Metro Pulse/Movie Guru/Pollock

Movie Guru Rating:
Meditative (3 out of 5)

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Pollock investigates the well-worn canvas of genius

by Adrienne Martini

True genius—of the world-changing, visionary sort—seems inextricably linked to madness. The two march along in lock-step; without the tempering effects of genius, madness becomes unbearable. Without madness, genius is just another smart aleck running his mouth without the drive to do whatever it takes to see the vision through. Like Abbott and Costello, you can't have one without the other.

Filmmakers and actors, of course, are fascinated by this partnership. For the actor, it's a chance to play almost every extreme of the human condition; for a filmmaker, a chance to convey these extremes using every last cinematic trick available. It's art. It's pathos. Blaze of glory. One stop shopping.

Two problems, though. These bio-pics are often far less interesting than the subjects they portray, simply because they are forced to follow a pre-ordained outline that the audience is already familiar with, given the stature of the subject. We know his live was stormy. We know what he did. We know when he died. The details may be a mistery, but the general plot is familiar, which leads to some uninsipring, not-quite documentary- style filmmaking.

Second problem is that some poor schnook actually had to live the life of these great characters. Sure, you get to revolutionize the world but, odds are, by the time that actually happens, you're too far gone to actually care. Look at Kurt Cobain. The right crazy musical inventor came along just when he was needed. By the time he played out his shining moment as the guy who invented grunge, he was too subsumed by quieting his own demons to really give much of a crap what he'd done.

Jump back 50 years and you stumble across the greatness that was Jackson Pollock. While neither Cobain nor Pollock single-handedly invented grunge or abstract expressionism, both were the catalysts who synthesized free-floating ideas into popular yet revolutionary art. Each became the human embodiment of the progression of modern thought and buckled under the weight of being household names.

Ed Harris—who actually seems to have been in every movie since the birth of cinema—has latched onto Pollock with a single-mindedness that would make a pit bull proud. Pollock, the film that he directed, produced and stars in, has been omnipresent in Harris' mind for over a decade, giving the star plenty of time to assemble a knock-out cast, learn to paint, and unearth devoted designers.

Because of all of the time Harris has invested in getting each detail absolutely perfect, the feel of Pollock is remarkable. The interior shots have been dressed down to the last 1940s milk glass coffee cup. The costumes have been lovingly recreated and push the question "Is it new or is it vintage?" Large chunks of Pollock were actually shot in the artist's Long Island retreat, which adds another rich layer to an already remarkable feast.

In his actor role, Harris is a wonder and has earned an Oscar nomination for his work. From Pollock's mute, drunken rage to his rare moments of lucidity, Harris keeps the character always identifiable. Not once does the Harris/Pollock creation ever move from some guy who does great things with paint to untouchable icon. And the scenes in which Harris paints make the paintings more understandable. Pollock's lyric assemblages of line, form and color are dazzling on their surface, but gain dimension when you see them put together on the big screen by the actor.

While Pollock will send you scrambling for old art history textbooks in order to look at how the work of this period all fits together, it'll also give you a new appreciation for what it takes to keep a drink-addled genius on his feet and creating. Without wife Lee Krasner, a talented artist in her own right, Pollock would have probably burned out long before his work really got the notice it deserved. Marcia Gay Harden, most known for her star turn in Miller's Crossing, invests herself in Krasner, pushing both Pollock and Harris to even greater heights. Harden's performance has also been given a well-earned Oscar nomination.

It's too bad, though, that the rest of the supporting cast can't get a nod from the academy as well. Without, say, Val Kilmer as Willem DeKooning or Amy Madigan as Peggy Guggenheim, much of Pollock's texture would be lost. And without that texture, to be honest, the whole film would fall apart, like one of Pollock's paintings would if you straightened out even one paint-spattered squiggle. It's the visual noise that keeps the work rich and interesting.

Because, let's face it, bio-pics—which despite the director's protestations to the contrary Pollock still is—aren't known for their dynamic plots. There's no room for a screenwriter's interesting digressions because they aren't rooted in fact. No place for a director's vision because it may conflict with the subject's story. In a bio-pic, you have to follow the pre-ordained path, which can make for a rather stilted and inevitable atmosphere that lacks any sense of surprise and discovery.

It's too bad, given the mad genius of the painter, that an equally groundbreaking film could not have been made. Instead, Harris has presented a detailed, informative tribute that lacks the troubled spark that so defined its subject. Still, though, it's a well-made visual feast that is satisfying, if not stirring.