Based on a True Story
By Ta-Nehisi Coates
by Andrew Baker
See web-only content:
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/01/based-on-a-true-story/68964/
I recently found the documentary
Jean-Michel Basquiat: The Radiant Child
on Netflix. It isn't great, but a good bit of it is pretty interesting.
I particularly like the footage that was taken from an interview Tamra
Davis, the film's director and a former friend of the artist, had shot
with JMB a couple of years before his death. But Davis, like most of
the talking heads and old acquaintances she interviewed for the piece,
seems too close to its subject to create an honest portrait. Many of
them, either for personal or professional reasons, seem too invested in
the legend, too anxious to protect the idea of this angelic genius
that, at times it feels as though they're not talking about a real
person at all. Like he was less of a man and more of a china doll. But the interview with
JMB,
which Davis uses as the backdrop of the piece, is one of the more
intimate portraits of the artist that I've ever seen. He's unguarded,
and reveals himself to be a funny and thoughtful, but ultimately
insecure...kid. He was 25 when it was shot (he died at 27), but he'd
already been rich and famous for four or five years; his career was,
for the most part, behind him. The interview really makes for a great
foundation on which, I think, a much better film could have been made,
but the final product leaves me feeling as though the whole thing is
just another in a long line of exploitations of him. Maybe it would
have made a difference for me had the film not been so overt in trying
to hammer it home for the viewer that he was such an important
historical figure. Even in death, it's like they can't just let this
guy be the stupid (and yeah, pretty smart) kid that he was.
Anyway, I did like the bits with
Julian Schnabel who shows up now and again. That arrogant prick has a habit of making me like him when he's doing just about anything but
painting,
and it was no different here. Even if they didn't bring it up in the
documentary (and they do) it would be nearly impossible to watch the
The Radiant Child without thinking of Schnabel's 1996
biopic,
which did the double-duty of not only revealing Julian Schnabel as
pretty great filmmaker but also introducing the world to Jeffery
Wright, who's just pretty great. The pretension of that film is
palpable, but I still like it as much as any artist biopic I've ever
seen. But I guess that's not saying a lot. Still, it's worth an embed.
See web-only content:
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/01/based-on-a-true-story/68964/
In
The Radiant Child, Schnabel, who knew JMB but was several years
older and more established as an artist, explains the motivation behind
his film as an attempt to tell the kid who always seemed so interested
in his (Schnabel's) opinion that he truly respected him. I guess that's
acceptable. It's kind of sweet in a condescending sort of way. (Oh,
Julian! You loveable asshole!) Anyway, at least it's not all about hero
worship. It helps that the film is pretty good. I wonder if Milos
Forman had a good excuse for
Goya's Ghosts. Not good enough, I'm sure.
I
understand the impulse behind making these movies, but it so rarely
works out for the best, even if it seems, at first, as though it
should. Paintings may be visually interesting, but the act of making
them, generally, is not, so the dilemma becomes how to force drama into
a kind of boring existence. Generally, that's exactly how it feels:
forced.
One of the more peculiar artist films I've ever
seen, and one of the better ones, decided to go in the opposite
direction. It is the 1992 Spanish film: Victor Erice's
El Sol del Membrillo.
While the title literally translates to "Quince Tree of the Sun," when
the film was released in the US it was called
Dream of Light.
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http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/01/based-on-a-true-story/68964/
The film follows the remarkable
Antonio Lopez Garcia
as he takes on what becomes the Sisyphean task of trying to paint a
quince tree in his back garden before the fruit begins to spoil. It
contains all of the major trappings of a documentary, but as the
American title may allude, as is the case in dreams, the happenings in
this film may not be entirely as they seem. Along with Erice, Lopez is
given a writing credit, and while the film never quite tips its hand,
you soon become aware that, whatever the film is, it definitely isn't a
documentary.
It can be a difficult film to watch and,
even more so, to describe in an interesting way. There's an awful lot
of screen time devoted to the artist's methodical process, full of
meticulous (to the point of being idiosyncratic) measurements and
cryptic markings, and as you become more conscious of the fact that
what you're watching isn't a straightforward documentary, you may begin
to resent the film, or the painter, for what you could infer as an
incomprehensible self-indulgence. I remember that being my first
response. I remember walking away from the film feeling deeply
frustrated, but the film stayed with me long after those feelings had
faded.
I don't know if I can easily nail down why the
film stays with me still. I think it has something to do with the
devotion I talked about on Monday. Without going too deeply into the
plot, when the film begins, you get the sense that it may be little
more than an extended metaphor on the fruits of labor, but somewhere
along the way, the dream shifts, and the film turns almost
tragic--well, as tragic as film about a guy painting a tree can be.
While it's unclear how much, if any, of what the film documents is
real, the Antonio Lopez we're presented with by the end of the film is
almost a classic antihero.
After a while you begin to
realize that he's set himself up for failure, and a pointless failure
at that, one that could be averted if he weren't so stubborn. But he
continues to plod along uncompromisingly, and near the final act of the
film, you feel as though you're Sancho Panza and that you've spent the
last hour watching Don Quixote joust with the windmills. You admire
him, but at the same time you just want him to stop. It's more or less
how I think my wife feels if she ever has the stomach to watch me work.
I think of that film and I think of her. And I think of me, and I
realize that I'm an idiot.
I don't know how
comfortable I feel recommending the film. I couldn't embed a clip with
subtitles. YouTube has the whole thing available and split into ten
minute sections: The first of which is
here.
I think it's worth a shot; if you find that it grabs you, just click to
the next and the next and the next.
The Radiant Child is available to
stream on Netflix, so it may also be only a couple of clicks away.
This article available online at:
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/01/based-on-a-true-story/68964/
