A Bigger Splash

Ive saved this film to my watchlist for a long time, saving it for when i can appreciate watching it rather than background noise.

I rather liked the film. You have to know Hockney and his works to understand it. Yes it dragged in parts but i didnt mibd that, its artistic not a full on gangster shoot out.

It was nice seeing full male nudity on screen as this is very rare even these days, it makes a change to see instead of naked women all the time.

Great to see ossie and Celia in the film..sadly ossie passed away in the 90s and this is a rare bit of footage of him.

The premise of the film is simple enough, but done in hockneys own artistic way. I liked it as much as his art.

Seems to be one of those 1970s "gay identity" films. British tastes in art never do much for me. Hockney just comes across as an Andy Warhol wannabe--the artificial yellow hair, the I am an artist" eccentric eyeglasses. The flat one-note swimming pool paintings derived from commercial art styles and techniques. Warhol did stylized art of Marylin, Liz Taylor and Elvis--but he did a lot of other things in his art as well. Warhol's 'factory' was open to other creative people. A whole community grew out of his activities. Hockney's world seems like a soap opera of people in a self-indulgent little coterie/clique. Yes there is a swimming pool scene of nude young men with camera angles looking up their butts, and a glamorized but documentary-style shot of two guys having sex. Maybe that was 'cutting edge' for film in the 1970s--but now--who cares? And Warhol's many films about gays and transvestites that same period in New York were a lot more honest, and a lot more weird, and curiously, had a lot more vitality.

So--Hockney is not a very interesting or appealing person on film--just annoying, or out of his depth maybe. And the world has moved way past the gay "statement" films of 50 years ago.

Seems that IMdB reviewers either hate or appreciate this film. As for me, I savored particular portions of this somewhat disjointed, dreamlike take on the early 1970s when Hockney was already thriving, while revealing glimmers of increased fame in the following decades. The choice of classical music was quite interesting throughout, and included snippets of operas... the vibe felt a bit over wrought, but it actually worked. Over the years, I've come to find Hockney to be an insightful, gifted, and innovative artist. His outlook towards using new technological inventions is admirable, and he has educated others on old master techniques and tools.

The camera (whether still frame or cinematic) makes the wide majority of subjects self-conscious. Even when they try to "be on their best", the viewer can interpret this "cover up" according to their own filters. For me, one of the most effective scenes in this film was when the art dealer Kasmin was trying to persuade Hockney to speed up his output so that the lusty whims of art collectors could be satisfied. Hockey appears slightly bemused and his face teases while he endures his gallerist's guidance. This push-pull dilemma is an age old struggle whenever an artist engages others to commercially sell their work. The rhythms of a successful artist's life are no longer their own.

As enticing and lovely as the fashion show segment was, I found it extended and a bit deflated. There were segments of the main characters coming and going to Hockney's place or to Celia's flat which felt stale. For anyone interested in Hockney, his comrades, and gay life in London during the early 70s, I would recommend this movie. Be forewarned though, the pace of some scenes drag, and there are fawning long takes of several choice people which unfortunately decrease the potential for surprise.

Jack Hazan's quasi-documentary A BIGGER SPLASH is an unfocused examination about the creative life of David Hockney and supposedly about the effect of his past relationship with his pupil Peter Schlesinger (an artist, sculptor, and photographer who Hockney not only enjoyed as a lover but as a disciple). The précis appears to be that Hockney, in the throes of disappointment about the dissolution of his affair with Peter, decides to move to California where he has already been established as a painter of California people and places.

In London we meet his friends - Celia Birtwell, the elegantly stylishly beautiful model Hockney used repeatedly, dress designer Ossie Clark, confidant Mo McDermott, and patron Henry Geldzahler - each of whom Hockney painted and drew. We watch as Hockney visits the galleries and admires works of his friends, how he paints in his studio, how he relates to his gallerists (like Paul Kasmin), and how he perceives men and other artists.

Peter Schlesinger figures prominently in the film with many episodes of Peter's swimming in the pools of the people Hockney would eventually immortalize. He is a fine presence and carries his silent role well - almost appearing as a ghost muse that keeps Hockney focused on his now infamous swimming pool paintings.

The magic of this film, for those to whom Hockney is a well known and important painter, is the visual recreation of the paintings that have made him so famous: we are allowed to see Celia and her husband with white cat in context with the canvas, the view of Peter staring into the pool at an under water swimmer, the woman and her animal heads who appears in another of Hockney's famous paintings at poolside, etc. This kind of cinematic background is valuable now and will prove invaluable to the archives of David Hockney. For those people this is a must-see film, despite its meandering technique and choppy editing. For others, it may seem too self-indulgent.

This is an odd quasi-documentary ostensibly about Hockney's breakup with his protégé and lover (Peter Schlesinger) and, to some extent, its effect on his painting and on his relationships with his friends and colleagues.

Very unfortunately the result is a mish-mash: some glimpses into what passes for access into the worlds of art and fashion (one particularly long fashion show scene is almost painful to watch); musings on the relative merits of London, France, Italy, New York and California (early-70s New York comes off as truly wretched); contextless vignettes of Hockney's friends and colleagues, who could not possibly be as dull as they are presented here; some actually interesting looks at Hockney's techniques, including "joiner" collages he used to construct elements of his paintings; and all this punctuated with what is supposed to be an examination of the breakup between Hockney and his younger boyfriend. A good bit of gay sex and nudity are thrown in to spice things, and while it was assuredly arresting in 1973, very little of it feels very sensual, and certainly not erotic. Their relationship is left entirely unexamined, so at best one might conclude that Peter is more self-absorbed even than Hockney or that he simply prefers the company of men more his age. Ho-hum.

This might have been a lot more interesting at 45 minutes: you might not notice how inconsequential it all seems.