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		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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