Once upon a time, this thoughtful character study would have arrived with a visible splash, and enjoyed a modest but well-deserved run at arthouse theaters.
Instead, it landed directly in streaming purgatory, likely never to be found by the potential audience that mainstream release would have attracted.
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| Understandably suspicious about the actual reasons for her having entered his life, Julian (Ian McKellen) tantalizes Lori (Michaela Coel) by showing her where he has stashed a long-unfinished series of paintings. |
Ed Solomon’s intriguing original script is essentially a two-hander that would have made a crackling stage play. Director Steven Soderbergh opens up the tableau a bit, granting us a sense of London’s bohemian Fitzrovia district, but our attention is held throughout by the enthralling performances from stars Ian McKellen and Michaela Coel.
McKellen effortlessly slides into the role of waspish, once-famous painter Julian Sklar, his glory years long behind him, all but forgotten and holed up in a pair of adjacent townhouses connected via their basements. (A droll running gag: Whenever anybody rings one buzzer, the intercom invariably responds with a testy “Other door!”)
Julian is best known to the current generation for his long run as the dismissive star of a cruel, long-running TV show, “Art Fight,” during which would-be artists submitted works live, on camera, hoping for praise and promise. More often than not, Julian instead delighted in cruel jokes and humiliating take-downs.
“A cry for help from the paint itself!” is just one example of his scornful assessments.
TV viewers apparently ate it up. (And they would, right? One can but shudder.)
Coel plays Lori Butler, an impressively educated art critic familiar with that world in general, painting and painters in particular, and — most pointedly — Sklar, who has been the focus of her withering published commentary for quite some time. She seems to have taken particular delight in detailing his progressive decline.
She’s also a part-time forger, which bespeaks considerable talent of her own.
We meet Lori first, when she’s approached by Sklar’s children, Barnaby and Sallie (James Corden and Jessica Gunning). The latter knows Lori from their days in art college, and somehow also is aware of her clandestine activities. They want Lori to take a job as Julian’s assistant, so that she’ll have access to a series of unfinished, long-abandoned canvases ... in order to complete them, so that Barnaby and Sallie will have a substantial inheritance when their father dies.
The canvases in question are the long-rumored third “Christopher Series,” which — if “suddenly” discovered stashed in Sklar’s townhouse, following his death — would be worth a fortune.
With just a few deft strokes, via dialogue and body language, Corden and Gunning establish Barnaby and Sallie as venal, grasping and thoroughly despicable clods.
Even so, Lori is intrigued; Coel’s quiet, probing gaze speaks volumes. We also get a sense of something stronger ... crafty glee, perhaps? But Barnaby and Sallie are too dense to pick up on that; they simply assume that Lori can be tempted by a percentage of the eventual sale.
She accepts.
Lori’s initial meeting with Julian is less an interview, and more an interrogation; despite his 85 years of age, Julian is far from doddering. He’s sarcastic, condescending, mocking and dismissive, amplified by sharp intelligence and acute perception. Lori endures this scathing initial volley in mostly contemplative silence, responding matter-of-factly to specific questions. Her mild smile and steely gaze suggest that she’s actually enjoying this exchange.
Perhaps impressed by the fact that Lori hasn’t fled, Julian hires her.
What follows is a slowly escalating battle of wits, because two things become clear: Thanks to knowing his way around the Internet, Julian learns more than he needs to know about Lori ... and, in turn, there’s obviously a reason she has been so laser-focused on this guy, for so long.
Solomon’s darkly comic dialogue is marvelous, as both of these crafty characters chip away at each other, bobbing and weaving like boxers alert to any sign of weakness.
Barnaby and Sallie reappear on brief occasions, further amplifying their avarice.
We wonder, as the days pass ... will Lori actually do it? Will Julian recognize what she’s up to? And what are his deeply buried secrets? What did prompt him to stop painting, midway through a much-anticipated third entry in the now enormously valuable first and second set of “Christopher” canvases?
Although the verbal jousting retains primary focus, Solomon also grants us a fascinating glimpse of the art world in general, and particularly how creativity — its ascent and decline — can be recognized and analyzed.
McKellen, genuinely 85 when this film was made, remains an unbowed force of nature. Julian’s most acidic bon motsare delivered with a Shakespearean flourish, his probing gaze accompanied by telling, perfectly modulated gestures and posture. In a word, everything McKellen does is expressive.
Coel, such a striking presence, grants Lori a level of patient dignity that frequently feels regal. This won’t surprise anybody who has followed her TV work in Black Earth Rising and I May Destroy You, but it’s nice to see her do similarly top-notch work in a quieter, more meditative role.
Production designer Antonia Lowe did a marvelous job with Julian’s cramped, cluttered and maze-like townhouse environment; every room is a forlorn tableau unto itself, with layers of books, canvases, painterly materials and “all sorts” stacked, draped over, and falling off long-neglected chairs, tables and shelves. By way of contrast, Lori’s spartan, loft-like digs — shared with a couple of other artists — speak volumes about her character.
Composer David Holmes, marking his 18th collaboration with Soderbergh, supplies an evocative score that ranges from haunting piano filigrees to contemplative, mysterious and mildly jazzy melodies.
As Soderbergh has done many times, he also handled cinematography and editing here. The shoot was impressively economical, lasting only 19 days, which undoubtedly contributed to the resulting stage-like intensity.
This is a delectable, fascinating little skirmish. It deserves your attention.
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