It's not as bad as I'd expected. It's one of those British crime dramas in which people walk around in Saville Row suits, visit Paris and Spain at will, and drive Jaguars -- and the plot centers around a fake Rembrandt painted by Jason Patric, who is double crossed by a couple of co-conspirators and aided by art expert Irene Jacob.
The sociologist Dean Maccannel, in his book "The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class", has a delightful anecdote about a group of young American tourists in the Louvre or the Prado or someplace, noticing that a number of paintings were designated as having been executed by P. ignotus, Latin for "painter unknown." The kids loved P. Ignotus's work, rushing from hanging to hanging, exclaiming, "Oh, here's another one by Ignotus!" This has nothing to do with the movie unless I want to squeeze it in by saying that I was reminded of Maccannel's story by an argument the fakers are having near the beginning of the film. The production of this fake has taken a long time and Patric has not signed it as Rembrandt van Rijn. The others (who are supposed to be art experts) want him to sign it so they can be sure they'll palm it off as the real thing. But Patric knows (as they should) that not every artist signs every one of his works, Rembrandt included. Without the signature it is less likely to be obviously faked. (I think Michelangelo signed only one of his works, La Pieta, although flamboyantly.) It's kind of interesting to watch Patric fake the painting. Looks convincing enough to me, and I once won a prize for window painting in the 8th grade. The rest of the movie -- with the thieves and murderers in pursuit of Patric and Jacobs -- is kind of routine, with one or two scenes very redolent of Hitchcock. But there's nothing spectacularly WRONG with it. It simply doesn't seem too original and hasn't much in the way of sparkle.
Except for Irene Jacob, the art expert who falls for Jason Patric for reasons that escape me because he looks quite ordinary. SHE doesn't though. I think it was Anthony Burgess who remarked of a chapter in James Joyce's Ulysses that "it may be gibberish but it's English gibberish." Something like that could be said of Jacob's face. She has even features but they are distinctly French even features. She has deep unripe-olive eyes, is not glamorized in any way, but is nevertheless striking, like the girl in a senior high school class that was only available to the captain of the football team. She has a slender modelesque figure with matching breasts. Badham, the director, is tasteful enough to have her disrobe on camera.
The film ends in a trial which is pretty tense and enjoyable, although not in the slightest believable. On trial for murder, Patric has a chance to prove his innocence by reproducing the faked Rembrandt in court, which he can do in a jiffy. One afternoon, in fact. He is well on his way to succeeding, to the dismay of the prosecution and the satisfaction of his counsel, when he stops, throws his palette down, and refuses to go on because "Only Rembrandt can paint Rembrandt." Faking someone else's painting hasn't bothered him a whit before and, man, does this epiphany come at the wrong time.
No matter. It's kind of enjoyable. Worth watching if it comes up but not worth working for.
The sociologist Dean Maccannel, in his book "The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class", has a delightful anecdote about a group of young American tourists in the Louvre or the Prado or someplace, noticing that a number of paintings were designated as having been executed by P. ignotus, Latin for "painter unknown." The kids loved P. Ignotus's work, rushing from hanging to hanging, exclaiming, "Oh, here's another one by Ignotus!" This has nothing to do with the movie unless I want to squeeze it in by saying that I was reminded of Maccannel's story by an argument the fakers are having near the beginning of the film. The production of this fake has taken a long time and Patric has not signed it as Rembrandt van Rijn. The others (who are supposed to be art experts) want him to sign it so they can be sure they'll palm it off as the real thing. But Patric knows (as they should) that not every artist signs every one of his works, Rembrandt included. Without the signature it is less likely to be obviously faked. (I think Michelangelo signed only one of his works, La Pieta, although flamboyantly.) It's kind of interesting to watch Patric fake the painting. Looks convincing enough to me, and I once won a prize for window painting in the 8th grade. The rest of the movie -- with the thieves and murderers in pursuit of Patric and Jacobs -- is kind of routine, with one or two scenes very redolent of Hitchcock. But there's nothing spectacularly WRONG with it. It simply doesn't seem too original and hasn't much in the way of sparkle.
Except for Irene Jacob, the art expert who falls for Jason Patric for reasons that escape me because he looks quite ordinary. SHE doesn't though. I think it was Anthony Burgess who remarked of a chapter in James Joyce's Ulysses that "it may be gibberish but it's English gibberish." Something like that could be said of Jacob's face. She has even features but they are distinctly French even features. She has deep unripe-olive eyes, is not glamorized in any way, but is nevertheless striking, like the girl in a senior high school class that was only available to the captain of the football team. She has a slender modelesque figure with matching breasts. Badham, the director, is tasteful enough to have her disrobe on camera.
The film ends in a trial which is pretty tense and enjoyable, although not in the slightest believable. On trial for murder, Patric has a chance to prove his innocence by reproducing the faked Rembrandt in court, which he can do in a jiffy. One afternoon, in fact. He is well on his way to succeeding, to the dismay of the prosecution and the satisfaction of his counsel, when he stops, throws his palette down, and refuses to go on because "Only Rembrandt can paint Rembrandt." Faking someone else's painting hasn't bothered him a whit before and, man, does this epiphany come at the wrong time.
No matter. It's kind of enjoyable. Worth watching if it comes up but not worth working for.