Musée d’Orsay
Amy: Thanks for bringing me.
The Doctor: You’re welcome.
Amy: You’re being so nice to me. Why are you being so nice to me?
The Doctor: I’m always nice to you.
Amy: Not like this. All these places you’re taking me—Arcadia, the Trojan Gardens, now this— I think it’s suspicious.
The Doctor: What? It’s not. There’s nothing to be suspicious about.
Amy: Okay. I was joking. Why aren’t you?
Young kid (Morgan Overton): Who is it?
Young kid (Andrew Byrne): It’s the doctor! He was the doctor who took care of van Gogh when he started to go mad.
Young kid: I knew that.
Amy: Look! There it is. The actual one.
The Doctor: Yes. You can almost feel his hand painting it right in front of you. Carving the colors into shapes. Wait a minute.
Amy: What?
The Doctor: What. Just. Look at that.
Amy: What?
The Doctor: Something very not good indeed.
Amy: What very not good—
The Doctor: Look. There! In the window of the church.
Amy: Is that a face?
The Doctor: Yes. And not a nice face at all. I know evil when I see it and I see it in that window.
The Doctor: Excuse me, if I could just interrupt for one second. Sorry everyone. Um. Routine inspection. Ministry of Art and… Artiness. So. Um…
Dr. Black (Bill Nighy): Dr. Black.
The Doctor: Yes. That’s right. Do you actually know when that picture of the church was painted?
Dr. Black: Ah! Well. Ah! What an interesting question. Most people
imagine—
The Doctor: You’re going to have to hurry. When was it?
Dr. Black: Exactly?
The Doctor: As exactly as you can without a long speech if possible, I’m in a hurry.
Dr. Black: Well in that case probably somewhere between the first and third of June.
The Doctor: What year?
Dr. Black: 1890. Less than a year before… before he killed himself.
The Doctor: Thank you, sir. Very helpful indeed. Nice bow tie. Bow ties are cool.
Dr. Black: Yours is very….
The Doctor: Thank you. Keep telling them stuff.
The Doctor: Art can wait. This is life and death. We need to talk to Vincent Van Gogh.
The Doctor: Do you know Vincent Van Gogh?
Waitress (Sarah Counsell): Unfortunately.
Amy: Unfortunately?
Waitress: He’s drunk. He’s mad. And he never pays his bills.
The Doctor: Good painter though, eh?
Vincent van Gogh (Tony Curran): One painting for one drink. That’s not a bad deal.
Maitre d’ (Nik Howden): It wouldn’t be a bad deal if the painting were any good. I can’t hang that up on my walls, it’ll scare the customers half to death. It’s bad enough having you in here in person, let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat.
Pay money or you get out.
The Doctor: I’ll pay if you like.
Vincent van Gogh: What?
The Doctor: Well if you like I’ll pay for the drink. Or I’ll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink.
Vincent van Gogh: Exactly who are you?
The Doctor: Oh I’m… new in town.
Vincent van Gogh: Well in that case you don’t know three things. One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you. {the crowd laughs} Two. No one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town. So if you want to stay in town I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your friend’s cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people’s business.
Van Gogh: Your hair is orange.
Amy: Yes. So’s yours.
Van Gogh: Yes. It was more orange but now as of course, less.
The Doctor: So, um, Vincent. Painted any churches recently or any church-y plans? Are churches, chapels, religious-y stuff like that, something you’d like to get into, you know, fairly soon?
Van Gogh: Well there is one church I’m thinking of painting when the weather is right.
The Doctor: That. Is very good news.
Old Woman: Murder! Help me!
The Doctor: That, on the other hand, isn’t quite such good news. C’mon Amy! Vincent!
The Doctor: You all right?
Van Gogh: Yes. I’m used to it.
The Doctor: Has anything like this murder happened here before?
Van Gogh: Only a week ago. It’s a terrible time.
The Doctor: As I thought. As I thought. Come on, we better get you home.
Van Gogh: Where are you staying tonight?
The Doctor: Oh! You’re very kind.
The Doctor: Dark night. Very starry.
Van Gogh: Sorry about all the clutter.
The Doctor: Some clutter.
Van Gogh: Well I’ve come to accept the only person who’s going to love my paintings is me.
Amy: Wow. I mean really. Wow.
Van Gogh: What is it with you and the church?
The Doctor: Oh, just casually interested in it. You know.
Van Gogh: It’s far from casual. Seems to me you never talk about anything else. {to Amy} He’s a strange one.
The Doctor: Okay, so let’s talk about you then. What are you interested in?
Van Gogh: Well look around. Art. You know, it seems to me there’s so much more to the world than the average eye’s allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamed of.
The Doctor: You don’t have to tell me.
Van Gogh: It’s color! Color that holds the key! I can hear the colors. Listen to them. Every time I step outside I feel nature is shouting at me. “Come on! Come and get me!” “Come on! Come on! Capture my mystery!”
The Doctor: Maybe you’ve had enough coffee now. How about some nice calming tea.
The Doctor: Right. You in here somewhere? I can’t apologize enough. I thought you were just a useless gadget. I thought you were just an embarrassing present from a dull godmother with two heads and bad breath. Twice. How wrong can a man be!
The Doctor: This is the problem with Impressionists. Not accurate enough. This would never happen with Gainsborough or one of those proper painters. Sorry Vincent.
Van Gogh: They’re not my favorite flower.
Amy: You don’t like sunflowers?
Van Gogh: No, it’s not that I don’t like them. I find them complex. Always somewhere between living and dying. Half-human as they turn to the sun. A little disgusting. But you know, they are a challenge.
The Doctor: And one I’m pretty sure you’ll rise to.
The Doctor: Dotted all around the universe are individual, utterly merciless—utterly abandoned—Krafayis. And what they do is… well, kill. Until they’re killed. Which they usually are because other creatures can’t see them.
Van Gogh: But I can.
The Doctor: Yes. And that is why we are in a unique position today, my friend. To end this reign of terror. So, feeling like painting the church today?
Van Gogh: But what about the monster?
The Doctor: Take my word for it. If you paint it, he will come.
The Doctor: This is risky.
Amy: Riskier than normal?
The Doctor: Well think about it. This is the middle of Van Gogh’s greatest year of painting. If we’re not careful, the net result of our pleasant little trip will be the brutal murder of the greatest artist who ever lived. Half the pictures on the wall of the Musée d’Orsay *snaps fingers* will disappear. And it will be our fault.
The Doctor: Vincent, can I help?
Van Gogh: It’s so clear you cannot help. And when you leave—and everyone always leaves—I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
The Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly always hope.
Van Gogh: Then your experience is incomplete! I know how it will end. And it will not end well.
Amy: What’s happening?
The Doctor: We’re leaving. Everyone knows he’s a delicate man. Just months from now he’ll… he’ll take his own life.
Amy: Don’t say that. Please.
Amy: I’m sorry you’re so sad.
Van Gogh: But I’m not. Sometimes these moods torture me for weeks— for months. But I’m good now. If Amy Pond can soldier on then so can Vincent Van Gogh.
Amy: I’m not soldiering on. I’m fine.
Van Gogh: Oh Amy, I hear the song of your sadness. You’ve lost someone I think.
Amy: I’m not sad.
Van Gogh: Then why are you crying? It’s all right. I understand.
Amy: I’m not sure I do.
Van Gogh: And how are we meant to do that?
The Doctor: The answer’s in this box. I had an excellent—if smelly—godmother.
Amy: You do have a plan. Don’t you?
The Doctor: No. It’s a thing, it’s like a plan but there’s more greyness.
The Doctor: I remember watching Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Wow. What a whinger. I kept saying to him, “Look, if you’re scared of heights, you shouldn’t have taken the job, mate.” And Picasso, what a ghastly old goat. I kept telling him, “Concentrate, Pablo. It’s one eye. Eye the side of the face.”
Amy: Quiet!
The Doctor: Is this how time normally passes? Really slowly. In the right order. There’s one thing I can’t stand it’s an unpunctual alien attack!
Amy: Are you okay? You seem a little bit… well, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say nervous.
The Doctor: Yes. There’s something not quite right and I can’t quite put my finger on it.
The Doctor: I’m going in!
Van Gogh: I’m coming too.
The Doctor: No! You’re Vincent Van Gogh. No.
Van Gogh: But you’re not armed!
The Doctor: I am.
Van Gogh: What with?
The Doctor: Overconfidence, this {pats bag} and a small screwdriver. I’m absolutely sorted. I just have to find the right [prozactic] setting and stun him with it. Sonic never fails.
The Doctor: Okay, here’s the plan. Amy, Rory—
Amy: Who?
The Doctor: Sorry! Um… Vincent.
Amy: What? What is the plan?
The Doctor: I don’t know actually. My only definite plan is that in the future I’m definitely just using this screwdriver for screwing in screws.
The Doctor: I also don’t belong on this planet. I also am alone. If you trust me I’m sure we can come to some kind of, you know, understanding. And then— and then, who knows.
Van Gogh: He wasn’t without mercy at all. He was without sight. I didn’t mean that to happen. I only meant to wound it, I never…
The Doctor: He’s trying to say something.
Van Gogh: What is it?
The Doctor: I’m having trouble making it out, but I think he’s saying, “I’m, I’m afraid. I’m afraid.”
Van Gogh: He was frightened. And he lashed out. Like humans, who lash out when they’re frightened. Like the villagers who scream at me. Like the children who throw stones at me.
The Doctor: Sometimes winning, winning is no fun at all.
Van Gogh: Hold my hand, Doctor. Try to see what I see. We’re so lucky we’re still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It’s not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there! Lights are blue. And blue in through the blueness, and the blackness, the winds swirling through the air… and then shining. Burning, bursting through! The stars, can you see how they roll their light? Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.
The Doctor: I’ve seen many things, my friend. But you’re right. Nothing’s quite as wonderful as the things you see.
Van Gogh: I will miss you terribly.
Van Gogh: Doctor my friend, we have fought monsters together and we have won. On my own I fear I may not do as well.
Van Gogh: How come I’m the crazy one and you two have stayed sane?
The Doctor: I just wondered, between you and me—in a hundred words—where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?
Dr. Black: Well. Um, big question, um, but to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly the most popular great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of color, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world. No one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange wild man who roamed the fields of Provence, was not only the world’s greatest artist but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.
Van Gogh: This changes everything. I’ll step out tomorrow with my easel in hand. Although I still can’t belief one of the haystacks was in the museum. How embarrassing.
Amy: Time can be rewritten! I know it can. Come on! Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh. There’ll be hundreds of new paintings.
The Doctor: I’m not sure there will.
Amy: So you were right. No new paintings. We didn’t make a difference at all.
The Doctor: I wouldn’t say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and… bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things.
The Doctor: And… if you look carefully, maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes.
Amy: No Krafayis.
The Doctor: No Krafayis.
Amy: If we had got married our kids would have had very very red hair.
The Doctor: The ultimate ginger.
Amy: The ultimate ging. Brighter than sunflowers.