Frida was my favorite film of the semester and after learning of Harvey’s involvement, I questioned my feelings. I originally thought the work felt international and authentic to Frida’s Mexican heritage. I initially ascribed these feelings to the abnormal amount of sexuality displayed. Unlike many American-made films, Frida includes so much normalized sexuality that it feels different from many American-made films that capitalize on gratuitous sex scenes. However, after reading Salma Hayek’s New York Times Op-Ed and rewatching several scenes, I realized that while the sex scenes certainly support a less “American” vibe, the music and scenery choices define its distinctness. While it’s typical for movies to be shot on location, it’s often rare for the traditional music of that region to accompany the scene. Film composers often mix a regions traditional music with the normalized Hollywood production sound (big drums, low strings, complex sound design, etc). In Frida, however, the Mexican scenes feature authentic mariachi music, Latin jazz, and vocal standards; the New York City scenes include Duke Ellington-style big band tunes; and the Trotsky scenes include, perhaps incidentally, traditional 19th-century European string writing (typical in Hollywood music and related to Russian music). Because I’m sensitive to how movies are scored, I think the music helped me appreciate the work and certainly accented the distinct Mexican culture from which she originated and the contrasting cultures with which she conflicted throughout her life. Even though Weinstein produced Frida, I will still watch and appreciate the score of this movie and Hayek’s success breathing life into Kahlo’s story.

Note the music notes at the top of her painting.

In the film Frida, one of the opening scenes of the main character, Frida Kahlo, features her rushing into a formal family photo wearing a men’s suit. It is the first hint, continued throughout the movie, of Kahlo’s real life and recreated queerness. Despite the fact that director Julie Taymor, includes recognition of Kahlo’s bisexuality, it seems to always be a punchline in this film. In one breathtaking scene, Kahlo dances with another woman, the host of a dinner party that she and Diego Rivera both attend. However, due to the repeated panning to Rivera’s face, it seems as though Kahlo is performing, flirting with her future husband while kissing the lips of her female dance partner. This rendition of Kahlo’s sexuality falls flat in the face of documented, complicated and vivid relationships with women that were altogether independent of those she shared with men. The distinction is clear in scenes where Kahlo sleeps with men, where her attention is clearly focused only on her immediate partner, and the camera’s eye is too. This film sadly trivializes  her relationships with women, none of the m lasting longer than a single scene, and overlooks the fact that during her lifetime, Kahlo made a point to sleep with almost all of the women that her husband cheated on her with.

I found the Blumenthal/Quinn film to be a very interesting documentary as an example of how to address the lives of two artists who happen to be married.  Rather than further the stereotype of an “artist’s wife” in depicting Nancy Spero, I felt that the directors gave Spero agency.  When she walked into the room, she had a presence.  There was one scene when she entered the studio and Golub immediately asked her thoughts.  She told him, and he listened.  I think this was a very telling scene.  In the 1950s, when the artist was regarded with masculine heroism, this sort of scene would not have been included in the film.  Leon Golub deferred to her and her opinion. In the film, and apparently in their relationship, Spero is not subordinate to her male counterpart; they are both depicted as artists in their own right.

The short documentary on Jenny Saville took an effective approach at understanding the artist’s intentions especially given the limited time. In particular, the video is efficient as it starts out by subverting commonly held notions about Saville’s work in order to bring forth her truth. The idea of a projected political reading of Saville’s work—which admittedly I also did when I first encountered it ––is swiftly shot down. It is confidently and clearly stated that a feminist reading is not necessary, clearing a path for what is truly at the core of Saville’s work: a fascination with bodies. Fascination without judgement — pure observation. This objective fascination is elucidated with segments of the artist speaking about plastic surgery, violence, and fictional norms associated with bodies. The documentary enriches the portrait of Saville as a life-long observer of the world by linking her current toying with gender and identity to her earlier work. Likewise we get a personal sense of the artist with discussion of her motherhood and unexpected creativity, neatly wrapped into a conclusion with an analogy drawn between children and painting. The thing I disliked about the clip was the music chosen while displaying the images — it was very eerie and sharp, which I felt countered the message of objectivity in her approach as described in the video.

Of all the films we’ve watched during the semester, Julie Taymor’s 2002 picture “Frida” stands out to me the most in terms of perspective. There are moments in the film when scenes start as paintings and then transform into live action set pieces. After the bus crash, there’s an animated scene of skeletons in medical uniforms describing her injuries. Then skulls appear in a half-conscious Frida’s eyes before she looks up to see human doctors discussing her condition. This goes beyond a blend of fantasy and reality. Because Frida’s psychological perspective is so present, each of these interpretations of events are real through her subjectivity. Frida Kahlo was a surrealist painter, a style that visually represented the unconscious. I think it’s useful that the director highlights the imaginative capacity of Friday’s psychological state, especially as her body is immobilized and continues to atrophy. This focus on the resistant, complex mind, one that birth memorable surrealist works, helps give me a greater appreciation for her as an artist.

“Girl with Death Mask”

Lucien Freud has always been one of my favorite artists and I talk about one of his portraits in my tour at the YCBA, but “Lucien Freud: Portraits” revealed a very different side of his character. I once read a quote by him that said, ““know that the main point about painting is paint: that it is all about paint,” so I had this idea in my head that he was a very unsentimental and emotionless man that only wanted to paint what was in front of him and disregard the rest, but watching interviews with his family and each specific sitter was a really interesting insight to his life and technique and his intensive attempt at capturing each person the exact way he saw them through paint. By interviewing the subjects of his work we are able to learn about the very intimate process of an artist painting his model and the specific relationships he had with each sitter, which is really apparent when you look back at the paintings. There was a lot of conflicting thoughts about him in the movie, whether he was the charismatic guy everyone said he was that would cook you lunch while you were modeling, or a neglectful father who only interacted with his children when they were asked to come over for a sitting. Despite the overarching feelings towards the artist, learning about his long, laborious painting sessions was fascinating and helped me understand and appreciate his work more.

Watching Basquiat by Julian Schnabel informed me of Basquiat’s life in a different way than watching Tamra Davis’ film did. The film by Schnabel is described as a lightly fictitious portrayal of Basquiat’s life. While the movie is emotional and dramatic as well as informative of important points in Basquiat’s life, I don’t feel like I know who Basquiat is and what fuels his artwork. Because I had heard of Basquiat before, I had an idea of who he was and what he did, but I am still only able to talk about his art and his life in a distant and unsure way because of things that may have been omitted and made overly dramatic in the film. An overview of his life is important, but Davis’ documentary does a much better job of showcasing specifically how he was led to create and make artwork because of certain life experiences that he had. I enjoyed Schnabel’s take on Basquiat’s life and art, but it didn’t allow me to get to know his existence and thought processes as intimately as I wanted to.

The two Basquiat films we watched this semester stood out the most for me. I’ve honestly never liked Basqiat’s work. In fact, I hated it. But after watching these two films, I’ve learned to appreciate his work and see something in it that I never noticed before – his identity and struggles on canvas – and that just speaks to the successful and impactful work of both directors. Julian Schnabel directed Basquiat and gave a holistic, and incredibly emotional, overview of Basquiat’s short life and his influences. As emotional as the film is, there is still a observatory, almost cold, distance to it. Tamra Davis’s film, Jean-Michel Basquiat: The Radiant Child, gives us an insider view into the real life and genius of Basquiat. It is the epitome of personal. While Schnabel’s piece stays mostly surface level talking about the artist and supporting his image of Basquiat with information about the man himself, Davis’s film focuses on the man and how his life, personality, and struggles created the artist and informed his art. It is so much more successful and compelling as a film about Basquiat himself, even though I believe that Schnabel’s film is more educational about Basquiat’s actual art and his life as an artist, which was probably more helpful for me in this particular class.

To me, the most unforgettable film from this semester was Cutie and the Boxer. It was so subtle, so quietly empowering and psychologically insightful, that it has stayed with me months later. I love how the film gave us a deceptive opening by focusing most on the husband, Ushio. Then, as we observe Noriko in the sidelines, there’s a moment in which we realize that this film is actually about her. Despite her status as her husband’s subordinate, she is so sure of her power. The differences between the couple manifest not only in their personalities, but also in their art. Ushio’s work is gargantuan, angry, masculine, violent. Noriko’s work is small-scale and easy to miss upon first glance—but once you look, you realize that she tells a story. The film is about both the domestic and the professional, the personal and the political. Ushio names their joint exhibition “Roar”. He thinks that in doing so, he describes the ferocity of his work. But in truth, the name is all about Noriko. She roars—quietly, but powerfully nonetheless. This film makes me wonder how many creative and intelligent women are obscured by the masculine artistic greats we so revere.

Out of all of the films I have seen for this class, Frida stuck out to me the most. Teeming with excitement and full of vivid colors, Frida provided me with a passionate portrait of Frida Kahlo’s life. The movie felt authentic to its subject. From the very beginning when we were presented with a tour of Frida’s vibrant garden, teeming with cactuses and monkeys, we are given a deep look into the painter’s childhood, life in Mexico city, relationships, and politics. We are confronted with her psychology, rather than just receiving details about her life.

Still from movie

Still from movie

Still from movie