Very beautiful color, almost as though Huston is not only impersonating the painter , but Douglas Sirk. Only one other film about a painter is better, Lust For Life, and not even sure about that.
One scene for me stands out. When Lautrec takes his whore slash love to the fine place to eat. Just about the most existential dinner in film. All of a sudden practically with lightning at her heels, she takes on such a flight from the place that it is frightening. Without warning, explanation, she jets away in such a flurry of abjection, not belonging, never was being so out of place ever better and more emotionally shown. For that matter, the character of the poor woman is so graphically and tragically done, that later when the painter kind of stumbles upon her in her sodden state, thinking he had provided for her, well, it was almost unbearable to watch. Few filmmakers have that kind of power, and Huston did.
The rest of the movie is really rather staid, although extremely easy on the eyes, primarily because Huston was such a good painter himself. And Huston could not apparently resist the chance to do Oscar Wilde with a paint can, Lautrec is forever compulsively spouting one liners faster than Wilde himself; that said, Ferrer is touching.
Though what good ole John had in mind using Ferrer for both father and son was a little to Bunuelesque for me. Simply ridiculous.
Still and all, this one certainly had its moments.
One scene for me stands out. When Lautrec takes his whore slash love to the fine place to eat. Just about the most existential dinner in film. All of a sudden practically with lightning at her heels, she takes on such a flight from the place that it is frightening. Without warning, explanation, she jets away in such a flurry of abjection, not belonging, never was being so out of place ever better and more emotionally shown. For that matter, the character of the poor woman is so graphically and tragically done, that later when the painter kind of stumbles upon her in her sodden state, thinking he had provided for her, well, it was almost unbearable to watch. Few filmmakers have that kind of power, and Huston did.
The rest of the movie is really rather staid, although extremely easy on the eyes, primarily because Huston was such a good painter himself. And Huston could not apparently resist the chance to do Oscar Wilde with a paint can, Lautrec is forever compulsively spouting one liners faster than Wilde himself; that said, Ferrer is touching.
Though what good ole John had in mind using Ferrer for both father and son was a little to Bunuelesque for me. Simply ridiculous.
Still and all, this one certainly had its moments.