Final Portrait (2/10)
by Tony Medley
Runtime 90 minutes
R
The only thing I can
figure is that writer-director Stanley Tucci wanted to capture the
tedium involved in sitting for a portrait for a famous artist. So what
he created was a movie as tedious to sit through as it was for James
Lord to sit for a painting in 1964 for the artist Alberto Giacometti.
This painting eventually sold for $20 million.
Tucci adapted this
from James Lord’s memoir “A Giacometti Portrait.” Why he thought this
would be cinematic is anybody’s guess.
In essence, all we
see is Giacometti (Geoffrey Rush) painting and Lord (Armie Hammer)
sitting. I, frankly, thought this was going to be a dialogue between
Giacometti and Lord. It is nothing of the sort
Giacometti is
presented as a goofball who says ridiculous things to justify his
constantly destroying the painting and starting over again, like,
“that’s the terrible thing: the more one works on a picture, the more
impossible it becomes to finish it,” and “It’s gone too far, and at the
same time not far enough.” Maybe to Tucci and Giacometti this sounds
profound but to most people is just sheer, utter nonsense.
Giacometti is
pictured as a selfish, unfaithful egoist. He openly cheats on his wife,
Annette (Sylvie Testud) to consort with his prostitute Caroline (Clémence
Poésy), and Annette, in turn, cheats on him. One comment I can make is
that Caroline made the right choice in becoming a prostitute because she
is one of the most annoying characters one could hope to see. If she was
like this in real life the only way she was going to get any romance or
sex would be to offer her sexual favors with the promise that she
wouldn’t hang around for long afterwards. I tend to think, however, that
the real Caroline was probably a more enjoyable companion than Tucci has
made her here.
Exacerbating all this
is the lackluster cinematography (Danny Cohen) that is dull and bland,
despite the Parisian location.
While this might
capture Giacometti’s goofy personality, it’s an extraordinarily boring
tale.
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