Don Millar's BOTERO: Info-filled hagiography about a divisive-though-popular artist

Viewing the 2018 bio-doc -- just now getting a virtual theatrical release here in the USA -- about artist Fernando Botero proved a pretty bizarre experience.

While TrustMovies has watched and enjoyed bio-docs about all kind of artists, from those whose work he actively dislikes (Mark Kostabi) to those whose work he loves (Ursula von Rydingsvard), this may be the first time he's seen a bio-doc about someone whose work he doesn't care much about, one way or the other.

I've long imagined that Botero had made his mark on the art world by absolutely nailing, in his own adorable-if-repetitive manner, the increasing trend in our western world toward obesity. But, no -- the director of this film, Don Millar (shown at left), begins his movie with the following quote: "You can't go creating something that's a work of genius without first being controversial." 

That controversy, as we haltingly learn during the course of the film, has to do with how the critical establishment tends to view his art. Which is not, shall we say, in high esteem. (The single naysaying critic we're allowed to hear from in this documentary refers to Botero's work as the Pillsbury Doughboy of art.)

Still, Botero (shown above, as a younger man), according to the film, is the artist with the most museum exhibitions in the world, has had the most books published about his art, and is the most popular living artist in the world. Which is rather like saying that, critically speaking, the Star Wars franchise ought to have won every Oscar in every category over the past few decades.

For fans of Botero, and they are legion, the movie provides a good look at a lot of his output, along with some interesting information in terms of his and his family's history in his native country of Colombia and how he began as a newspaper artist (that's he, above, in more recent times) and then traveled to Spain, the USA, and other European countries. We hear most often from his adult daughter (shown below) and son about his life and work, and we view that daughter and some workmen opening a long-sealed vault where more of the artist's work -- unseen for years -- is now unveiled.

Via archival footage, we learn about the artist and of the automobile accident in which he lost his youngest child. In terms of crtical assessment (other than that Pillsbury reference), we hear mostly from family, friends and fans, some of which are indeed part of the art establishment, and who tell us of the artist's keen sense of humor that is included in much of his work, along with his consistently going back to the great masters -- from Piero della Francesco to da Vinci to Rubens -- and retooling their work in his own special style. We also learn how he moved from painting into sculpture.

Most interesting to me was seeing and hearing how various current events -- from the drug cartels and violence in his home country to the USA's prisoner torture in Abu Ghraib -- influenced his art. It is encouraging to see something other than his sunny colors and charmingly rotund figures for a change. (It does seem odd, though, that he can despise the torture in Iraq but not seem to mind that accorded to the bulls in the "art" of bullfighting.)

The film ends with a lovely gathering of Botero's extended family, just preceded by references to his many contributions to museums -- of his own work and that of other artists -- as well as a look at his famous sculpture of The Dove, which was deliberately bombed, and which he decided to leave on display with its damage intact, while placing a new Dove sculpture right next to it.

Despite the barely camouflaged hagiography on near-constant display, the film does offers a lot of information about Botero. But for me, the artist's non-stop, in-your-face, fat, flat stylization remains a deal-breaker. The unintentionally funniest moment in the film comes as one of his fans explains that his work is so much more than merely "a recognizable style. After all, Hello Kitty has a recognizable style." Exactly.

From Corinth Films and running 83 minutes, the documentary opened in virtual theatrical release earlier this month. Click here to view a list of virtual playdates, cities and theaters.

Finally, one hellava artist worth knowing and viewing -- Daniel Traub's URSULA VON RYDINGSVARD: Into Her Own

After watching quite a few documentaries over the years about visual artists of some note, and finding them ranging -- to my taste, at least -- anywhere from so-so to very good, what a knockout it is to encounter URSULA VON RYDINGSVARD: Into Her Own. This merely 57-minute (not one of those wasted) movie, directed by American filmmaker Daniel Traub, introduces an artist new to me, the work of whom opened my eyes (and mind and maybe even soul) in ways I did not expect.

Mr. Traub (shown at left, who both directed and shot the movie) does a fine job of combining Ms von Rydingsvard's family history with her art -- regarding its theme(s), provenance and psychology.

It is the artist herself (below, center) who narrates a good portion of the documentary, recalling her early life, her hugely abusive father and more kindly mother, and the positive ways in which art impacted her and how, now, she continues to pay this back in kind.

The movie begins with the sound of what could be the finale of Ibsen's A Doll's House; then we're told that "touch" is the hallmark of this artist's unsettlingly beautiful work (von Rydingsvard herself tells us that she dislikes the word "beautiful").

Still, her sculptures in wood, copper and bronze seem to TrustMovies to be among the most magnificent, immense and utterly organic he has ever seen. One interviewee here -- these include friends, family, artist, critics and gallery owners -- calls her work "monumental," which proves yet another potent and choice description.

Von Rydingsvard and her family were formally "displaced persons" post-World War II, and her early life was difficult, even after the family of nine emigated to the USA and settled in a working class town in Connecticut. When Ursula marries (that's she as a young woman, above), it is to someone  -- perhaps not surprisingly -- who possesses a little too much in common with her father.

Striking out on her own, as a single parent of one young daughter (whom we see as child and meet as adult), she comes to New York City, and with the savings she's managed to accrue, buys her own loft and begins her real career. Fortunately the documentary offers up a lot of her work through the years, so we can see her change and growth -- including one unusual sculpture that actually moves.

By the time this near-hour has ended, I think we know the woman and her work about as well as could be possible in this short a time frame. At 77 years old, she is still going strong, and as friend and fellow-artist Judy Pfaff notes at the conclusion, "I always thought that when Ursula had achieved a certain level of success, then she could finally relax. What was I thinking? That ain't gonna happen."

From Icarus Films, the documentary opens at New York City's Film Forum in "virtual" release tomorrow, Friday, May 29. For more information on how to view the film, click here.

Note: Join Film Forum for a live, virtual Q&A 

with Ursula von Rydingsvard & Daniel Traub, 

director of Ursula Von Rydingsvard: Into Her Own

 on Sunday, May 31, 5:00 PM EST 

 FREE ADMISSION (first come, first served)

BEYOND THE VISIBLE--HILMA AF KLINT could change what we know of abstract-art history

Yours truly follows the art world only cursorily -- very cursorily -- so he had never heard of the eponymous subject of the new documentary, BEYOND THE VISIBLE -- HILMA AF KLINT. It will turn out, I suspect, that many of the folk who follow art more closely than I may not have heard of Ms Klint, either. So this new documentary should go far in terms of introducing viewers to an unusual woman who was a contemporary of Kandinsky and who, some feel, was his superior --  not to mention his forerunner -- regarding abstract art.

The documentary's director, Halina Dyrschka (shown at left), whose first full-length film this is, combines the history of her subject with that of art history, art criticism and the usual talking heads so many documentaries include in order to make their salient points.

The most important of these points would seem to be that Klint (shown below) has been deliberately overlooked by the art establishment, first, because she was female, and second, because she believed in and painted the "spiritual." That she was also involved in various seances -- so popular around the turn of the twentieth century -- didn't much help her reputation, either.

Yet seeing some of this woman's very large and gloriously colored work early on in the film makes a good case for her inclusion, and listening to some of the talking heads remark on the reasons why Klint was not included should raise your hackles properly. The most incisive of these is German Art Critic and Historian, Julia Voss (below), whose follow-the-money explanation at film's finale makes a good deal of sense ("It's all about how much money you can make, and with Hilma, you can't make any!"), while the most charming and resonant voice belongs to German Historian of Science, Ernst Peter Fischer, who cleverly links Klint a little more to science than to spirituality.

In fact, it's this spirituality connection, along with the corresponding work Klint did during this rather lengthy period of her life that seems to me the least interesting and accomplished of her oeuvre. This stuff more often resembles exercises than real art, and unfortunately the filmmaker spends an awfully long time with and on it all.

Part of the reason for this, I suspect, is that Klint was a very private person, so not much of her personal life is (or maybe can be) explored here. Instead we get more of who she knew and what they thought and why all this added up to her exclusion.

While not uninteresting, this finally becomes a bit repetitive, as does the art that goes along with this period. It's less than overwhelming. (So are the repetitive shots of someone we assume to be standing in for Klint, recreating the painting of her large canvases.)

TrustMovies was about to decide that, overall, he wasn't much taken with this Klint-o-mania, but then we get to the point at which a huge array of her work has a showing at last in her home country of Sweden. Now, we begin to see a fuller picture and, yes, we're caught up in the beauty and originality of her paintings all over again.

Now, what we viewed toward the beginning of the film -- comparison of Klint's work with that of Albers, Klee, Twobly and even Warhol -- seems even more telling. As does the unwillingness of the art establishment -- then and now -- to give this artist anywhere near full entry or to recognize her place as a pioneer of abstract art. Thankfully this is changing, and Beyond the Visible: Hilma Af Klint should only add to the change.

From Zeitgeist Films and Kino Lorber, the documentary was to have had its theatrical release last week in New York City, but will now get a virtual theatrical release across the USA digitally beginning this Friday, April 17, via Kino Marquee.  Click here for more information.

Molly Bernstein's AN ART THAT NATURE MAKES: THE WORK OF ROSAMOND PURCELL

Unclassifiable -- into a single category, at least. That would be Rosamond Purcell, who is, in the words of author Jonathan Safran Foer, an artist, scholar, documentarian and living cabinet of wonder. "Her originality defies category..."  Ms Purcell is yet another of the subjects of these wonderful documentaries -- that seem to debut almost monthly at New York City's Film Forum -- that TrustMovies knew nothing of prior to seeing and thoroughly enjoying the full-length but relatively short movie made about Purcell and her work by Molly Bernstein (who back in 2013 gave us the magical doc on Ricky Jay, Deceptive Practice).

Ms Bernstein, shown at left, has both directed and edited this 75-minute movie, and she's packed it full of oddball wonders and bizarre creations that come from the singular Ms Purcell, whom we meet and view in both current times, below, and way-back-when, shown at bottom. (We also meet her husband of many years, who seems a near-perfect helpmeet.)

A highly intelligent woman who is particularly good at expressing herself (much of what we hear her say here, I believe, has been taken directly from her writings), Purcell tells us right up front regarding her art: "I've stuck with containment, and yet I'm always trying to pick the lock."

Soon we hear from a whole raft of people from Errol Morris to Mr. Jay, as well as museum curators and the like -- each of whom resides at the pinnacle of his or her industry -- and what they have to say about the artist and her work is every bit as intelligent and fascinating as the woman herself.

Just as documentarian Nikolaus Geyrhalter finds immense beauty in desolation in his new documentary Homo Sapiens, Purcell finds hers in weirdness, sickness, death and the discarded. and yet her work does not seem ugly or sleazy. Instead it just seems mysterious. As Mr. Morris says about it: "Her work preserves the mystery of the object."

That work involves photography (in which she uses natural light only), collage, natural history, and lots more, eventually taking us into the realm of Shakespeare! The movie begins in the junkyard of a friend and supplier, whom she calls Bucky, and it finally ends there, too, even as Purcell tells us of Bucky's death and shows us the destruction of the building, the contents of which have been such a source of inspiration.

I would suggest that one viewing is probably not enough to get full measure out of this short documentary. Purcell's work is so strange, encompassing, rich and often, somehow, just out of reach. You have to keep looking. And thinking. And making connections.

From BOND/360, An Art That Nature Makes: The Work of Rosamond Purcell opens this Wednesday, August 10, for only a one-week run at New York City's Film Forum. Also on this program will be an eight-minute short directed by Lisa Crafts, called Season of Wonder.

Pieter van Huystee's art documentary opens--HIERONYMUS BOSCH: TOUCHED BY THE DEVIL

In art appreciation classes throughout much of the world, and for decades now, I would guess -- this was certainly true in my day, anyway -- it was always the work of Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch that woke up many of us sleepyheads, who might have nodded off during the lectures on Giotto, Titian, Goya and, hell, even Rembrandt. But Bosch? Never. That work was just too bizarre -- something like the most imaginative X-rated sci-fi fantasy wonderland of pain and evil you could imagine back then. (Even now, too.) With all the current special CGI effects at their beck and call, I am not sure that today's filmmakers have ever quite outdone old Hieronymus -- the death of whom some 500 years ago we celebrate in 2016.

Which brings us to the new documentary by Pieter van Huystee (shown at right; this is his first time as director, after some 80 producing credits), which is all about that art, the artist, and some of the men and women art experts, archivists and curators who explore, treasure and guard that work today. HIERONYMUS BOSCH: TOUCHED BY THE DEVIL is an informative, occasionally surprising and sometimes slow-moving (sleepyheads who watch it may undergo anew their art-history class experience) look at Bosch's art and the question of its attribution. (There evidently were lots of artists in the Bosch family.)

As we learn via explanatory titles at the film's beginning, only 25 paintings by Hieronymus are known to still exist, and his home town of Den Bosch is celebrating the anniversary with a major exhibition at its Noordbrabants Museum-- except that the city and museum actually possess none of his art. This means running around the world to beg and borrow various works from places such as The Prado in Spain; in Venice, Italy; and larger museums in The Netherlands.

Also on the visitation list is a relatively unknown museum here in the USA, which wonders, via some surprise communication, if it might possess a so-far unheralded work by Bosch. As the documentary unfolds, we meet and spend some time with a few of the art experts who, thanks to the latest technology (they can tell whether a painting was executed by a right-handed or left-handed artist), make pretty good judgment calls as to the authenticity of various pieces of art. The results of of their "calls" will surprise you (as it no doubt did some of the museums who house these would-be Bosches).

The experts are identified by name in the doc, though we don't get to learn very much about them. We are also made privy to some of their conversation -- too much of it, actually -- which is part of what slows the movie down. But we also pick up some interesting info about the artist and the work itself: Bosch's use of owls (thought in that day to be the devil's birds) and how his experience as a child during one of his city's major fire's was expressed so often in his paintings.

There's a little suspense along the way regarding The Prado and the possibility of a "loan" (Italy proves more helpful than Spain in that area), and of course all that authentification business. TrustMovies also learned more than he'd known previously about a certain Bosch triptych and an unfortunate woman who became "The Bearded Saint."

Also, and once again, we're confronted with that nagging question of why hell, along with its enticements and discontents, is so much more interesting and fun than heaven. Bosch painted them both, but he lavished infinitely much more time and detail on the former, while the latter looks mostly -- as usual -- generic.  Somewhat slow and sleepy overall, the documentary is redeemed by its close-up look at the paintings, as well as by what we learn about how these experts accomplish what they do.

From Kino Lorber and running 87 minutes, Hieronymus Bosch: Touched by the Devil, after screening last week at DC's National Gallery of Art, has its U.S. theatrical premiere this Wednesday, July 27, in New York City at Film Forum for a two-week run, then hits Los Angeles at Laemmle's Royal on August 5, with appearances scheduled for ten other cities in the weeks to come. Click here (then click on PLAYDATES) to view all currently scheduled cities and theaters. 

The life and art of an unusual woman come together in Marcie Begleiter's EVA HESSE

This is clearly the week for artists, as, over the past several days, TrustMovies has viewed and covered very good documentaries about David Hockney, Edith Lake Wilkinson and now EVA HESSE. The last of these is a woman whose career took off in the late 1960s but by the end of May 1970 was dead. Before watching the fine new documentary written and directed by Marcie Begleiter, I knew little to nothing about Ms Hesse. Now I feel as though she was one of the most important, perhaps the most important of artists of that time period -- not simply able to understand and presage art trends of the day but to take them and make them her own, leaving us with a phenomenal amount of fine art (a retrospective of her work filled up the walls of the entire Guggenheim Museum) in which quality very likely equalled quantity.

This is Ms Begleiter's (the documentarian is shown at right) first film as writer and director, though she has held a number of art-related job on films over the past three decades. I think she has done a remarkable job of bringing together some marvelous archival footage, interviews with friends. family and other artists of the period so that we get quite a rich sense of Ms Hesse's life and her art -- from perspectives social, historical, artistic and especially psychological.

As Lucy Lippard, one of the many people interviewed here, explains, "With Eva, it's almost impossible not to think psychologically when you know her art and you know her as a person." After viewing this fine documentary, I suspect most audiences will feel they know both the woman and her art -- certainly better than they did going into the film.

Born in Germany, post the takeover of Hitler but just prior to WWII, Eva (shown above and below) and her sister were among the last Jewish children to leave Germany for Holland on the kindertransports. Eventually the sisters and their parents were reunited, ending up in the USA (the rest of Eva's extended family perished in the Holocaust).

We learn of her tentative steps toward art, as well as her relationships with friends and eventually with Tom Doyle the artist who would become her significant other for much of her short life, We see her expand and grow as an artist, with help from those friends -- Sol LeWitt was probably the biggest help (this artist loved her, and the two were extremely close, like 'family,' but as Eva noted, "You don't go to bed with your brother") -- until she was ready, as we're told, "to take all the influences she saw and then use them in her own way."

A trip to Germany, where she and her boyfriend worked on new art, was empowering -- even if, eventually, the two finally split. "Eva was very high maintenance," her ex explains, while admitting that, yes, maybe he did drink a little too much. All the while her work continued to grow in wit, charm, shock and meaning ("Hang Up," a splendid combo of painting as sculpture, is a particular amazement.)

She eventually treks from post-abstract impressionism to surrealism then to minimalism -- which was the art of the day -- but Eva kept it all personal and specific and consequently, perhaps, more womanly? She gets her own show at last, and then discovers new materials -- and even begins making these materials herself.

When the downturn comes, suddenly, it's a shock and a horror. Mostly, though, it seems beyond untimely. What might Eva have done had she lived to the length that most artists manage? But as finally explained:
"Life doesn't last. Art doesn't last. It doesn't matter." (That's Eva, below, with Josef Albers.)

Eva Hesse, from Zeitgeist Films and running a long but fascinating 105 minutes, opens this Wednesday, April 27, at Film Forum in New York City. It will open in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Monica Film Center on May 13. To view the many other playdates throughout the country, with cities and theaters listed, simply click here. 

In BECAUSE I WAS A PAINTER, Christophe Gognet tackles the Holocaust via its inmates' art

If you imagine that you've now seen The Holocaust from just about every possible angle, think again. Here's a new one -- from Christophe Gognet, the writer and director of BECAUSE I WAS A PAINTER: ART THAT SURVIVED THE NAZI CAMPS -- that gives us the horror all over again via the art created by concentration camp victims, some of these survivors who are, or were until very recently, still with us. (The film was made a few years ago and was first viewed art the Rome Film Festival in 2013.)

M. Cognet, shown at right, begins his film on the site, I believe, of one of the concentration camps on which has been placed row after row of jagged stones. These appear to be gravestones, and this is clearly some kind of memorial. Then we hear an artist tell us that the beauty here comes from the pain-ter, not from the corpse. Next we view a painting of many corpses, as the artist explains, "We've all seen a dead person. Even children have seen this. But heaps of dead people? This fascinates you."

Not everyone would agree. Certainly the next artist featured -- Samuel Willenberg, who survived Treblinka -- does not. "What beauty?!" he practically shouts. "There is none. Devoid." The filmmaker allows us to have plenty of time to judge for ourselves, as we see the work of both survivors and of many of the artists who died but managed to leave behind a surprising amount of their work. And as no photos were ever taken of certain camps, such as Sobibor, the single drawing extant of women being gassed there gives us the only semi-eye-witness account that we have -- even if it could not have been viewed by the artist from the inside-the-gas-chamber POV that is shown in the drawing. (More likely this came from accounts given by a guard or a kapo.)

Later in the film, an artist talks about one of his works, a staggering painting of a single young and pregnant woman shown in various stages: just prior to learning she will be gassed and then coming to terms  -- visceral and horrifying -- with what this means to her and her unborn child. I doubt you will be able to erase this piece of "art," once seen, from your mind. This and much else that we see is fascinating, yes, but creepily so. Like so much real art, it takes hold of you in ways that even -- especially, perhaps -- Hollywood movies such as Schindler's List can't manage. (For perhaps the best "art" film about the Holocaust, try the Hungarian masterpiece Fateless, from Lajos Koltai.)

Cognet's film gives us artists who were inmates of the concentration camps talking about their experience -- and the "art" of it. In between, the slow-moving camera sweeps over all -- from landscapes and camps (today and in their former days) to paintings and drawings of the faces (both drawn and photographed) of inmates and the artists. Along the way, these artists talk about the old days. "On Sundays, when we didn't work," (who knew that concentration camp victims got Sunday off?), "we'd talk about art," one of them explains. "The smell of linseed oil -- it was just the same as at home!"

We learn of the late Dinah Gottliebova, who drew portraits for Doctor Mengele, and demanded, once these were unearthed post-war, that they be returned to her. Why were they not is explained quite interestingly and thoroughly. We learn too of Franciszek Jazwiecki, the artist who managed to paint Holocaust victims in four different camps -- and what portraits (shown below) these are!

Overall, this documentary, a kind of dirge with occasional shocking and/or joyous moments, provides a new way of looking at the horror we already know -- and just possibly rising even a step above it. I mentioned earlier the slow-moving camera, and you will have to accept this slow pace. If the experience is not quite like, in the words of the character portrayed by Gene Hackman in Night Moves, "watching paint dry," it is something like watching a painting come slowly into being. Clearly this snail pace was a directorial choice, and we must honor this, though I think M. Cognet could easily have excised a good ten or fifteen minutes of footage and not made his movie any the lesser for it. What remains is still quite something: an original, important and thought-and-feeling-provoking addition to Holocaust history.

Because I Was a Painter --from The Cinema Guild and running 105 minutes -- open this Friday in New York City at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema and then expands next month to Santa Fe and Columbus. Click here and then scroll down to see all currently scheduled playdates.