Now Showing: Movie Art

By: David Robbeson

July 2004

According to Andy Warhol, “Art is what you can get away with.” In the cinema, that varies from genre to genre. Moviemakers would not dream of offending a sailing buff, a submarine nut or the president of the Tolkien Society. But films featuring fine art are frequently among the most poorly researched, condescending and ill-conceived projects that Hollywood deigns to produce. Such films may, according to Warhol’s criterion, be art, but they’re rarely fine. Here are some chief offenders.

In “The Thomas Crown Affair”—a 1999 remake of the 1968 film of the same name—Pierce Brosnan plays a bored millionaire who amuses himself by swiping paintings from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The first work he steals, as a character helpfully informs us, is “the painting that started Impressionism.” Wrong. Although Claude Monet’s “Impression: Sunrise” was included in the first Impressionist exhibition of 1874, it certainly didn’t “start” the movement. However, its title—which critics mocked—contributed the word “impressionism” to the lexicon of art history. The trouble is this painting isn’t the one shown in the movie; that’s actually “San Giorgio Maggiore by Twilight,” which Monet painted 34 years later, in 1908. In a movie based upon the love, theft and recovery of valuable paintings, it’s but two technical blunders among many.

In the movie, the museum’s Impressionist Room contains many famous paintings, notably a self-portrait by van Gogh and Monet’s “La Promenade.” Inexplicably, however, it also contains a romantic painting of Arabs on horseback, 19th-century portraits of English aristocrats and no less than three neoclassic renderings of Napoleon! The director, John McTiernan, explains in the DVD’s director’s commentary that while those paintings may not be “strictly impressionistic” they served his purposes in other, important ways. That a first-year art student could have volunteered dozens of historically appropriate paintings is clearly irrelevant. Why go to all that trouble? So there’s a Gérôme in the Impressionist Room. A David. A Van Dyck. What does it matter?

Clearly, in the minds of some movie-makers, it doesn’t. It’s evident in many films that the writer didn’t bother doing any research at all; that the milieu of fine art was used simply to “smarten up” an otherwise dimwitted production. It’s a dangerous strategy, one that often backfires.

In “Entrapment,” also from 1999, Sean Connery’s character (a master thief named Mac) proclaims: “Did you know that Rembrandt lived with his parents into his 40s?” Mac has fine taste; he lives in a castle in Scotland and surrounds himself with great paintings (look for Modigliani’s “Madame Lunia Czechowska with a Fan” in the background). We’re supposed to be impressed with his depth and sophistication. The Rembrandt trivia—meant to emphasize the vast range of his knowledge—would be far more impressive if only … well, if only it were true. But it’s not. Not even close. Rembrandt’s parents had both died by the time he turned 34. He married at 28, while already living in Amsterdam. His parents lived in Leiden. But thanks, Mac.

Thankfully, screenwriters don’t always get it wrong. Sometimes, they outdo themselves. Consider a clever bit from Connery’s first outing as James Bond, in 1962’s “Dr. No.” Goya’s “The Duke of Wellington” was stolen from London’s National Gallery while “Dr. No” was in production. In a scene where 007 saunters through the villain’s elaborate, underground lair, he sees a painting on an easel. It’s impossible for either Bond or the audience to miss. The hero stops to examine it. It is, of course, Goya’s stolen masterpiece. Bond merely shakes his head and then walks on. No further mention is made. It was a joke for those in the know. It was subtle, imaginative and entirely appropriate: A bad guy who swipes a national treasure.

In Martin Scorsese’s spectacular “The Age of Innocence,” 1993, paintings and sets are almost indistinguishable; so lush is every scene, so composed every frame. The film is set in 1870’s New York high society, a realm where virtually nothing mattered more than your house’s interior decoration.

Seven-time Academy Award nominee Dante Ferretti’s brilliant production design insured that every detail was letter-perfect. The sets, props and costumes are every bit as luxuriant as the paintings on the walls. Collectors will want to watch the movie frame by frame, itemizing wish lists of china, crystal, furniture and wall hangings. The film is like a visual encyclopedia of decorative arts of the period. Paintings such as Tissot’s “Too Early” or Bouguereau’s “The Return of Spring” not only decorate characters’ homes, but they also speak to the taste (or lack thereof) of characters through other character’s eyes. References to the paintings are even made in the film’s narration.

In “The Freshman,” 1990, starring Marlon Brando and Matthew Broderick, Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” hangs above the Godfather’s mantel, not so much to illustrate his taste, but to indicate the scope of his wealth and criminal influence. It’s a popular (and not easily disproved) theory that after da Vinci’s “La Gioconda” was stolen in 1911, six or seven copies were made and sold to super-wealthy patrons as the original. Some posit that the work returned to the Louvre was, in fact, one of those copies, and that the original remains missing. “The Freshman” tweaked that possibility.

Unfortunately, such witty efforts don’t always work. Although director James Cameron spent millions on expeditions down to the actual wreck of the Titanic, he spent somewhat less in researching art history for the film. Rose, our heroine (played by Kate Winslet), brings a cache of newly purchased paintings aboard the doomed liner. They include water lilies by Monet, dancers by Degas and most conspicuously, Picasso’s “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon.”

Notwithstanding that “Demoiselles” wasn’t displayed publicly until 1916—four years after the Titanic sank—the notion that a 17-year-old American heiress would have the connections and the aesthetic wherewithal to buy it (or even a study of it) is, well, ridiculous. Rose, supposedly, is a true visionary. Sort of. When asked the artist’s name, she has to look at the painting to find out. “Picasso,” she reads. The pay-off comes when her fiancé—the cad—remarks: “He’ll never amount to anything. Trust me.” Picasso, of course, was well-known by 1912 and had already completed dozens of masterpieces. He was five years into Cubism, standing at the very pantheon of modern art. But why let facts stand in the way of a good scene?

And that, sadly, is what such art references usually amount to in the movies: a set-up for a joke or a prop used to expose the wit, intelligence and sophistication of an important character. That these inclusions usually reveal precisely the reverse—how dimwitted and careless the film’s producers are—is a fitting irony. What did Warhol know anyway? If it’s art you’re looking for, head to the gallery, not the video store.

Art-Themed Movies not to be Missed

-“The Moderns,” 1988, is witty, elegant and clever beyond all reason. Set in Paris in 1926, the movie centers upon a struggling American painter (Keith Carradine) who agrees to forge three masterpieces for a wealthy heiress.

-“Camille Claudel,” 1988, is a beautiful bio-pic revolving around the relationship between the sculptors Claudel (Isabelle Adjani) and Rodin (Gerard Depardieu).

-“The Agony and the Ecstasy,” 1965, is an oldie but goodie. Charlton Heston plays Michelangelo, and while the art history is suspect, it’s visually stunning.

-“The Red Violin,” 1998, follows the odd voyage of one unique instrument through history. If this idea appeals to you, check out The Collector Collector, 1997, British novelist Tibor Fischer’s brilliant and acerbic account of the life history of a 5,000-year-old Mesopotamian bowl—told from the perspective of the bowl!

-“Girl with a Pearl Earring,” 2003, is based on Tracy Chevalier’s successful novel, a fictional exploration behind the scenes of Vermeer’s masterpiece of the same name.

-“Modigliani,” 2004, casts Andy Garcia as the artist. It is part-love story, part-period piece and part-fictionalized account of the rivalry between Modigliani and Picasso.