paintings, he'd be staring at me. Did you tell the police? Social services? No, I secretly enjoyed the attention. But that's when I started to get sick. I saw myself in the paintings. So, let me get this straight. We have a sensitive teenage boy coming to terms with his sexuality and a highly intelligent older male who uses art as a means of seduction. Correct. To complicate matters further, and for reasons we don't yet understand, said teenage boy can't look at a beautiful painting without feeling emotionally overwhelmed, without imagining himself in it. Also correct. We need to get you to a doctor. Maybe I should just avoid art galleries. That's impossible in our line of work, you know that. I'm thinking of changing my career. Don't be too hasty. I know the person you should see. - You do? - I do. She's not cheap but she's good at what she does. What does she do? She specialises in illnesses no one's ever heard of. Give her a call. Come on, handsome. Don't be shy. Jim, why do you think Caravaggio has been such a problem for you? Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan. For me, it's where modern art started. And you feel a compulsion to return to him, to study his work again and again? Look, Caravaggio probably wasn't the greatest artist who ever lived. Technically, I mean, but the way he painted darkness and light, he was brilliant, no one could touch him. And what about the people he painted? The tricksters, the whores, the undesirables? I love the fact he took ordinary people from the street and made 'em look like saints. He was the first one to do that. Do you identify with the people in his paintings? I do, yeah. I feel like I know them. They could be me or my mates. Would you consider yourself a religious person? Not really. I just imagine the worst. When I see Baby Jesus, I just think about the crucifixion. All that pain and suffering really gets to me. And the beauty of it just draws me in and... won't let go. Jim, there are a number of syndromes associated with these kinds of reactions to art, from mild anxiety to severe delusional states. Do you think I'm on the high end of the spectrum? Well, that's what we're about to discover. Try and stay calm. I'm going to remove your blindfold. And when I do, we'll approach the painting together. And I want you to describe what you see. OK? The Musicians. It's beautiful, isn't it? Hmm. It's a beautiful painting, yes, but what else? What else do you see? I see myself. There, look. Music. I can hear music. Like tuning of instruments. What are you lot doing here? Italian bloke. The one with the mad glint in his eye. Caravaggio. Yeah, whatever his name is. He was wandering round Soho looking confused. At first I thought he was homeless, but it turns out he's proper famous. He's famous, all right, but he can be very tricky. Yeah. He definitely had a few too many. You could smell it on his breath. Anyway, he offered me a few gold coins and a warm bed at night, if I... dressed up as Cupid. What's up with you? I'm having a check-up on the state of my mental well-being from a doctor who was once a prostitute. Fair enough. Is she fit? You need to be quiet. He looks pissed off. Oh, fuck, here he comes. Call me old-fashioned, but pretty boys are supposed to pose for the artist - and keep their mouths shut. - We were just saying... Have you ever tried working with this much noise going on? - You should try it some time. - You need to take a chill pill. It's just a bit of banter. Remember, this is one of your lightest pieces. You boys make me want to puke. Thinking you're better than anyone else just cos you're hanging in a gallery somewhere. Who gives a shit? You were the one who chose us, remember? You plucked us from obscurity. It's tough working in this town, you know. Roman cardinals can be very picky. And don't even get me started on the Pope. No one ever asks Caravaggio if he's having a nice day. What's this guy's problem? I think the problem is he's a tortured genius. I'll tell you what the problem is. I have boys queueing round the block to sit where you are now. So, any more bullshit from you... and I'll throw you back to the gutter where you belong. - Understood? - Understood. I make you and your boyfriends pretty in my paintings, so don't fuck with me! OK? Caravaggio, temperamental genius. Fugitive from the law. - Apparently a homo. - Definitely a nutter. Jim, where did you think you were? I imagined I was in Rome in the summer of 1595. In the home of Cardinal del Monte, being painted by Caravaggio. I was one of the musicians. We were just tuning our instruments, minding our own business when it all kicked off. In what sense did it... kick off? Look, I know Caravaggio's got a lot on his plate: Murder, illness, exiled to Sicily. It's just... He needs to chill out a bit. He's not been having a great time of it lately. I understand that. He hasn't got much longer to live and all that. But he doesn't need to be so touchy, you know? Jim, I'm afraid I've got some bad news. Well, I knew that was coming. You are suffering from a rare condition called Stendhal syndrome. Not a debilitating illness, by any means. But you'll definitely need to make some changes in your lifestyle. Can you explain to me what that means? I... can. But not right now. Unfortunately, I'm late for my next appointment. What, that's it? I'm afraid so. Time is money. But if you have any questions, please do give me a call. Well, I have lots of questions. Goodbye, Jim. Please get some rest. And, remember, paintings of the Baroque period should be avoided as much as possible. Oh, and one last thing. - What? - Caravaggio can be prickly. But he's really not such a bad person. You're talking about a bloke who killed someone over an argument in a tennis match. The doctor told me to avoid Caravaggio if I want to keep my sanity. What kind of life is that? I feel sorry for you, I really do. I know where you're coming from. But give me the tremendous violence of Francis Bacon any days of the week. The screaming queen paints a screaming pope. The human mouth as a gaping wound. If you force me to choose, I mean, if you put a gun to my head, I'd go for Mapplethorpe. No, his work is too cold. There is no emotion. That man knew how to photograph beauty. Mapplethorpe didn't understand the men he photographed. They were reduced to what hung between their legs. Bollocks! At the end of the day... we're all just pieces of meat. Guys... Guys, can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? According to our friend, you have a syndrome named after Henry Stendhal. Stendhal syndrome is a rare illness which affects some individuals that are exposed to fine art. It can cause dizziness, hallucinations and even blackouts. Was this Stendhal bloke a doctor? No. No, he was a 19th-century novelist who wrote The Charterhouse of Parma, amongst other things. He was a little flowery for my taste. But you know how the French are. Hey! Your clichd view of my country is 50 years out of date. We have a vibrant youth culture, the rap scene is massive, and we have tension in the suburbs. So go fuck yourself. "Stendhal wrote about his experience with the phenomenon after a visit to Florence in the summer of 1817." "Absorbed in the contemplation of divine beauty, I could perceive its very essence close at hand." "I could, as it were, feel the stuff of it beneath my fingertips." Wait a minute, I've never even been to Florence. Oh, fuck! What's going on, mate? You're late. I won't tolerate bad timekeeping. I'm sorry. What's going on? What's going on is... you were late. And I sat here and I... began to look at these paintings. You could hardly call them paintings. More an attempt at painting. And I began to think about my work. My life's work is in this room, gathering dust. And a lot of it's fine work, Max. I told you, no talking. No talking, no moving, unless I tell you. You have to... concentrate. You have to concentrate and you have to dedicate yourself. We haven't started work yet, Max. You were late. And my life's work's in this room. And it's a pile of crap. I'm old and I'm tired. I... I hadn't painted anything half decent in years. - Until you come along. - That's not true. Oh, we both know it's true. But I'm not giving up. I'm gonna start again. You're the first piece of true inspiration I've had in 30 years. And inspiration's a precious gift, Jim. So I thank you for that. You're a beautiful young man. Have the day off. You deserve it. You've come a long way. I'm impressed. Thanks. It means a lot. It's a beautiful painting, Max. Really intense. Beauty should always be intense. Beauty should always be dangerous. I notice that there was no reference to your... sickness. Yeah. But we've got another project in the pipeline, haven't we, Max? Imagine a series of paintings with Jim as a beautiful peasant boy travelling through Italy in the steps of Stendhal. He's confused. His family have worked the land for centuries, but he's a city boy at heart. He craves the bright lights. Did you really destroy everything? Yeah, most of it's gone. Not worth the canvas it was painted on. While you're busy contemplating the size of my dick, consider this question. Why does life have to be so sad? I... I am sorry. I, erm... I lost myself there for a moment. Don't worry. Get it all the time. I'd hate to think of anyone as beautiful as you ever be unhappy. Breaks my heart. Don't get me wrong. My mates are a great bunch of lads. They've taught me to appreciate the finer things in life. The music of Bach? The, er... poetry of Cavafy? Did you know, Cavafy was once described as "a Greek gentleman standing absolutely motionless at a slight angle to the universe"? He was indeed. By, er... EM Forster. You're an intelligent young man. Whatever possessed you to become a rent boy? We don't use those words. Which words should I use? Doesn't matter. I'm a muse these days. I used to model myself on George Dyer but now I'm thinking more Joe Dallesandro. Ah. Now, George and Francis I remember well. Er... Joe Dallesandro I can only dream of. What I loved about Joe is that he was in all those films, yet, really, he was just playing a version of himself. Well, aren't we all doing just that? Playing versions of ourselves? I'll get back to you on that one. How's your dancing skills? Oh, a bit rusty, but I... I was considered quite a mover in my day. Good. Then we'll have a drink and a dance and you can tell me a story. What sort of story should I tell you? A story about Soho in the old days. About George and Francis, Lucian Freud, and all the fucked-up nights in The Colony Room. It will be my pleasure. You tell me your story and I'll tell you my story. OK. Basically, I fell in with the wrong crowd, who turned out to be the right crowd, and became a muse. And then I was diagnosed with a rare sickness. Well, I must say, you look perfectly healthy to me. Don't worry, it's not a sexual disease. It's more of a sickness of the mind. Now I am worried. I'm overly sensitive to art, which is a piss-take, really, cos I was raised in a cultural desert. Are you receiving treatment? Is anybody helping you with it? I've seen doctors... psychiatrists. I've tried everything. Pills, hypnosis, injections up the arse. Well... I must say, it sounds fascinating. You wouldn't be interested in joining me for a nightcap, would you? There's nothing fascinating about me, mate. I'm just a sensitive lad... with a big cock. It was lovely to meet you. But... I haven't told you mystory. Mind if I join you? Be my guest. - I'm Paul. - I know who you are. What you doing here? Just... catching up with my mates. Talking about old times. You're not here to see them? Came here to see you. I don't know what happened between you and them, but they've been good to me. Given me a job, place to stay. Worked out well. That's nice of them. I mean, just think, you could have ended up becoming a rent boy. It's not a word we like to use. So they dumped a pile of books in your lap and said you were getting an education, but really all you're doing is selling your arse for cash and dressing it up as art. If you hated it so much, why did you do it? I was young. Had fuck all money. I didn't know anybody in London. Sound familiar? Heard you were the best in your day. You took Soho by storm. Nobody cares about Soho any more. It's the same as everywhere else. Those guys, they'll never change. They'll always be on the outside. And you? - I wanna be on the inside. - You wanna make serious money. I love money. And I'm not ashamed to say it. I knew nothing about art until I met them. Knew nothing about anything, really. You knew more than you think. And your friends? They live in the past. They wanna live in the past. That's the best place to be for them. The best thing about art is the price you can sell it for. It's as simple as that. Anyway, I hear you have a special talent. Right now it feels more like a curse. Well, I've heard differently. That's what I came to talk to you about. I'm tired of talking. But you're a Raconteur. Talking's what you do. Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while. I don't want your money. We'll see about that. Come on. Let's get outta here. You coming or what? Take this. You get paid to talk. I'm paying you to talk. OK. I can't look at art. It makes me sick. - Proper art, I mean. - Go on. Depending on the quality of the work, I get dizzy spells, blackouts. If it's beautiful, if it's a proper masterpiece, I faint and imagine myself in it. - You taking the piss? - No, I'm not. And if you saw a fake, what would happen then? What do you mean, a fake? I mean, if someone tried to pass off a fake as genuine, what would happen then? Nothing would happen, I suppose. So you wouldn't react in the same way? You don't understand. I'm not experienced. This is more of an emotional reaction. It's not something I can control. It just... happens. You realise there's serious money to be made out of this? You can't make money out of a sickness. You can make money out of anything these days, believe me. Call me tomorrow night. Why? Am I leaving? I didn't say that. I used to think an image could tell you everything you needed to know about a person. An image can tell you everything. Or it can tell you nothing at all. An image can reveal a person or... could hide a person. You should know that. And what does this one tell you? It tells you to forget about him. That person doesn't exist any more. Thanks for coming. No worries. What are we doing here? We're gonna look at paintings. So do you want sex before, during or after? Very smart. I'm particularly strong on early Baroque. Caravaggio's a personal favourite but, you choose. It's your money. You're in a good mood. I had fun the other night. We're gonna see just how talented you are. It's not a talent I've got, it's a sickness. You need to stop thinking about it as a sickness and look at it more as a business opportunity. I've told you already. Money doesn't interest me. Well, you may not be interested in money but money is interested in you. The people I represent bought this painting and it cost them a fortune. Now there's a question about its authenticity. It's more beautiful than I ever imagined. What can you tell me? Jim? Is it the real thing or not? He's fainted. What do you mean, what do I mean? He... he's fainted. He... he's out cold. It's a great thing. There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Always talking. This boy never shuts up. It's like working with a spoilt child. I can't listen. Just one question, then I'll leave you alone, I promise. I'd tread very carefully, if I were you. It's just there's been a lot of debate about your sexuality amongst art critics. It's the way you paint young blokes. That's it! I've had enough of this shit. I can't work with this kid any more. That was a legitimate question. Your sexuality's been hotly debated since your art's been rediscovered in the 18th century. He is beautiful, I give you that. Just look... My gosh, this boy's the devil. No one calls me "frocio" and gets away with it. I've killed men for less. I can't fight with you. You're my favourite artist. You know nothing about art. Nothing. All you know, you've read in a book in a library somewhere. You can't understand art unless you know what it's like to suffer. London... Oh, fuck London! Who gives a shit about London? Name me one great artist that ever came out of that stinking backwater! Erm... Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud... Never heard of them. See? I told you. You know nothing. This is Naples now, my boy. And this is my home town. So, come on. Prove you're a man. You can't be serious. I think you'll find that if someone from 17th-century Naples challenges you to a duel, you are duty-bound to accept. But we're not in Naples, we're in my dream. Try telling him that. Stop talking about him like he's real. He's a figment of my imagination. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you get out of here. Someone wake me up, please! Who's the vulture now, eh? Pretty boy. Jim, wake up. Jim. Are you OK? I think so, yeah. That was a close shave. Thought I'd lost you for a minute. You cut yourself. I could feel the blade on my skin. I really thought he was gonna kill me. - Who? - Caravaggio. I thought he was gonna kill me. This is fucking great. It's not funny. That bloke has got serious mental health issues. Take this as a down payment. Down payment for what? Never you mind about that. You need to get some rest. We've got work to do. Been anywhere interesting? Just a regular client. Go on. Explain yourself. We're listening. What is there to explain? The money was for sex. Of all the fit blokes in London, why go with him? We never exchanged a word, I swear. You had everything going for you. Why sell your soul to the devil? He's not the devil. He just works in the City. How could you do this to us? I thought we were friends. We are friends. We warned you that not every night will be the night of your dreams. Patience is a virtue, my friend, especially in the art world. Van Gogh didn't make it big until he was dead. Is that such a good thing? Don't be too smart for your own good. You think the boys and Caravaggio had an easy time? No, they didn't. They were living on the street. But they will be remembered forever. Don't talk about Caravaggio. He does my head in. Some of the finest artists in London are queueing to paint you. Isn't immortality good enough for you? Look, I'm not knocking immortality. Maybe it's just not for me, is what I'm saying. Look, I know I sound ungrateful but... I wanna do my own thing. I wanna discover my own path. I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying. You're the bloke that took Soho by storm and then it all went tits up. Yeah. Yeah, that's me. Well, you must have heard of The Shock of the New. - Of course, yeah. - Just think about it. When people first encountered modernism, a lot of them became disturbed. Properly went mental. - Like me, you mean? - Exactly. Your average Joe Bloggs couldn't understand artists like Picasso. Nor do I, to tell you the truth. People had never seen images like that before and got properly freaked out. It's as though art itself had been reinvented for the modern world. For the new age of mass production. When you think about the whole sweep of human history, when you really think about it, it's only up until recently that people were living in the Dark Ages. What did they do for fun? They read books, they went to the opera, and shit like that. And they put pen to paper and wrote letters. At the weekend they went to the local tavern for something called a sing-song. Most of them believed in God. It was the age of innocence. And the Raconteurs, your mates, are part of that tradition. They might carry mobile phones but really they're still living in the last century. I guess so. Your mates have given you a great education, but it's time to take it to the next level. Time to embrace the 21st century. And we'll teach you everything we know. I like what you're saying but I can't learn any more at this point. My brain's full and I need a rest. We understand where you're coming from. But the point is that maybe the shock, the rupture, could be used in a good way. - To help you. - Like therapy? Yeah. Like therapy. Confront yourself with modern art, find some really fucked-up shit, look at it and see what happens. Hmm. Excuse me. Hello? No, I didn't forget. No. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Bye. I'll think about what you said, but right now I've gotta run. I think he's the one we've been looking for. - Thanks for coming back. - I need to make some money. That's a language I can understand. It's not what you think. Hello, Jim. Paul was impressed by your talent last time and so we thought we might look at a series of paintings and see what your reaction is. You mean, see if they're worth any money? Well, that's to put it rather crudely, but yes. You could see it as a service to the community. How do you work that one out? Well, it's important that people can distinguish between what is real and what is fake, after all. - I really shouldn't be here. - Look... Stop beating yourself up. Let's just get on with it. Come here. Don't feel you have to rush, Jim. If it comes, it comes. Take your time. - Is this a good sign? - It's a great sign. What does it mean? It means it's a genuine Titian. Great work. Just a couple more to go. It's beautiful. It's by Giorgione. Are you sure? With a reaction like that, it must be genuine. - I need to stop now. - Just a couple more. - It won't take long. - No, please, I need to stop. - Take that. - I need to stop right now! Where are you going? Jim! Wait! Where are you...? Sorry, mate. You know nothing about art. Nothing. Anything you know, you read in a book in a library somewhere. Name me one great artist who came from that stinking backwater. You can't understand art unless you know what it's like to suffer. Stop looking so sorry for yourself. No one said being a muse was easy. I'm not a muse any more. Inspiring great art isn't something you choose. It just happens. You're stuck with it. Like your looks, until they fade, which, believe me, they will. Thanks for the tip. Look, just get back out there and enjoy it while it lasts. Yes, there were five of us once. I was gonna ask. What happened to the previous lad? We don't talk about him any more. But why? He was beautiful but he craved another kind of life. For someone's who's riding such a huge wave of success, why do you always manage to look like shit? I've got a lot on my mind. Has no one ever talked to you about the work/life balance? I just need to rest, that's all. Here. Take this. What's this? - It's money. - I know it's money. Money's what I've spent my whole life begging for. Well, I've come to tell you your begging days are over. Your days as an artist have just begun. I wish I knew what the fuck you were talking about. I'm talking about your boxes. A box, my friend, is a place for me to park my arse whilst I sort my shit out. No, it's not. It's more than that. It's a lot more than that. I've seen them. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about. I don't believe you do know what the fuck you're talking about. But I ain't about to kick a gift horse in the mouth. So I'll accept your kind offer. All right? Anyone fancy a dance? Yeah. Why not? Amazing, these blokes. But I've been thinking, the time for dancing is over. The time for action has arrived. I came down here looking for adventure. And what I found was friendship and beauty. Other people's beauty. That might be enough for some people, but not for me. I want to create my own beauty. And I think I'm ready now. |
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