I know! I wasn't supposed to be able to post this weekend but I'm back, bitches! Well, technically, I'm in the Amsterdam airport but you know what I mean. Thank God for free wi-fi. This is the third of five nominations in the category of Best Documentary Feature, which is pretty good since I think I only got two last year.
I wasn't sure what to think about this movie until about the last 20 minutes. It's only 87 minutes long but it feels much longer. Which isn't to say that it's a bad film, because it's not, just that it feels like a longer movie.
If I had to describe this movie (cause I kind of do), I would say that it is a character study of the biggest poseur of the street art world.
I don't know about you, but I like surrounding myself with artistic people. I like to write and I think I'm fairly talented with communicating ideas in that medium. I love seeing artists because I am not talented whatsoever in that way. Therefore it translates to a type of magic. It's amazing to me that someone can take a sheet of paper, a wall, a canvas and turn it into art. Sheer creation, happening right before your eyes. The people who do street art are all fascinating. Not only do they have the mystical ability to translate paint into emotion, there's the added thrill of vandalism. The problem arises when you have people on the oustskirts of the artists who watch and marvel and become convinced that they can somehow pick up talent by osmosis.
Thank God I am plagued by crippling self-doubt. Otherwise I could have my very own documentary.
The movie follows a Frenchman named Thierry who runs a vintage clothing store in LA. His hobby is filming anything and everything. One holiday in France, he hangs out with his cousin whose hobby is making tile mosaics of Space Invader characters and attaching them around town. This is way more interesting and acts as a gateway for Thierry to meet other up-and-coming street artists. His camera legitimizes their efforts, lending them permanence, even as he becomes an unofficial mascot. Finally, all his efforts are rewarded and he meets the ever-elusive Banksy, the Picasso of the streets.
Like a true artist, Banksy offers his little hero-worshipping friend some well-meaning advice: go forth and create your own work.
This immediately translates to Thierry as "you're just as good" and he decides to stage his own gallery show. Unburdened by talent and filled with exuberence, he hires various artists, sculptors, and model-makers and simply has them execute his visions. He then hypes the shit out of it and slaps exorbitant price tags on all his "works", unintentionally making a mockery out of everything Banksy, Invader, Shepherd Fairey, and all the other artists he's followed have ever stood for. And he made over a million dollars doing it.
That's gotta sting.
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