Modigliani
Screened at the Toronto International Film Festival
TORONTO -- Modigliani falls into the clutches of the romantic notion that an artistic life must be one of hedonistic excess and self-destructive behavior, of debauchery and irresponsibility nurtured by contempt for all social norms and mores. That any discipline, focus or commitment even goes into the art itself is incidental. Which can make for a lively movie full of parties, overwrought emotions and mad passion. But the hangover it produces makes you realize you have no idea with whom you spent more than two frenetic hours.
The film stars Andy Garcia as Amedeo Modigliani, the Jewish-Italian artist who helped turn early 20th century art into one of the most dynamic and expressive periods in art history. Only the film, written and directed by Scottish filmmaker Mick Davis, views its subject as a tempermental drunk, dancing on table tops at La Rotonde cafe and indulging in a childish rivalry with Pablo Picasso (burly Omid Djalili). Both views may be accurate, but the overwhelming emphasis on the latter distorts the significance of the former.
The film was reportedly made for $14 million in Romania -- a surprisingly ideal match for 1919 Paris -- so the producers should have no trouble getting into profit. In the domestic market, however, the art-house-meets-Animal House component may ultimately hurt its boxoffice.
Garcia's Modigliani -- Just call me Modi -- certainly has an all-star supporting "cast" for his supporting players. Davis situates his story in Paris in 1919, the penultimate year of Modi's life, where along with the sullen and haughty Picasso, he cavorts at his favorite cafe with Diego Rivera, Gertrude Stein, Jean Cocteau, Maurice Utrillo, Frida Kahlo and Max Jacob.
His childhood TB, aggravated by a regimen of booze, opium and cigarettes, is swiftly killing him. His mistress Jeanne (hauntingly beautiful Elsa Zylberstein), a nice Catholic girl whose well-to-do father is outraged by her liaison with a Jew, has already borne him one child and another soon will be on the way.
Like all artists in movies, Modi refuses to sell his canvases to those who do not really appreciate his art, cheats on his mistress, ignores his doctor's health warnings and provokes just about everyone he meets.
His greatest animosity is reserved for Picasso, whom he taunts and threatens often enough for Picasso to reach for his gun. (For a bunch of artists, this crowd packs some serious heat.)
This rivalry comes to a head when Modi, for once desperate for money when Jeanne's father sends their baby to a convent, enters the yearly Paris art competition. Picasso enters too, though he hardly needs the money.
The movie then treats its audience to a risible montage of some of the greatest artists ever, all frantically painting away on canvases in their signature styles like children entered a finger-painting contest.
Both Modi and Jeanne are genuinely tragic figures. But the movie so trivializes them as adolescents, lacking control of their own emotions, that their tragedy never takes hold. Davis shows little interest in exploring Modigliani's past life or why he became an artist or the passions that dominate his work, such as the influence of African sculpture and masks on its design.
Garcia has his moments as a wild man but the script never really allows him to plumb the artist's emotional depths. Zyberstein overcomes the cliches about an obsessed, doom mistress to evoke empathy for this delicate moth driven ever closer to the flame.
Israeli cinematographer Emmanuel Kadosh takes advantage of these characters and settings to unveil scene after scene of rare cinematic beauty. He creates sharp contrasts between the whites and blacks, creating tableaus almost like early tintypes. He bathes dreamlike sequences in color tints that capture the sensuality of those long ago days. This not quite real world gives a helpful intimacy and immediacy to the hazy dramatic action. Ironically, in Modigliani, Kadosh is the only real artist in sight.
MODIGLIANI
UKFS in association with Cineson Productions and Lucky 7 Productions
Credits:
Screenwriter-director: Mick Davis
Producers: Philippe Martinez, Stephanie Martinez Campeau, Andre Djaoui, Alan Latham
Executive producers: Andy Garcia, Antony Blakey, Stephen Marsden, Paul Feetum, Douglas W. Miller, Karinne Behr, Marcos Zurinaga, Gary Ungar, Donald A. Barton
Director of photography: Emmanuel Kadosh
Production designer: Giantito Burchiellaro
Costumes: Pam Downe
Music: Guy Farley
Editor: Emma E. Hickox
Cast:
Amedeo Mogigliani: Andy Garcia
Jeanne Hebuterne: Elsa Zylberstein
Pablo Picasso: Omid Djalili, Utrillo: Hippolyte Girardot
Max Jacob: Udo Kier
Picasso's wife: Eva Herzigova
Gertrude Stein: Miriam Margolyes
No MPAA rating
Running time -- 128 minutes...
TORONTO -- Modigliani falls into the clutches of the romantic notion that an artistic life must be one of hedonistic excess and self-destructive behavior, of debauchery and irresponsibility nurtured by contempt for all social norms and mores. That any discipline, focus or commitment even goes into the art itself is incidental. Which can make for a lively movie full of parties, overwrought emotions and mad passion. But the hangover it produces makes you realize you have no idea with whom you spent more than two frenetic hours.
The film stars Andy Garcia as Amedeo Modigliani, the Jewish-Italian artist who helped turn early 20th century art into one of the most dynamic and expressive periods in art history. Only the film, written and directed by Scottish filmmaker Mick Davis, views its subject as a tempermental drunk, dancing on table tops at La Rotonde cafe and indulging in a childish rivalry with Pablo Picasso (burly Omid Djalili). Both views may be accurate, but the overwhelming emphasis on the latter distorts the significance of the former.
The film was reportedly made for $14 million in Romania -- a surprisingly ideal match for 1919 Paris -- so the producers should have no trouble getting into profit. In the domestic market, however, the art-house-meets-Animal House component may ultimately hurt its boxoffice.
Garcia's Modigliani -- Just call me Modi -- certainly has an all-star supporting "cast" for his supporting players. Davis situates his story in Paris in 1919, the penultimate year of Modi's life, where along with the sullen and haughty Picasso, he cavorts at his favorite cafe with Diego Rivera, Gertrude Stein, Jean Cocteau, Maurice Utrillo, Frida Kahlo and Max Jacob.
His childhood TB, aggravated by a regimen of booze, opium and cigarettes, is swiftly killing him. His mistress Jeanne (hauntingly beautiful Elsa Zylberstein), a nice Catholic girl whose well-to-do father is outraged by her liaison with a Jew, has already borne him one child and another soon will be on the way.
Like all artists in movies, Modi refuses to sell his canvases to those who do not really appreciate his art, cheats on his mistress, ignores his doctor's health warnings and provokes just about everyone he meets.
His greatest animosity is reserved for Picasso, whom he taunts and threatens often enough for Picasso to reach for his gun. (For a bunch of artists, this crowd packs some serious heat.)
This rivalry comes to a head when Modi, for once desperate for money when Jeanne's father sends their baby to a convent, enters the yearly Paris art competition. Picasso enters too, though he hardly needs the money.
The movie then treats its audience to a risible montage of some of the greatest artists ever, all frantically painting away on canvases in their signature styles like children entered a finger-painting contest.
Both Modi and Jeanne are genuinely tragic figures. But the movie so trivializes them as adolescents, lacking control of their own emotions, that their tragedy never takes hold. Davis shows little interest in exploring Modigliani's past life or why he became an artist or the passions that dominate his work, such as the influence of African sculpture and masks on its design.
Garcia has his moments as a wild man but the script never really allows him to plumb the artist's emotional depths. Zyberstein overcomes the cliches about an obsessed, doom mistress to evoke empathy for this delicate moth driven ever closer to the flame.
Israeli cinematographer Emmanuel Kadosh takes advantage of these characters and settings to unveil scene after scene of rare cinematic beauty. He creates sharp contrasts between the whites and blacks, creating tableaus almost like early tintypes. He bathes dreamlike sequences in color tints that capture the sensuality of those long ago days. This not quite real world gives a helpful intimacy and immediacy to the hazy dramatic action. Ironically, in Modigliani, Kadosh is the only real artist in sight.
MODIGLIANI
UKFS in association with Cineson Productions and Lucky 7 Productions
Credits:
Screenwriter-director: Mick Davis
Producers: Philippe Martinez, Stephanie Martinez Campeau, Andre Djaoui, Alan Latham
Executive producers: Andy Garcia, Antony Blakey, Stephen Marsden, Paul Feetum, Douglas W. Miller, Karinne Behr, Marcos Zurinaga, Gary Ungar, Donald A. Barton
Director of photography: Emmanuel Kadosh
Production designer: Giantito Burchiellaro
Costumes: Pam Downe
Music: Guy Farley
Editor: Emma E. Hickox
Cast:
Amedeo Mogigliani: Andy Garcia
Jeanne Hebuterne: Elsa Zylberstein
Pablo Picasso: Omid Djalili, Utrillo: Hippolyte Girardot
Max Jacob: Udo Kier
Picasso's wife: Eva Herzigova
Gertrude Stein: Miriam Margolyes
No MPAA rating
Running time -- 128 minutes...
- 9/17/2004
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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