Big EyesEveryone remembers the fairy tale of "Rumpelstiltskin", and the name of the eponymous imp whose deceitful trickery is thwarted when he is revealed. But no one knows the name of the miller's daughter who was imprisoned, consigned to spin straw into gold. This fable runs parallel to Big Eyes, based on true events about the unsung artist Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) and her second husband, Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz), and the iconic art that bore their name that took the world by storm in the late Fifties and Sixties...and the great lie that virtually everyone bought into.
|
|
Big Eyes is to an extent a biopic of Margaret, from the time she leaves her first husband with her daughter, Jane (Delaney Raye and Madeleine Arthur), for San Francisco, to the decade-long journey to release herself from an emotional prison. Margaret's "prison" is one where she remains trapped even after she tries to strike out on her own--something not easy for a single mother, especially in 1958, as suggested by narrator and opportunistic journalist, Dick Nolan (Danny Huston). And though the film opens with this act of liberation, there is the sense that Margaret is still unprepared to confront the perils of worldliness and deception. Much like the wide-eyed children featured in her famous paintings, she views the world through an accepting attitude, what she sheepishly describes as naivete. At a street art fair, she draws portraits for a pittance, while her charismatic future husband charms passersby, gleaning commanding prices for his derivative Parisian street scenes in an impressionist style. It is clear that Walter is arrogant, but he possesses a confidence which Margaret can't help but allow herself to become swept up in. He is the "Prince Charming" who proposes to her under the auspices of helping her keep her daughter and their mutual love of art afloat; he even calls her a "princess" and whisks her off to a Hawaiian honeymoon. Too good to be true. But to be fair, were it not for the fact that history now knows the truth--as evidenced in the sensational court case that wouldn't take place until 1986--the audience would be forgiven in being stirred by Walter's proclaimed passion for art, his sincere testimonies about studying in Paris (even if he was only there for a week), and so many other "shaggy dog" tales. As Margaret concedes, Walter is an exceptional entrepreneur--even if he struggles desperately for acknowledgment from Ruben (Jason Schwartzman), an uptight art gallery owner. When Walter tries to promote his and his wife's wares at a jazz club, only to get into a heated row with the owner, Enrico Banducci (Jon Polito), the subsequent publicity puts him in the proverbial spotlight. Following the unexpected attention, Margaret's art is interpreted to be his--due to their now consistent signatures on the canvas--and Walter fails to correct them. When Margaret first catches Walter describing her paintings as his, she is appalled at the idea of it. And yet slick, silky Walter convinces her of the advantages of such an arrangement via a barrage of spurious rationalizations--he's present at the showings...it was a misunderstanding and now it's too late to correct it...people take male artists more seriously, and so on. Margaret, still shaken from this betrayal and convinced by his deception, become not only his silent accomplice but the very factory to virtually print money for his glory.
What's fascinating about the relationship between Margaret and Walter in Big Eyes is that although their values and motivations are already deeply rooted before they meet--Walter's dishonesty and Margaret's submissiveness--it is the lie they both perpetrate which causes the seemingly endless escalation of the Keane pop art phenomenon to soar skyward. For Walter, he is so utterly consumed by success, that there can be no ceiling, no end to his desire for more and more and more...so much so that he becomes utterly oblivious to--or uninterested in--the soul-crushing, twofold trauma he is inflicting on his wife. On one hand, it is clear that her artwork is very personal to her, and the content full of deep emotional meaning--many of her portraits are of her daughter, Jane--but that for all this acknowledgement she has craved, it is now denied to her by the man who she hoped she could trust and love after her first marriage--not much different than any other kind of abuse. The great lie ends up forcing Margaret to toil away in a private, restricted workspace for long hours, even forced to conceal the truth from her daughter who deep down knows better. Margaret is forced to cut herself off from her closest friends, like DeeAnn (Krysten Ritter), and is essentially a slave while Walter reaps the benefits.
But the most surprising turn is that for all of Walter's apparent inability to produce art himself, he becomes virtually convinced that he has done the portraits of the "waifs". He takes any criticism--like that of New York Times' dour art critic, John Canaday (Terence Stamp)--as though it was a personal attack on him, defending his artwork as though it were truly birthed from his hands and not Margaret's. It becomes clear that Walter is so wrapped up in perpetuating the lie, so convinced that his world will crumble should the truth be known, that any lie, no matter how unconvincing, is better than admitting to reality. When the conflict between Margaret and Walter finally comes to a litigious head, it boils down to the inevitable yet wholly classic showdown in the court, something which is pure comedy gold, and yet still spectacularly authentic. But Walter never really seems concerned with the art of the paintings he takes credit for, but the "empire" he seeks to foster, a towering beacon of recognition and respect--no matter if he didn't earn it. When he gets the idea to start selling the posters from the gallery, he finds he makes more money from reproductions of the work than trying to sell the originals, pioneering the advent of consumerist art over an individual form of expression. The irony here is that in the West Coast art scene Margaret is a part of (if operating from its proverbial shadows), most of it is populated by people motivated not by the artwork itself, but by vapid fashions, rampant consumerism, or elitist snobbery posing as criticism. This is coyly stated by virtue of a quote from Andy Warhol in the opening of Big Eyes, describing "Keane" in positive terms as an artist for the mass-production of the depictions of the sad children. It is safe to say that, at the time he would have said this, the world was under the impression that Walter was the painter; this adds to the cynical irony of how even an artist can be oblivious to the truth. When Canaday ultimately lambasts Keane's "gift" to the World's Fair as "kitsch", the truth is that he is right on two counts. Walter has turned Margaret's work into something as cliche as his Paris street scenes, leeching all life force from it, and Canaday recognizes subconsciously--since it is not public knowledge--the deep sadness and sense of emptiness that Margaret feels that comes across in the work, missing that unquantifiable yet intrinsic element in art which comes from bestowing a part of your soul into it. And since, for much of the film, no one else knows the truth--or is ignorant to it--the sense that the audience for this artwork is an unintended (or unappreciative) one is constant. This makes Big Eyes essentially an indictment of the art world as an institution of commerce rather than a "nation" of creative souls, whose work is born naturally in the soil of the heart.
Recommended for: Fans of a biopic about one of pop art's most famous artists--and the story behind the story. It is a tale which is clearly inspired by fairy tales of dashing princes and moving into fancy castles, but the disillusionment that comes with realizing the deceptions of those false promises, and standing strong for what you love and believe in.
What's fascinating about the relationship between Margaret and Walter in Big Eyes is that although their values and motivations are already deeply rooted before they meet--Walter's dishonesty and Margaret's submissiveness--it is the lie they both perpetrate which causes the seemingly endless escalation of the Keane pop art phenomenon to soar skyward. For Walter, he is so utterly consumed by success, that there can be no ceiling, no end to his desire for more and more and more...so much so that he becomes utterly oblivious to--or uninterested in--the soul-crushing, twofold trauma he is inflicting on his wife. On one hand, it is clear that her artwork is very personal to her, and the content full of deep emotional meaning--many of her portraits are of her daughter, Jane--but that for all this acknowledgement she has craved, it is now denied to her by the man who she hoped she could trust and love after her first marriage--not much different than any other kind of abuse. The great lie ends up forcing Margaret to toil away in a private, restricted workspace for long hours, even forced to conceal the truth from her daughter who deep down knows better. Margaret is forced to cut herself off from her closest friends, like DeeAnn (Krysten Ritter), and is essentially a slave while Walter reaps the benefits.
But the most surprising turn is that for all of Walter's apparent inability to produce art himself, he becomes virtually convinced that he has done the portraits of the "waifs". He takes any criticism--like that of New York Times' dour art critic, John Canaday (Terence Stamp)--as though it was a personal attack on him, defending his artwork as though it were truly birthed from his hands and not Margaret's. It becomes clear that Walter is so wrapped up in perpetuating the lie, so convinced that his world will crumble should the truth be known, that any lie, no matter how unconvincing, is better than admitting to reality. When the conflict between Margaret and Walter finally comes to a litigious head, it boils down to the inevitable yet wholly classic showdown in the court, something which is pure comedy gold, and yet still spectacularly authentic. But Walter never really seems concerned with the art of the paintings he takes credit for, but the "empire" he seeks to foster, a towering beacon of recognition and respect--no matter if he didn't earn it. When he gets the idea to start selling the posters from the gallery, he finds he makes more money from reproductions of the work than trying to sell the originals, pioneering the advent of consumerist art over an individual form of expression. The irony here is that in the West Coast art scene Margaret is a part of (if operating from its proverbial shadows), most of it is populated by people motivated not by the artwork itself, but by vapid fashions, rampant consumerism, or elitist snobbery posing as criticism. This is coyly stated by virtue of a quote from Andy Warhol in the opening of Big Eyes, describing "Keane" in positive terms as an artist for the mass-production of the depictions of the sad children. It is safe to say that, at the time he would have said this, the world was under the impression that Walter was the painter; this adds to the cynical irony of how even an artist can be oblivious to the truth. When Canaday ultimately lambasts Keane's "gift" to the World's Fair as "kitsch", the truth is that he is right on two counts. Walter has turned Margaret's work into something as cliche as his Paris street scenes, leeching all life force from it, and Canaday recognizes subconsciously--since it is not public knowledge--the deep sadness and sense of emptiness that Margaret feels that comes across in the work, missing that unquantifiable yet intrinsic element in art which comes from bestowing a part of your soul into it. And since, for much of the film, no one else knows the truth--or is ignorant to it--the sense that the audience for this artwork is an unintended (or unappreciative) one is constant. This makes Big Eyes essentially an indictment of the art world as an institution of commerce rather than a "nation" of creative souls, whose work is born naturally in the soil of the heart.
Recommended for: Fans of a biopic about one of pop art's most famous artists--and the story behind the story. It is a tale which is clearly inspired by fairy tales of dashing princes and moving into fancy castles, but the disillusionment that comes with realizing the deceptions of those false promises, and standing strong for what you love and believe in.