[mysterious music playing]
"I paint what I see" is a painter's maxim,
and one that reveals to us the many layers of our world.
Because behind everything beautiful lies the dark.
[cabinet whirs and creaks]
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what about the horror?
We ascribe these visions to a feverish imagination.
A whim, a folly.
But what if they are not?
What if they are a careful record,
a warning,
or a family album?
Our tale tonight is "Pickman's Model,"
and its director, Keith Thomas.
[music builds to sweeping string melody]
[birds tweet]
How much longer must I keep my neck like this?
You can't rush perfection.
And you wouldn't wanna end up with one hill bigger than the other.
You wouldn't dare.
[distant door creaks, shuts]
Thought you gave the girl the morning off.
[voice] Rebecca?
Don't you dare.
Mmm…
[voice] Rebecca, where are you?
[enthusiastically] Up here, Papa!
[Rebecca] Mm-hmm.
[grunts]
[bell tolls]
Thurber, Thurber.
Thank God. Save me from these philistines.
Oh, come now.
We were just discussing the Impressionists.
Smithfield here was busy railing against Cézanne.
All I said is I don't see what the fuss is about.
My father saw his exhibition in Paris two summers ago.
He said it was rotten.
Do you see what I'm dealing with? Rotten?!
Places, gentlemen. You are on my time now.
Before we begin, I have some announcements.
The deadline for this year's student art prize approaches.
For those of you unaware of its importance,
the work judged to be the best by the committee
will be put on display at Arkham Gallery
to be seen by critics and patrons alike.
This kind of opportunity can be the making of a young artist,
as I am sure last year's winner can attest.
Mr. Thurber?
Quite, sir.
Also,
starting today, we have a new addition to our class.
Mr. Pickman,
if you'll find an empty space.
If you are all ready.
Our 15 minutes begins…
now.
[pensive music playing]
[teacher] Draw what you see.
Be aware of the empty space near the bicep.
Remember your basic shapes.
Construct, don't shade.
Remember, the neck is a limb.
Four minutes remaining.
[water runs]
My time, Mr. Thurber.
Or have we finished already?
[ominous music playing]
I just fail to see what's so interesting about them.
That's because you lack imagination.
It's why Thurber here keeps taking your money at cards.
Full house.
I'd say you fellas could use a little of the new kid's imagination.
New kid?
Pickman?
That guy's got to be at least 80 years old.
And from what I hear, he's a wet fish.
Old New England money.
-Not that you'd be able to tell. -I heard his mother's from Arkham.
Mm!
A friend has it that she died of a grizzly suicide when he was a boy.
His father went mad shortly after.
Thanks to his inheritance,
he's been rambling around Europe for the past decade.
Well!
If his piece today was any indication, he won't make it at Miskatonic.
I mean, the entire point of the class is to draw what you see,
not rotting flesh.
-Perhaps that is what he saw. -The man does draw in the cemetery.
[thunder rumbles]
Early in the evening to be grave-robbing.
It's Pickman, right?
Richard.
Well,
Dickie…
what do you have there?
[flies buzz]
[Pickman] I think the rats got to her.
Well, something certainly did.
Eugh.
So do you do this kind of thing a lot?
Haunt cemeteries in the dead of night?
'Cause your imagination is…
I saw the piece you did in Bosworth's class.
You're very good.
Well, I'm not sure he'd agree.
If there's one thing Bosworth can't abide in his students,
it's talent. [chuckles]
He seems to like your work.
You thinking about entering the art prize?
You, uh… You really should. It's, uh…
quite the opportunity.
Oh, I'm not very interested in prizes.
Then what are you interested in, Dickie?
[foreboding music builds]
-[disembodied growling] -[chittering]
[Thurber] These are…
powerful.
The darkness, the ugliness,
the corruption.
[disembodied growling, whispering]
[Pickman] Suffering is living.
We cannot let sympathy
or altruism
shield us from finding the truths of this world.
Oh, come on now.
Don't keep it a secret.
Where does one find these, uh,
elusive truths?
Where fear lives.
[lively discordant strings playing]
[music fades]
Ah, I see you're tardy as usual.
What, you're not submitting?
I decided to give the rest of you guys a chance to impress.
[students chuckle]
-So how goes it? -Oh, brutally of course.
Smithfield is proclaiming he has it in the bag.
Any sign of Pickman?
-He's in with them now. -[door bursts]
Dickie?
It's the wrong audience for my work.
Sorry.
I'm beginning to doubt these people truly have anything to teach.
We have a…
well, sort of a ritual,
me and some of the others, after a brutal critique.
A little… fun.
-Would you… -You should join us.
…like to see my paintings?
I would.
-[door creaks] -[footsteps recede]
[distant shouting]
[eerie musical flourish]
You, uh…
You never showed these.
[distant shouting continues]
[ominous music playing]
[Pickman] Yeah. Come.
This work's a little stronger than what you've seen.
My family have been in New England for generations,
since before the witch trials.
My mother told me stories as a boy.
Family stories.
My great-grandmother's great-grandmother,
Lavinia.
She was branded a hex.
A sorceress.
Burned at the stake.
[disembodied growling]
The family gossip claims
Lavinia killed her husband during a rite,
then served his still-warm flesh to members of her coven.
-[crackling] -[disembodied screaming]
[squelching]
[ominous music building]
Sometimes, when I'd wake in the night…
[high-pitched ringing]
…I'd hear them through the floor.
[distant chanting]
[distorted laughter]
[Pickman] Sounds of their party.
[disembodied growling]
-[cackling] -[Pickman] Do you hear that?
Do you hear them, Will?
-I… -Beneath us, in the earth, my kin…
[breathes heavily]
[retches]
[coughs]
[spits]
[coughs]
[breathes raspingly]
[distant revelers whoop]
[agitated music playing]
[breathes shakily]
[metal creaks]
[tense music playing]
[door creaks]
[dramatic sting]
[screaming]
[inhales sharply]
[sighs deeply]
[knock on door]
Tough night, Will?
You do realize it's afternoon?
Oh, shit.
Oh, sh… shit!
[cheerful music playing]
[excited chatter]
Excuse me.
-[woman] So lovely to see you! -[birds sing]
-The party's almost over. -I know. I'm… I'm sorry.
I'm here now.
-Everything okay? -Of course. Why?
Whiskey. Whatever you got.
What? I'm just getting into the swing of it.
Come. We've been waiting.
Will, this is my aunt, Mrs. Creighton.
Aunt Lizzy, this is my friend William Thurber.
My dear niece Rebecca swears you're quite the artist.
Would you excuse me for a moment? I'm just gonna go find Papa.
[Lizzy] Of course.
She's a remarkable young woman.
So, William, tell me about your art.
Rebecca says you specialize in portraits, which I happen to adore.
-[speech fades] -[chilling music drones]
I've sat for many a portrait in my…
Oh. Are you all right?
Excuse me.
-Will. -Ah! Uh…
[chuckles] I'm sor….
Uh…
I'd… I'd like you to meet my father Charles.
-Hello, William. -Pleasure to meet you, sir.
[frantic string music playing]
-[dramatic sting] -Ah!
-[Thurber grunts] -[crockery clatters]
Excuse me, sir.
-[man] Steady on! -[woman] Are you all right?
[Rebecca] Will?
Will!
Will, stop!
-What is wrong? -I just…
I…
-What? -That… That woman.
The woman with… with… with your father, she…
No, see, she's not…
How di…
[scoffs]
What is happening to me?
Last night, the… the painting…
I'm s… I'm sorry.
I'm… I'm… I'm so sorry.
Are you? I mean,
you knew how important this was to me.
-You show up drunk. -I'm not--
That's my father! That's my father!
I know.
You should go.
Please. Please, please don't.
This was such a mistake.
I don't even recognize you anymore.
[breathes shakily]
[inhales sharply through teeth]
[emotional music playing]
Dickie.
Dickie!
[door creaks]
[music becomes unnerving]
[eerie chords build]
[distant disembodied whispering]
[whispering intensifies]
[jazz music playing]
Joe, it undermines the very traditions of European craftsmanship.
If you ask me, I think people are rather tired of that crazy stuff.
What people is that?
You can't just decry the entire Modernist movement as worthless.
Samuel's work, perhaps.
Tell me, what does our resident tastemaker think?
I think the two of you enjoy your arguments even more than your art.
And… you're both right.
Tradition is important.
It endures.
But what is art in this modern world without truth?
A little risk?
[woman] Who's this?
[boy] Uh… Clown!
[woman] What's his name?
[boy] He doesn't have a name.
[woman] I think we need to give them some names.
I think they deserve that.
-[boy] What should we call him? -[woman] I don't know.
And this one, who's this?
[boy] He's Mr. Green Mouth.
[Rebecca chuckles] Mr. Green Mouth?
-Why is he Mr. Green Mouth? -That's why drew him with a green mouth.
Someone's up awfully late this evening.
Papa!
[groans] Hi.
-He wanted to show you his pictures. -Did he?
I like this.
Very interesting use of color.
Tell you what, I will take all these to my office so I can see them every day.
-Right? -[boy] All right.
[Thurber] Mm-hmm.
Time for bed. Go brush your teeth.
Papa will tuck you in.
Good boy.
[pleasant cello music playing]
[Thurber sighs]
[sighs]
Are you tired?
Exhausted.
How exhausted?
Don't worry.
I'll be quick.
[fire crackles]
[groans]
Ow!
[brass music playing on radio]
[crooner sings on radio]
[woman laughing]
Excuse me. [coughs] Hello?
Hey!
[distant chatter and laughter]
[chatter]
[laughter]
[foreboding music playing]
[door creaking]
[song continues on radio]
[chatter continues]
[frantic music playing]
[scuttling]
[dramatic music builds]
[squelching]
[chatter halts]
[scuttling continues]
[Thurber] Mm?
[breathes heavily]
[squelching]
-[dramatic sting] -[woman screams]
[eerie music playing]
[high-pitched note playing]
[growling]
[child whines]
[snarling]
[child cries]
[screaming]
-[growling] -[squelching]
[screaming]
[child yells faintly]
[snarling]
[screaming]
[screaming and snarling continue]
[tense strings build]
-Will? -[music halts]
-[strains] -Will?
[breathing heavily]
-What's the matter? -Nothing.
Nothing, sorry. I was just…
I couldn't sleep.
-You want some tea? -Sure.
Sure, thank you.
[Thurber] Sweetheart, you didn't meet whoever sent this, did you?
[foreboding music playing]
[Rebecca] The man said you know him.
Said his name is Pickman. He's back in town again.
[frantic music builds]
-[child yelling faintly] -[disembodied growling]
Mr. Thurber.
You're in early.
This is to be returned to the artist along with the check.
-I'd like it gone today. -Of course. Is there an address?
Just get it done!
[bell tolls]
Please.
Thurber, my boy, you look tired.
My, uh…
My son, he, uh… he isn't sleeping much.
Ah, yes.
Children.
[clears throat] Who are we waiting on?
Apologies.
Yes, yes, let's begin, shall we? I call the committee to order.
Now, we have a few items to get through today,
but first, Joe, you look positively like the cat that ate the canary.
Would you care to enlighten us?
I've invited a special guest to join us.
I'd like the group to consider his work for this year's exhibition.
Well, now I'm curious.
Gentlemen,
this is Richard Upton Pickman.
[ominous music playing]
Richard and I were at Miskatonic together.
You remember William Thurber, of course.
Ah, of course.
[Joe] Well, Richard was a startling talent, even then,
and unlike the rest of us, only seems to have gotten better with age.
Now, I'm aware it's out of the ordinary,
but I've asked for him to bring along a few paintings.
[light chuckling]
If my fellow committee members will indulge me,
I'll ask for you to head through to the gallery for a viewing.
I trust you'll find it worth your while.
I suppose we can play along.
-[Thurber] Dr. Reid, I don't think this-- -You'll get your turn.
[softly] Joe. Joe!
This is not a good idea.
Aw, are you afraid of a little competition, Thurber?
I know Pickman. I know his work.
You can't show it at an exhibition.
Huh. Funny.
I never thought of you as a bad sport.
[Pickman] …suffering from the most terrible…
[growling]
[snarling]
[deep growling, snarling]
[suspenseful music playing]
Will?
Where have you been?
There are some things I wanna talk to you about,
but I have a monstrous headache, so…
We have a guest.
I hope you don't mind my dropping in.
It's my business…
to catch the undertones of the soul.
You won't find those on artificial streets,
on man-made lands.
If there are any ghosts round here,
they're the tame ghosts of a salt marsh
and a shallow cove.
My art…
Well…
My art… [clears throat]
…is about the ancient.
Fascinating.
During university, Will and I and the Miskatonic boys,
we had a little spiritualism phase.
We liked to hold séances.
We liked to call up the dead.
We were just playing games, but… it was very thrilling.
It felt dangerous.
I truly doubt that Dickie wants to hear these childish stories.
There was one night when it wasn't a game.
It got very quiet.
And dark.
I…
couldn't see anything anymore. I felt like…
I felt like I was… like I was blind.
[suspenseful music playing]
And
the others, I mean…
I never told the others anything, but…
I felt like…
I felt like I was floating.
And then I have this…
this funny feeling in my head. It's like a…
[Pickman] Sort of a… buzzing?
Yes.
It was a thing.
All those years ago. [chuckles]
Tell me, Richard, you must be so excited to debut the exhibition.
More than your lovely husband, I fear.
I worry he's grown more sensitive with age.
Well, that's a word for it.
Well, on that note, why don't we call it a night?
[spoon clatters]
It's time for James to be put to bed.
Come to my house.
See the work.
Perhaps you should invite Minot.
Minot would never understand!
Just think on it.
Please.
Do thank your wife for dinner.
And tell James I enjoyed our chat.
He's a special boy. Reminds me a little of myself.
[crickets chirp]
You were rude tonight.
I was embarrassed.
You were embarrassed?
You were fawning over him like a schoolgirl.
Richard is the only friend of yours who's succeeded as an artist, and…
the way you treat him…
People are talking, Will.
At the gallery, at the committee.
You are acting strange, and it's not just with me.
You're coming home late. You…
You're barely home anymore, and when you are home…
it's like… it's like a…
I feel like… I feel like you're disappearing from me.
I need to know if you're drinking again.
I…
I have always
tried to look for the… the joy
and the beauty in everything.
But around this man and his work, I just…
The darkness has a way of… catching me.
Life can't always be beautiful.
[eerie music playing]
[creaking]
[inhales sharply, grunts]
[groans]
[panting]
Ah! [breathes heavily]
[men chant] Yog…
No, no… Come…
[men] Ng'ngah.
Yog-sothoth.
Y'ai'ng'ngah.
[thumping music playing]
[men continue chanting]
[Thurber] Ah, ahh!
Ah! No!
[grunts] Ahh!
Ng-ahh!
[cackles]
-[Thurber] Ah! -[blood gurgles]
[cackles gutturally]
[yells, strains]
[laughter echoes]
[screaming]
-[dramatic music playing] -[James] No! No!
[James] No!
-[quick footsteps approaching] -[James rambles incoherently]
Their mouths… Their mouths…
-[continues rambling] -Sh, sh, sh, sh.
Hey, buddy. You okay?
[continues rambling]
[wind howls]
[dramatic music builds]
[music fades]
-[disembodied growling] -[squelching]
[bird caws]
[uneasy music playing]
Will. [chuckles] This is a surprise.
What did you say to my son?
Answer me.
Is he unwell?
He woke screaming in terror.
I'm only gonna say this once.
You stay away from my family.
I thought we were friends.
Friends?
As far as I'm concerned, the balance of our friendship is paid.
I'm sorry you feel that way,
but it was never about the money.
I value your judgment.
I always have.
Please, Will, you've come all this way.
I know you want to see my new paintings.
The finest I done.
I need you to see 'em.
No.
No, Dickie.
And if… if I was to agree to stay away from your family?
And also to offer to pull out of the exhibition,
to destroy my paintings, should you still think them unsuitable,
and stay out of your life forever?
You would do that?
If you come to my house now.
[sweeping string music playing]
It must be shocking to see the state of things here.
[pensive music playing]
But, uh…
my work, Will,
it is paramount.
Electricity went out several months back.
This way.
Welcome to my work.
[door creaks, thuds]
[distant howling]
Do you feel it, Will?
The fear.
[squeaking]
[scuttling]
Cursed rats.
The hill's infested with them.
Deus knows what they eat.
They must've run short.
One moment.
[squeaking]
[grating music playing]
[Pickman] Back.
Whoa!
No! He's my friend.
No, get down!
Back.
[growling]
Dickie?
[distant chanting]
[deep growling]
[squelching]
[distant laughter]
[cackling]
[growling]
[voices chanting] Ng'ngah.
Yog-sothoth.
[yelling]
[distorted cackling echoes]
[Thurber grunts]
-Will. -Somebody has to stop you, Dickie!
If I'm the one, I have to stop you! Your paintings infect my mind.
It's only art.
No. No!
No, see, see, I thought that it was me.
That I was… I was drunk or… or delirious,
shell-shocked and… and… and broken, but it was these, these paintings.
This whole time it was the paintings!
What… What you make, it… it…
crawls behind the eyes, and it… it ma… it makes you crazy.
Dickie, Dickie, it causes madness, and I…
It's the world that's mad, Will.
That's what breeds fear.
Knowing what lurks in the darkness.
-Stop it, stop it, stop it. -Knowing where fear…
-Stop it, stop it! -…lives. Here.
-Let me show you. -Stop it, stop it, stop it.
Make it stop please!
Stop, Dickie!
Dickie, you stop it! What are you doing?!
[objects clank]
Dickie, I swear to God!
-[music builds to climax] -[gunshot]
[clattering]
[distant voices murmur and shout]
[Pickman] Paint what you see,
what is familiar to you.
These entities
are real.
Close to me.
[growling]
[Pickman] Family portraits.
The paintings don't come from my head.
They come from my life.
[metallic clatter]
[snarling]
[somber music playing]
[Pickman] Now it's time for you to meet them.
Time to see what awaits us all…
in the darkness.
Dickie.
[unsettling music playing]
-Dickie, I'm… -[creaking]
[clattering]
[deep growling]
[groans]
[wet snarling]
[Thurber] Dear God.
[music building]
[roars]
[fraught music playing]
[creature growls]
[glass shatters]
[growling echoes]
[guttural growling]
[growling fades]
[Thurber, echoing] It's all in your mind.
[light footsteps approach]
It's extraordinary, Will.
Reid did much of the heavy lifting before I stepped in.
Go, explore.
I want you to be the first to see it.
-Come on. -That's my good boy.
You seen Joe? He was supposed to be here this morning.
Uh, Mr. Minot came in last night,
uh, saying he had some final adjustments to make.
I think he's still here.
You're sure?
Yes.
Joe?
[distant growling]
[cackling]
[tortured screaming]
Joe?
[chanting]
I watched that painting burn, Joe. How d…
[Joe chants]
[Joe] Y'ai'ng'ngah.
Sothoth.
[men chant faintly]
-[Thurber] Joe. -[Joe] Y'ai'ng'ngah…
Joe.
[Joe] S'ai…
Joe.
It's me.
[jarring music playing]
What have you done, Joe?
He is coming from the other side.
It's okay. It's okay. I'm g… I'm gonna…
He is coming for the feast.
He is coming from the darkness to show us all the beauty…
-[Thurber] Gabriel! -[Joe] …of fear!
[Thurber] Gabriel!
[music intensifies]
[music fades]
Hey, you all right? Why don't you go see Gabriel?
-Are you all right? -Yes.
-You sure? -Of course I'm fine. What…
There's been an accident. It's… It's Joe.
-An accident? -I need you to take James home right now.
-What kind of-- -Now, Rebecca.
-Joe's hurt. -What?
I'm gonna go get him help.
I want you to take all of Pickman's works out immediately.
Do you understand?
-Take them? Where? What's happening? -Just get them out of here. Destroy them.
And, Gabriel…
Do not look at them.
[Thurber] You burn them!
Joe, look away!
[melancholy music playing]
[knife chopping]
It smells delicious.
I, uh…
I want to apologize to you, my love,
for how I've been.
I want you to know that it's… it's all over now.
Everything is gonna be…
it's gonna be better. I'm…
I'm going to be better.
I promise you.
It's all over.
[chopping continues]
It's… It's over.
[Rebecca] I know where it lives, Will.
What?
Where what lives, sweetheart?
I know where fear lives.
-[distant cackling] -[music turns sinister]
No. No.
[sniffs]
Please, please, please, God!
No, no, not…
Not you!
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please.
Please. I… I… I tried. I did try.
Sh.
[Thurber sniffs]
You'll spoil the meal.
[sizzling]
Where is James?
Rebecca.
Where's… Where's James? Where… Where is our son?
Where's our son?!
[frantic string music playing]
Soon we will feast.
And it will be glorious, my love.
You'll see.
[chuckles]
-[Rebecca continues chopping] -[voices chanting faintly]
[dramatic music builds]
[breathes shakily]
[chanting intensifies]
Yog-sothoth.
Y'ai'ng'ngah.
Ng'ngah.
Yog-sothoth.
[bubbling]
Y'ai'ng'ngah.
Ng'ngah.
Yog-sothoth.
Y'ai'ng'ngah!
Ng'ngah!
[distant laughter]
[Pickman] Now it's time.
Time to see what awaits us all
in the darkness.
[dramatic chord plays, fades]
[creepy theme music playing]