Klimt, the painter, was an artist hailed as ahead of his time because his sensual paintings were accused of being provocative. Is it true? Was he a deliberate provocateur, on the cusp of turning the art world on its head, or was it just his fascination for women’s figures and erotica that was misunderstood? What about Klimt’s promiscuous love affairs, where he allegedly left various women in various places pregnant with approximately 30 of his children, all of whom he abandoned? What about him keeping a bevy of nude women in his studio to paint or sleep with as he pleases? What’s the story behind these stories of him? Who was Gustav Klimt, really?
Well, whatever they may be, you won’t find the answers in this film.
Klimt, the movie, is described as “a fantasy based on the life of Gustav Klimt,” which is a good way of putting it, except it’s not so much a fantasy as it is a collection of passing thoughts. The film begins with Klimt on his deathbed, suffering a feverish syphilis-induced fit. Then, as if visiting his fever dreams, our undecipherable tale begins. We get to see many events from Klimt’s peak period, but few of them stick together or make much sense. There’s a lot of hullabaloo about politics and doppelgangers and imaginary individuals—none of which are neither coherent nor fantastic. You can admire a film for being brazenly surreal, but Klimt jumbles its reality in a way that’s just annoying. Scenes like two people looking at different directions as they whisper to each other look more like an off-off-off-Broadway performance art rather than a representation of the artist’s artwork. I haven’t even begun to mention the mirror shattering and the nightmarish visions of patrons jeering and pointing.
I don’t have syphilis myself, but if the visions they give are as hokey as this, I’m giving permission to you kind readers to shoot me in the head.
The one thing remotely inspired is the inclusion of movie magician Georges Méliès, as the man who introduces Klimt to his muse/object of desire Lea de Castro. Méliès made a short film about Klimt painting Lea, and causes the real Klimt to pine over this woman he had never met. Only, the one he saw and fell for was an actress playing her, while the real thing actually wants to be Klimt’s model. Or so it seems… maybe. Maybe the one on film was the real one and the one Klimt meets is the double, and the real one is watching. Who knows? The film certainly doesn’t make it imperative that the audience knows what the hell is going on or why Klimt is even an interesting enough person to base a movie on.
Hence the futility of the film. It doesn’t portray Klimt’s genius, or why his work is great. It doesn’t even bring his paintings to life. It’s too occupied with its own fun and won’t let us in. The story becomes merely an exercise in showing Klimt’s flaws, which gets tiresome all too quickly. Even John Malkovich in the Klimt role seems bored, mumbling and pointing his chin about. He’s not a bad choice—in fact he seems in tune with the character, as Malkovich is always good at playing the intellectual kook—but the lack of a sensible direction makes it a performance that doesn’t register. At all.
Despite the swirling ambition and the—to be fair, at times very pretty—pictures, you’ll mostly spend a big chunk of the film watching with utter befuddlement rather than awe; and when Klimt’s death gasps end and the crescendo hits and credits roll, you will feel like you just sat through an Art history lecture from the local homeless crazy.
"Klimt" opens September 14, 2007 and is rated PG13. Drama, Foreign. Written and directed by Raoul Ruiz. Starring John Malkovich, Saffron Burrows, Veronica Ferres, Stephen Dillane, Sandra Ceccarelli.
