57th Street, center of New York's important art dealers, where masterpieces of dead artists
change hands for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
This is the Greenwich Village, where live artists eat their hearts out for pennies.
This one's name was Jack Wilson.
He wanted to be an artist, and nobody cared.
Even if you're one of the great ones, like Vincent Van Gogh, Van Gogh the genius, who
became violent and finally committed suicide, because nobody cared.
What's happening to me?
Am I going out of my mind?
You're Wilson, you fool.
Wilson, Jack Wilson!
It's beautifully executed, Miss Dean, but I'm afraid it's a fake.
I don't believe this was painted by Van Gogh.
I've seen it in museums, reproduced in books.
You've seen the original, not this one.
I can't believe it.
Well, it almost fooled me too, and I'm supposed to be the expert.
And it cost me $60,000.
How can you be sure that it's a copy?
Just a sense of it.
You know, the way friends can tell the difference between identical twins.
Well, why don't we look at the x-ray and make sure?
Yes, they should be about ready.
Now, of course, the x-ray won't prove anything unless this has been painted over an earlier
painting.
Ah, yes, in the corner there, Salas.
Who?
Rudolph Salas, a mediocre painter, a contemporary of Van Gogh.
Now, Van Gogh himself was another man's canvas, but the copyist had to.
Why?
Because any expert would spot a new canvas in a minute.
This canvas is authentically 60 years old, even if the painting isn't.
But that's incredible.
Well, I bought paintings from Mr. Corso for over 20 years, a most reputable dealer.
Well, if I was fooled, Corso undoubtedly was too.
Maybe, maybe not.
We'd better have a little talk with him, Casey.
What do you mean?
I mean, you've been taken for $60,000, Miss Dean.
That may not be much to you, but it is to the Frauds Bureau.
Frauds?
Oh, that's absurd.
I'm sure Mr. Corso will return the money.
Well, there's more to it than just that, Miss Dean.
You see, one masterpiece is missing.
One fake has been made and sold.
One that we know of.
It may have been others.
Our responsibility is to protect the general public, not only you or $60,000.
We've got to find the people who pulled the job.
But Mr. Corso is a gentleman.
He is also our only lead.
I'll have to ask for your cooperation, Miss Dean.
If necessary, I'll have to insist on it.
Do I make myself clear?
Yes, of course.
Radson?
All right, Casey, what do you know about Van Gogh?
Van Gogh, Vincent.
He was recognized as a genius, but after his death, had the violence.
Deliberately cut off his own ear with a razor.
They put him away after that, and he ended up in suicide.
I'm impressed.
Well, I saw the movie.
But not.
You're appointed.
I'm appointed what?
The police department art expert, as of now.
I, uh, I can count on your help, Mr. Radson?
Yes, of course.
But I think I should warn you, you're looking for a unique artist.
A man with an uncanny gift.
A gift of living so completely inside another man's skin that he could not only feel the
very brush strokes of another man's hand, but almost his pulse beat.
A man living a double life, his own and Van Gogh's.
A split personality, more than likely, and therefore...
Dangerous?
Yes, dangerous.
After squeezing a half a year's art appreciation course in the three days, I was ready to tackle
Mr. Corso.
By the time I visited his gallery, there was very little about Van Gogh and his work that
I didn't know.
Including the fact that the original had been loaned for exhibition in New York only once,
two years ago.
It could have been copied then, but that was long before it ever passed through Mr. Corso's
hands.
Well, it's pretty, but is it art?
I'm the dean secretary.
My appointment was at three o'clock.
Ah, yes, Miss Chalmers, I believe.
Won't you sit down?
It is neither pretty nor art.
Well, then why do you...
I like to keep it on the wall.
To sharpen my artistic appetite.
It makes the ecstasy of looking at a masterpiece even more intense.
Masterpiece, like a Van Gogh?
Ah, Van Gogh.
Miss Dean has acquired a priceless possession.
It was very hard to secure that Van Gogh for her.
He had been in the Chateau Pontoise for 50 years.
Is she happy with it?
Oh, yes.
So much so that she'd like a copy made.
She thought you might know some artist who...
A copy?
She has the original and she wants a copy?
Well, for her summer home in Southampton, she wouldn't risk moving the original.
Well, she thought she would like a copy if she could find a perfect one.
In art, a perfect copy is a contradiction of terms.
One lies only in the original into which the life and spirit of the artist have been poured.
Well, I know, but she thought you might know some artist who...
I would not...
I would not want to know an artist who would presume to copy a masterpiece.
I do not associate with counterfeiters.
Good afternoon, Miss Charlotte.
And there he was again, staring at the painting he didn't like.
But counterfeiters do exist.
Whether Mr. Corso associated with them or not, it was up to me to find one with the
brush and the pulse of Van Gogh.
I went down to Greenwich Village, the annual outdoor art show.
Painters, would-be painters, shoppers, tourists, more browsing than buying.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but even a needle can be found if it's there.
A couple of days after I got started, I landed in the Ventura Bar.
I had located six artists who had made copies of Starry Night.
None of them could have painted the one sold to Miss Dean.
Excuse me, the bartender told me that you might know of an artist who could make a copy
of a Van Gogh.
I know dozens of them.
Look, I'm not looking for just a good copyist.
I'm looking for a great one.
One that could duplicate a Van Gogh so perfectly, it would fool Van Gogh himself if he were alive.
Do you believe in reincarnation, lady?
Submerging yourself into someone else's personality isn't exactly reincarnation.
I'm sure that there is such a man.
Well, I don't know any weirdos like that, Miss.
A present company accepted, of course.
Yeah.
Well, I guess the man I'm looking for is pretty weird.
Wait a minute.
There was this kid at the Art Student League's ball.
Yeah?
What about him?
Nothing much, except he turned up wearing a bandage around his ear and then carrying
a paper mache ear.
That sounds promising.
His name was Wilson.
Jack Wilson.
He lives over on Horatio Street down by the river, or he used to.
Oh, is he a good painter?
I don't know, but he did a beautiful job with that ear.
Turn your head a little bit more to the right.
It hurts my neck.
Anyway, it's my bad side.
Millie, please.
Oh, it is.
I mean, everybody's got one side that's better than another, even Marilyn Monroe.
I was crazy to let you pose me this way.
I'll probably look terrible.
Will you stop bothering me?
I'm trying to work.
I'm not stopping you.
I just want to see how I look.
Not till I finish it.
Oh, don't be so touchy.
I said no!
Let go of me.
I can take your position.
Oh, no!
That's not me.
That doesn't look like me at all.
I'm not a photographer.
It doesn't look like anybody.
You ought to have your eyes examined.
Nobody could be that ugly.
It's not ugly.
It's vibrant.
It's alive.
If that's alive, it ought to be in a sideshow with the rest of the freaks.
You get out of here.
And while you're at it, you better have your head examined, too.
You know, I'm always talking about you.
I said get out!
Crazy!
You get out!
Don't paint.
I'm the one who has the right to complain better than you.
Get out!
You better be careful if you're going to pose for him.
Well, you heard her.
I'm not a model.
No?
I, uh, I may be a customer.
Well, in that case, don't worry.
Only a rough-up model is not a customer.
Who told you about me?
Oh, I, uh, I saw your painting somewhere.
The art supply shop over on Sixth Avenue?
Yeah, that's it.
Yeah, he's a good guy.
He let me hang a couple of canvases in his window for a week or so.
Well, if you, uh, invite me in to see some of your paintings, I, uh, I won't misunderstand.
You're invited.
Oh, do you mind if I look around?
Help yourself.
I've got to clean some brushes.
Uh, by the way, uh, you know, I really don't rough-up models.
They're too hard to get on credit.
What was that all about?
Not that it's, uh, any of my business.
Oh, Millie, she's a good kid.
Except when she makes like an art critic.
There's no state law that says everybody's got to like the way I paint.
But I don't have to listen for that reason.
Don't you like people?
Sure.
But if you're really trying to say something on your canvas, trying to get to the heart of the subject, you've got to fight it through by yourself.
You've got to be alone.
Even when you paint a portrait?
I see what you mean.
But if you're serious about art, you've got to paint the world the way you see it and feel it.
The artist who doesn't paint that way ought to throw his brushes away and buy himself a camera.
Do you know what I'm talking about?
Yeah, I think so.
I wish more people did.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm not up in a tree somewhere painting for the birds.
This is interesting.
It is? Why?
Well, it has a certain intensity. It's like, um, like...
Like what?
It's like a self-portrait of Van Gogh. You know the one I mean?
No, I don't know.
Anyway, it's not the same.
What about this one? This has the same sort of quality.
Look, I, um, I can't afford to pay very much.
Well, how much is very much?
Well, would a hundred dollars be all right? Look, I know that it's worth more than that.
Of course it is!
You want me to frame it for you?
Oh, no. No, that's all right. I just assume frame it myself.
You know, actually, it's a pretty fair price.
Thanks a lot, Miss, uh...
Chalmers.
The first sale I've made in a long, long time.
Oh, maybe that'll, uh, that'll bring you luck.
You know, I, uh...
I might be able to get you a commission the way you paint.
A commission?
Well, that is, if you can do the kind of work that's required.
What's required? A portrait?
No. You see, the woman I work for owns a wonderful Van Gogh.
And she wants a copy of it.
A copy? Oh, what do you think I am?
Well, lots of artists, you know, made copies of masterpieces.
What makes you think that I'm...
I didn't mean that. It's just that you have such a wonderful style for Van Gogh.
I don't do copies. Not anymore. You understand?
If your boss wants a Wilson, bring her around. That's who I am.
Wilson. Jack Wilson. Not Vincent Van Gogh. I'm Wilson.
Do you hear me?
I hear you.
If you should change your mind, Mr. uh...
Wilson.
Not exactly. I want to take a look at what you've been doing lately.
Be my guest. It's all here.
Oh, practically.
Except for the canvas that Miss Charlwood just purchased.
How did you know?
It's not a very involved deduction. She left carrying a canvas. Unwrapped.
No, I mean, how did you know her name?
A successful art dealer makes it his business to know many people.
Certainly Miss Dean's private secretary would be among them.
Who's Miss Dean?
Don't you know?
Never heard of her.
I thought perhaps you might.
Unless...
Unless what?
Does she own a Van Gogh?
Why do you ask?
Five hundred you paid me for copying the Starry Night.
Kept the pot boiling for almost a year.
I've never seen anything like that kind of money for a painting of my own.
Really? Well, now maybe we can do something about that.
Your work has improved enormously.
You really think so?
I'm not usually given to either flattery.
Only...
Only what?
Yes. Yes. Definitely.
This man could have made the copy.
Well, if he did, he might be able to lead us to the man who paid him.
Unless it was his own idea.
Maybe.
I don't think so.
Oh, would you call Lieutenant Fletcher for me?
Ask him to meet me here.
I'll be back with Wilson in half an hour.
It was good enough to pass for an original.
That's not true.
You tried to look like Van Gogh, to paint like Van Gogh.
No.
But you cannot imitate genius. You would only copy it.
Like some fantastic machine.
That you can do brilliantly enough.
Brilliantly enough to sell for $60,000.
That's fraud.
And you painted it.
If this is ever known, if you are ever known,
it will be only as the fraud who painted one canvas the fake Van Gogh.
That's not true. I've painted hundreds of canvases.
You have painted just one thing. That's all. That's all you are.
That's all you ever will be.
The fraud who painted the fake Van Gogh.
The fraud who painted the fake Van Gogh.
My life. My whole life.
And if this is ever known, if you are ever known, you are finished.
Thank you, sir.
No.
So that's why you bought the painting.
To analyze the brush strokes.
I told you I'm going to hang it in my apartment.
Are you sure Mr. Corso didn't tell you where the original might be?
No.
Never occurred to me to ask.
Are you telling me the truth?
Of course I am. Why would I lie to you?
I'm looking for a painting worth $60,000.
For $60,000 a lot of people might lie.
You don't suspect me, do you?
I suspect everybody.
Even a young idiot stupid enough to try and take his own life.
You don't understand.
I understand that a man must have a soul of his own.
Not let it be destroyed by some smooth talking art dealer.
The same boys that told Van Gogh that he had no talent.
Yeah. I wasn't thinking.
Ah. Well it's about time you started doing some thinking.
But Corso, I'd kill him.
Now stop talking like a child.
Are you sure that Corso didn't leave any hint of where the original might be?
I told you.
He only said it was in the hands of someone who would truly appreciate it.
You didn't tell me that.
So what?
Could be any one of a million people.
A masterpiece like that, people would do anything to get a hold of it.
Somebody who would really appreciate it.
All right. Now you sit tight and behave yourself.
And no more tricks with gas heaters.
Me?
Too weak to move.
What do you think you're doing?
I, uh, I was admiring your masterpiece.
That trash. I thought you had better taste.
I must ask you to leave, Miss Chalmers.
My name isn't Chalmers, Mr. Corso. It's Jones.
I'm a policewoman.
I don't care who you are. This is my private office. Get out.
You, uh, you have a gun in there, haven't you?
You should write to my desk.
I'm not a policewoman.
You have a gun in there, haven't you?
You should write to my desk, too.
I'd stay away from there, Mr. Corso. I'm warning you.
Are you threatening me with that thing?
You'd be dead before you could take three steps.
It's only a few steps to this painting, Mr. Corso.
I could slash it to pieces before you got your hands on that gun.
No!
Well, you seem to value this little piece of trash more than you pretend, don't you?
Please be careful of that dagger.
Must I take this down and have it x-rayed?
Are you willing to tell me that under a couple of layers of paint and varnish
is Van Gogh's original Starry Night?
Corso, I want to talk to you.
Jack, look out. He's got a gun.
Hand me that gun, Jack.
Now, don't try anything with Mr. Corso.
If you do, you'll be painting prison pictures for 99 years.
Now, hand it to me.
Sit down, Mr. Corso.
Jack, take that painting down, but be, uh, very careful of it.
It's worth $60,000.
Police headquarters.
I still can't figure out what pleasure it gave you to have the original
when you couldn't see it.
You wouldn't understand.
Jones, on arrest.
Also, the recovery of a stolen painting.
The, uh, the Corso Gallery is on East 7th Street.
Yeah. All right.
You haven't answered my question.
I wanted to.
Someday I would remove the mediocre painting that covered the masterpiece,
and then I would really see those violent blues and greens,
the tortured world, the cypress trees,
twisted and agitated,
the sky pressing down on the earth,
the stars about to explode.
And until that day, I could see it as I see it now,
in my mind's eye.
And until then, it would be mine.
Mine alone.
I knew you wouldn't do it.
I knew you wouldn't understand.
Well, I think maybe I do.
Do you, Jones?
Sure. This guy's nuts.
All right, Mr. Corso.
Let's answer a few questions.
You know, it really is a pretty great painting.
Even though Van Gogh painted it himself?
Well, thanks for everything, Miss Jones.
I'll be seeing you. I have an important appointment.
With an art dealer?
With a father.
Three people caught with the genius of a dead painter.
A woman who could afford to buy it.
A dealer who had to possess it.
And a young painter who had to get it out of his system.
Oh, and as a fourth, I'm caught up with the fever, too.
Get down to the next Van Gogh exhibit.
You may be the fifth.
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