A Bigger Splash

More than a few minutes into this film, I thought " this must be a documentary" and it might have helped to know that beforehand. After watching it and fast forwarding through at least 1/3 of it, I now say it would have made no difference.

Perhaps knowing about David Hockney or the fact that the movie is 33 years old has something to do with it, but it made very little sense to me.

I have no idea why the film bothered with years and places (Geneva, 1972) it made absolutely not one iota of difference. Why did we watch a female fashion show for 15 minutes? OK, 10 but all of that. Why? Why was the naked swimmer pressed up to the "window" while two others ate dinner, obvlious? Sometimes I think just because the "critics" or "art aficionadoes" can't understand art or film, they think it is "deep". That is what I think of David Hockney (the art was mostly one dimensional like grade school children's) and the same for this film.

This film is a snapshot of Hockney's life in London in the early 70s.

It's often unintentionally funny. The talk is mostly so boring, but that's often the case as artists express themselves through images, not words. They're rarely fascinating to listen to. Read or listen to any Hockney interview today and it's just as unimpressive.

I guess the homosexual love making and the male nudity was quite avant-garde in its day and of course naked young men hanging around swimming pools in LA is what was on Hockney's mind and canvases back then.

I enjoyed the snapshot of the Portobello Road area of London at that time and the New York locations.

The dialogue is unintentionally hilarious....sort of: 'Are you going to New York, David?' 'I might go, I prefer L.A.'

'Why don't you invite,Celia (Birtwell)? to go to New York, David?' 'I might, but she doesn't like it there, she prefers stylish people. She likes nice clothes. I don't particularly notice them.'

& again, later... 'Will you stay in New York, David?' 'I might, but I don't think I will. I prefer L.A.'

But the film does capture what it sets out to capture. David Hockney's life and work and personality (if that's not too strong a word), circa 1972.

The fast forward button is definitely your friend during the particularly long and draggier sections.

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.

Artist David Hockney is such a lively colorful figure that one might expect a film about his life and art to be a bubbly romp. But Jack Hazan takes quite a different route. He followed Hockney and his circle of friends around for quite a considerable amount of time -- shooting in 35mm, rather than 16mm as was popular for documentary films at this time. Moreover, rather than aim for a "cinema verite" styled "truth," Hazan deals in fantasy and melodrama. The action covers a period in which Hockney and his lover and model, Peter Schlesinger, are breaking up. Hockney is having what appears to be a somewhat difficult time finishing a large canvas for which Schlesinger was the subject, and Hazan suggests that the end of the relationship played a part in this difficulty. But he only suggests. He doesn't offer a set conclusion. What he does do is utilize film as means of entering Hockney's visual world. Many of his close friends and associates, including Ozzie Clark, Celia Birtwell, Patrick Procktor and Henry Geldzahler make appearances conversing with Hockney -- whose verbal wit is everywhere apparent. Most daring of all is scene in which Schlesinger and another young man make love.

When he finally saw the results Hockney was both surprised and slightly appalled. "Two hours of weeping music," he called it. No surprise as "A Bigger Splash" gets a lot closer to Hockney's inner and outer life than he probably imagined it would.

A very important film for art lovers, and a very important piece of gay cinema.

This is a fly-on-the-wall documentary, but the room with the wall and the fly on it isn't very interesting. I hoped to learn something about why Hockney paints what he does and as he does, and/or about who he is. If this film is to be believed, he is a boring, self-obsessed man.

Much of the footage adds nothing to our knowledge of him or his work. Even when he talked about other painters' work it was not informative, since the camera was on him, not on what he was talking about. Only once did the film give an insight into Hockney's painting, cutting from his representation of the refractions of waves on the bottom of a swimming pool as serpentine lines, to the refractions themselves in unpaintable motion.

Far too much (street scenes, people coming, going and standing about, a fashion show, idle chat) seems to have been included for no particular reason at all.

I suspect that the nudity and the gay ambiance, novelties in 1974, have given this film a cachet it never deserved.