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.

AGNES VARDA: FROM HERE TO THERE screens free tomorrow at the FSLC and plays the SundanceNOW DOC Club in June

What is it that makes little Agnès Varda (below) such a nonstop delight? This whirlwind of energy and ideas and connections -- filmmaker, documentarian, artist, raconteur and widow of another fine filmmaker, Jacques Demy -- has a (relatively) new series of documentaries, made for and shown on French television back in 2011, and titled AGNES VARDA: From Here to There (Agnès Varda: de ci de là).

This utterly charming, nonstop fascinating series of five separate episodes, each running 45 minutes, will make its New York City debut tomorrow (Saturday. May 31) at and courtesy of the Film Society of Lincoln Center at 6pm in the Film Center Amphitheater, where it will screen free of charge. Tickets will be distributed one hour prior to performance time at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center, only one ticket per person, and you can expect a line to form somewhat early. (If you miss its FSLC screening or live elsewhere around our huge country, the series will begin showing on the SundanceNOW DOC Club in June -- the best reason I can imagine to join this excellent documentary content provider.)

TrustMovies expected to watch only a couple of the five episodes before covering the series, but no --  that was not to be. Each segment is so accomplished and riveting in its quiet and unshowy manner, as it brings you up-close-and-personal to various artists, filmmakers and friends of Ms Varda that I couldn't wait to get to the next episode. In fact, I decided that there could not be a better way to start my day with with this series, so I watched one every day earlier this week with my morning coffee and oats. Each 45 minutes held me rapt and left me feeling terrific -- eager to begin my day. How much more can you ask of a documentary?

Varda's secret, I am guessing, is simply a matter of taste -- her own good taste and willingness to look at and be challenged by most anything/everything she views. The connections she makes are significant, and though I was unaware of most of the artists she covers, their work proved so interesting that there was not one I wasn't pleased to have brought to my attention.

In episode one, she tackles Chris Marker, and, as usual, anyone who tried this, vis-a-vis the late filmmaker, comes a cropper. As much as I love Marker's work, the man himself was so bent on keeping as much of himself and his own personality out of view that Agnès can only play around a bit to little avail (she does some cute things with Marker's cats) and then we move on.

Soon we're in Nantes with Anouk Aimée and Michel Piccoli for a celebration of M. Demy. Then we meet many more artists even more interesting than the mysterious Mr. Marker, though their work may be less so. We see collage, installations, singers, painters.  "I wonder what happened before that?" Varda remarks of a photo (above) we're just then viewing. And then she shows us an entire "before" video of these same people. She's such a little devil!

Manoel de Oliveira, whose Gebo and the Shadow only just opened here, turns up in this episode, too, telling us that "Reality is a dramatization organized by society." Interesting. He also notes that "Solitude is something I have no experience with," and then does a fine Charlie Chaplin impersonation and some splendid fencing (below), using his cane. What a guy! (What an 102-year-old guy! At the time, actually: he's now 105.)

Episode two takes us to Brazil, Brussles, Stockholm and Venice. In a Brazilian gift shop, Varda notes all the work on display and remarks, "You get a lot of hope for five Euros." We see again some of her marvelous work from The Beaches of Agnes. And then it's off to Brussles for a Magritte celebration! A highlight here is the woman journalist who comes to interview Varda. She is bald. Of course Agnès wants to know more about this, and so turns the tables and interviews her.

Episode three takes us to Basel, Cologne and St. Petersburg, where we see an igloo made of huge stones and then cathedral made of dried but quite edible pasta. Agnes eats it, with a bit of grated German cheese. There are potato images galore (above and below: that's Varda in a potato suit with the late Jonas Mekas). If she occasionally tells us things we either already know or could easily figure out (looking out at a city, she says, "Hundreds of thousands of people I don't know, and they all have their lives." Well, yes.), more often she'll come up with something swift, smart and fun.

Artist Christian Boltanski notes that "We all have our own dead child still inside us" (his morphing self-portrait goes from adult back to child). His wife, Annette Messager, is also an artist, whose work is perhaps even more interesting than that of her spouse. The two discuss their living situation in a sensible, thoughtful way, coming to terms with why we love who (or what) we do.

Episode Four takes us to Lyon for a 2009 art event. We begin with the Chinese and move on to Mr. Button, (Varda, above, has given that name to this artist she love). Then Varda returns to La Pointe Courte (the eponymous site of her first full-length film) and meets some of the men who played extras in that film, now fifty years later! We meet Jean-Louis Trintignant (below) and hear that famous actor read poetry and then speak quietly with Varda. We learn about fishing, too, and some odd facts: "Did you know that 90% of all fish are caught dead?"

The final episode takes us to Mexico, where the huge difference between the classes registers strongly. To Varda's credit, she bites the hand that feeds her (literally) by contrasting the enormous breakfast spread of food she is offered with the beggars and street vendors outside the four-star hotel where she is being housed by the film society that invited her there. The art we see is wondrous, however, and we also get a very interesting interview with Carlos Reygadas and a visit to Frida Kahlo's home.

The above are my highlights; you'll have your own. If you're already a Varda fan, you'll do whatever it takes to see this series. If you're new to the woman, this series -- from The Cinema Guild and running a total of three hours and 45 minutes -- is a fine place to make her acquaintance.

Art, life, aging, nostalgia: Fernando Trueba's THE ARTIST & THE MODEL

Coming as it does rather closely on the heels of this year's Renoir, and having, besides, so many similarities to Gilles Bourdos' luminous French film, THE ARTIST AND THE MODEL from award-winning Spanish filmmaker Fernando Trueba almost demands comparison, odious as that can be. As good as Senor Trueba's movie sometimes is, it does pale a bit against the very fine former film.

Let's start with the subject. The eponymous title of Trueba's movie (the filmmaker is shown at right) could as easily have been used on Bourdos'. Both deal with the artist and his model, though in the case of the French film, that artist is Renoir. Here, the artist, though based I am sure on one or more actual sculptors, is a fictional figure. Both men, however, get their models via their very supportive, loving wives -- who, having modeled for their man earlier in life, know just the sort of body he is looking for.

Further, both film are set in France against a backdrop of war: Renoir has WWI going on at a discreet distance; The Artist and the Model uses WWII for some suspense and philosophy, particularly in a scene in which a German officer and friend of the sculptor pays an unexpected visit just as a partisan (newcomer Martin Gamet, above) is in hiding on the premises.

One big difference -- and a good one -- between the movies is that Trueba chose to film his in black-and-white. The look of the film is marvelous; it takes us immediately back, not so much to the place itself -- France in the early 1940s or late 30s -- but to all the other movies we've seen about this location and time.

This also works well due to the kind of art each of our men produces: Renoir was involved in color and light, while our guy, called Marc Cros (and played with enormous subtlety and discretion by the great Jean Rochefort, above), sculpts in clay which is eventually cast into white marble. We don't miss the color in his work; instead the lovely b/w cinematography (from first-time credited cinematographer Daniel Vilar) creates a hugely nostalgic time and place.

Similar, too, in these films is the manner in which the first-time model learns her trade and the relationship that grows between artist and model.  Trueba's film, in fact, takes this into slightly more intimate territory than did Bourdos'. The model here is played by Aida Folch, (shown above and below) a young Catalonian actress not yet 30 who has already made 30 film and TV appearances. She's a terrific choice -- able to bring a quiet ferocity and strength to her role, even as she learns and grows. Plus -- she's got a dynamite body. What artist wouldn't want to use her?

As the wife and model-procurer, Claudia Cardinale (below, left, whom I must admit I did not recognize in this  role, so much has she changed from her earlier glamour days) is properly loving and helpful, with the great Spanish character actress Chuz Lampreave (below, right), doing a nice turn as the family's acerbic-but-kind housekeeper.

Though this film was nominated last year for 13 Goya awards, it won none, and I can rather guess why. Trueba, a good enough filmmaker, never comes close to greatness. His work varies from OK (Belle Epoque) to very good Chico & Rita to much-less-than (The Dancer and the Thief), and he does like to underline things.

Sometimes this works to surprisingly wonderful effect, as in the scene in which Rochefort tutors Folch on the delights of a Rembrandt sketch. This becomes a sublime 5 to 10-minute art class in which we and the model learn so much and, thanks to the actors and the writing, is beautifully conceived and performed.

Yet another scene that comes out of nowhere fares not nearly so well. Taking place between a group of schoolkids and a local priest, it is meant, I guess, to underline the paltry place of religion in society, and show us the difficulties of dealing with the human body unclothed -- with both of which I fully agree. But the scene is so ham-fisted and unnecessary that the viewer may wonder why it has to be there at all.

On balance, I would still have to recommend The Artist and the Model -- for its subject, visual beauty, performances and a particularly graceful flow. (It is slow-moving, however, so get ready to let your eyes range across the lovely panorama.) The movie, from Cohen Media Group and running 105 minutes, opens this Friday, August 2, in New York City at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema and in Los Angeles at The Landmark. Futher playdates nationwide will follow, as soon as Cohen gets them posted on its site....

Note: I was not able to do my planned Q&A with this filmmaker, 

but there is a very good one you can read by 

Anne-Katrin Titze at Eye For Film. 

Just click here.

Open Roads 2013: HANDMADE CINEMA--Guido Torlonia's feast of movie memorabilia

For those of you who appreciated last year's look at the work of famed Italian production designer Dante Ferretti (above, left), I suspect you'll find this year's documentary nod to Italian cinema history even more of a treat. In it we see not just Ferretti and his oft-times collaborator Francesca Lo Schiavo (above, right), but so many of the amazing artisans (or let's just call them "artists," as Signore Ferretti politely points out) who do the wonderful carpentry, sculpture, costumes, furniture, millinery work and so much more that have gone into great Italian cinema down the decades -- and is still going on, or maybe barely hanging on. But it's there. And now, with this terrific little film, we're made aware.

Here we meet everyone from the hat- and wig-makers (above) to the jewelers and each is as fascinating, fun and charming as you could want. We watch them work and see some of their hits from ages (and films) past. For those of us of a certain age, this is spectacular and highly nostalgic. If names like Piero Tosi, Maurizio Millenotti and Gabriella Pescucci don't immediately ring a bell, they will once you've viewed this film.

We learn about Sophia Loren's famous wigs, watch a father and son (above) grow annoyed with each other (but keep it all under wraps), and learn that the folk who build the sets are indeed actual furniture makers, carpenters and construction people who know what they are doing -- and do it right.

The costumes from The Leopard?  They're here, all right. The hats worn by Silvana Mangano in  Death in Venice?  Ah, yes! And we're told about and see the paintings of the recreated Sistine Chapel from the half-century-old Agony and the Ecstasy.

The documentary is a wonderful paean to the hand-crafters who have made Italian cinema the wonder that it is. As someone notes, during the course of the film, "If you want to invest in Italy, invest in the crafts!" With a fine narration by Chiara Mastroianni, who tells us lovingly about visiting the sets on which her famous father labored, the film works its magic doubly. And the ending, with Chiara as a little girl, is simply exquisite, enchanting.

Handmade Cinema, directed by Guido Torlonia (shown at right) and written by Torlonia and Laura Delli Colli, runs just 52 minutes and plays twice at Open Roads in the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center: on Friday, June 7, at 3:45 and again Sunday, June 9, also at 3:45. On the program with this documentary is another doc -- The Rescue, by Giovanna Taviani (click and scroll down)-- which I have not seen but will during its public screenings at Open Roads, so I will report on it at that time.  To view the entire Open Roads program, click here.

Jason Cohn & Bill Jersey's EAMES: the Architect and the Painter opens in NY & LA

On any "word association" test, the name Eames would -- were it not simply to draw a blank stare -- be likely followed by the word "chair." The history of the famous Eames chair, one or another example of which we've all sat on (in the home, airport, auditorium, doctor's office) is one of the many surprising and often fascinating things we learn about Charles (husband) and Ray (wife) Eames, both the subjects of a fertile new documentary by filmmakers Jason Cohn and Bill Jersey entitled EAMES: THE ARCHITECT AND THE PAINTER.

Charles (above, right) was the architect, Ray (above, left) the painter, and both did extraordinary work. As one of several interesting people interviewed in the film explains, had that work concentrated in a single field rather than being spread over everything from furniture design to animated film to World's Fair exhibitions, the Eameses would probably long ago have been placed in the pantheon of art & design.

Though most of the activity the film observes took place a mere half-century ago, so much has changed over the ensuing decades that the documentary becomes, in addition to its other virtues, a kind of time-travel back to a day when a contract -- even one with a very large and important corporation such as IBM -- could be secured, as we see in the film, via a handshake. (In the photo above, which dates to 1948, the two are posing for a photo shoot on a Velocette motorcycle.)

Charles and Ray Eames are no longer household names (Ray never was), yet the two, as a couple and as individuals, are brought to remarkably full life by Cohn and Jersey (the filmmakers are shown below, with Cohn on the left).

We learn of Charles' earlier marriage and why it ended, about the wonderful collaboration between Charles and Ray, the development of that famous chair (and where Eero Saarinen fit into this), the many amazing and enduring projects the couple produced, the odd house they built (interior below, exterior further below) in Pacific Palisades, California -- and even something of their quirky personalities.

Charles, the charismatic one (the filmmakers have some good, ironic fun with this overused adjec-tive) reflects rather well, I think, the period of 1950s-60s America when men still appeared to rule completely. You'll think of Mad Men, and with good reason, while watching this particu-lar documentary.

Ray's activities (she was a pack rat extraordinaire) are explored, too, as are Charles' affairs -- one in particular, with a younger co-worker. Interestingly, the filmmakers allow this person to act as one of the film's interviewees well into things, before suddenly dropping this little bomb on us. Yet what we learn about this affair and how it played out speaks well for everyone concerned.

Early in their career the Eameses had a goal of providing themselves (and perhaps the world) with a seamless environment, as well as a seamless life. That this does not happen should come as no surprise to anyone who's lived very long. Yet within the couple's interesting story, not to mention their one-of-a-kind studio and workplace, can be found a lot of fun and humor. (One anecdote about a dinner at which the couple served flowers for dessert should have you laughing out loud.)

By the end of this alter-nately joyous and thought-ful film, you'll have developed a genuine appreciation for Charles and Ray and especially -- as I think they would have preferred -- for their work. The docu-mentary ends with a "keeper" of a statement about the debt we owe the Eameses, and how we should handle that debt.

Eames: the Architect and the Painter opens this Friday, November 18, in New York City (at the IFC Center) and Los Angeles (at the Laemmle Music Hall 3). It has already hit a number of other cities, festivals and theaters across the country, and there are even more to come. Click here to view them all.

Art about art that's also a form of performance art: Sophie Fiennes' odd OVER YOUR CITIES GRASS WILL GROW

Better come right out and tell your readers, TM: If you find yourself sitting in the dark, watching the new documentary, OVER YOUR CITIES GRASS WILL GROW and growing very antsy, do not get up and leave. Stick it out for around 20 minutes and your rewards -- if you appreciate art, film, artists and filmmakers -- will accrue. Up until that time, however, your patience may wear thin. Mine certainly did. The film begins with a title card that tells us that, in 1993 German artist Anselm Kiefer left his native land for La Ribaute, a derelict silk factory near Barjac in Southern France. From 2000, he began a series of elaborate constructions there -- everything from sculpture to tunnels, bridges, amphitheater, lake, towers and buildings (47 of 'em). Immediately, one wonders, why?

You will be able to answer that question (and a number of others you may not have even asked) by the time the film ends, some hour and 45 minutes later. But initially, with no dialog, explanation or further title cards, the film's director Sophie Fiennes, at left, simply takes her camera into what we can only presume must be this strange area where the artist has built his constructions. We wend our way down passages, into and out of rooms, hallways and strange spaces, with an amazing array of shapes and textures on display. Not much color, though -- mostly off-white to gray with a little blue and maybe some browns thrown in. "Well, this must be art," you think to yourself, and the experience of moving with the camera into these spaces may remind you of that of Werner Herzog's current Cave of Forgotten Dreams, but without the nitwit narration and with some 30,000 years spanning the work of the artists on display. (Fiennes' film also provides much better camerawork and visuals -- which is not a fair comparison, of course, as Herzog was somewhat stymied by all the rules and regulations of the Chauvet Cave, together with his decision to use 3D cameras).

For the first twelve minutes, the only motion, other than the constant forward movement of the camera, is suddenly provided by shards of falling glass -- a mirror, maybe? -- that descends onto a pile of what looks like more of the same. Fiennes' manner here is to have us simply stumble upon the place and then take an unguided tour, so that we must make of it what we will. She doesn't even translate Into English the various captions on the art. You will probably be able to figure out Les femmes de la révolution, the name of the series that presents what looks like a group of dark, combination beds/bathtubs representing women such as Charlotte Corday, but others, not so easily.

You'll have noticed that somewhere along the line, early on as I recall, music -- much of it by György Ligeti -- kicks in, making our tour a little more dramatic. At fifteen minutes or so, the music stops and ambient sound appears. Just about the time our patience is thinning noticeably, we see someworkmen, and perhaps the artist himself. Snippets of dialog between them occur as they work, and the movie suddenly becomes a kind of performance art about art. Look -- there's a cat! And children! Whose are they? We don't learn the answers to these questions, but around 45 minutes in, the artist begins to explain his work to a visitor -- perhaps a journalist -- and, boy do things pick up considerably.

From Kiefer's thoughts (the artist is shown gazing at a nearly finished piece, above) on evolution and where this fits into his art ("We are essentially water, we come from the sea.  This is the warm sea, to which we want to return, that takes us back to a single cell being in the ocean...") and how his art is filtered through his own psychology ("I fundamentally believe that through my work I can fill an empty room created in my childhoood -- a room which was devoid of things from the outside, as we had no internet nor television.") Then there's some philosophy, such as this, on the important of boredom: "You don't experience yourself when you are not bored, and thus begins consciousness of one's own existence. How incomplete I am and know nothing. We all are. But I can't reach the core, the law that keeps the world together."

I apologize if I am misquoting to some extent -- trying to scribble fast as I watched and listened -- but from this talk comes enormous understanding of what Kiefer's art means and why he engages in it. There is real, thoughtful philosophizing going on here, and, circle-like, art leads to it and comes from it. We could easily be that questioner/journalist, and Kiefer is both brave and kind in trying to answer our probably rather typical questions. (The artist's job, after all, is to create not explain.)

At around 55 minutes, we experience another ten minutes or so of following the camera and just looking, once again -- with music, and then more workmen, and another project, this one to do with liquifying some kind of metal into the ground (below), followed by a burst of flame (the movie's big "special effect"), cement filling up a large hole and...  are those giant, sculpted teeth? Yes.

Another project (or maybe it's part of the same one) offers ugliness, pain and jagged glass, with a child's slicker and glass protruding from its pockets.  During this section, we learn that Kiefer is swapping his Barjac headquarters for a studio in Paris. (The film should certainly make you want to visit Barjac in person!) Then we're on to the final project, below, inspired by The Bible, the artist explains, and by Lilith, who lived in ruins.

This series of towers, above, is certainly the film's most impressive creation (to my mind, at least), and the movie ends with more slow camera movement over and around the art as the music -- discordant yet somehow beautiful -- swells.

Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow offers the creation of art -- sculpture, architecture -- before our eyes, along with our understanding of how that art arrives. One does not experience something like this film at all often, which is reason enough for folk of a certain mindset to seek it out. (That's the artist, with Fiennes, above.) The documentary opens, via Alive Mind Cinema and Kino Lorber, this Wednesday for a two-week run at Film Forum in New York City. (You can find the FF screening times here.)  To learn where else Fiennes' film will be playing -- with cities, dates and theaters -- click here.