The movie is about Francoise Gilot, not about Picasso. It is not intended to tell Picasso's story. Picasso was brilliant, spectacular, the living center of the world of art and a sexual magnet. Women wanted him and, king that he was, Picasso viewed their adoration as no more than his due.
Francoise Gilot, a talented painter in her own right - but no Picasso - lives for ten years a life which for her is absolutely worth the pain. And when the pain is so grave that she will surely be overwhelmed, she stands up and leaves. The pain doesn't go away instantly, but it does go away, in time.
In one memorable scene, Gilot, at home with the baby, questions Picasso's absences, his obvious womanizing. He tells her in no uncertain terms that he will do as he chooses, that his life outside their home is none of her business. She has no right to question him. He doesn't say, "Take it or leave it," but that is the unmistakable message. She takes it, for a few more years, and another child.
It would be interesting to know whether Gilot, who was born in 1921 and is apparently still with us, harbors regret. I cannot imagine that she does. Of course she would have enjoyed that ten years better if Picasso had been able to love, in some recognizable way. But would she trade that life for one less magnificent? For one that would not be a good movie? Hardly.
The acting is of course perfect. Anthony Hopkins becomes the man Picasso. Natascha McElhone, Julianne Moore and Susanna Harker tell us the truth. Well paced, finely directed, this movie tells a riveting story. It is very, very good.
It is perhaps worthy of note that many of the negative reviews of this movie are written by men. Picasso was not just difficult; he was a Difficult Man.
