A layered film

It is one thing for me to sit around and critique mainstream popular films each week, but quite another when it comes to a documentary about art and film. The same formulas do not apply. Instead of commenting on any trite plot lines or flat and forgettable characters, I enter into unknown territory full of experts seated just so in front of elaborate backdrops (generally composed of their own artwork) and an obscene amount of information that doesn’t seem to stick.

Such was the case with Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies. Actually, when it comes down to it, it’s difficult to view this film as cinematographic documentary, as it was reminiscent of something one might watch in an art history course. There is no clear structure to the film and—unless you are familiar with the works of Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque—it’s difficult to follow along with interest. The so-called experts (one could argue that a few of them are merely self-important artists) seem to discuss things at random, which results in some confusion due to the lack of a linear timeline.

In fact, if it weren’t for the title of the film, it would be entirely unclear whether it was about Picasso and Braque’s similarities as artists or if it was about the early development of film (it’s both). There is no clear introduction to the film, except for a short word from Martin Scorsese (director of The Departed and Shutter Island), but even that does not leave one with a clear idea of what they are about to view.

Regardless of the lack of a clear purpose, Picasso and Braque did have some promising moments. Once you get past the fact that—like any historical informative film—it’s a tad on the boring side, it’s easy to become quickly enamored by the clips of early film (circa the early 1900s) and amazed at how far this technology has come (like, for example, the fact that filmmakers would literally dye the film in order to create a colorful effect).

It’s moments like these that bring the viewer into a sense of nostalgia. You can close your eyes for a moment—though not for too long, because you don’t want to miss any of the spectacular early footage—and you can almost feel yourself sitting in the first Parisian theaters hearing the live piano just above the clicking of the film reel.

Then one of the artists starts talking again, about themselves and their own art, and the attention of the viewer is lost, as the film shows unnecessary and strange angles of the speaker (there is literally a moment when the camera switches to show one of the artists talking behind a large object). There are the parts that are ridiculously confusing and too abstract, as the camera pans across pieces by Picasso and Braque while numerous voices speak in the background, sounding like chatter you might hear in a crowded room.

Even that is excusable once the hour-long film is over and Scorsese gives the short conclusion. While I might perhaps know less about Picasso and Braque than I did before the film, it’s OK, because I’m left with wistfulness for times I’ve never seen and a desire to make old things new again.