Pollock

Films like "Pollock" always leave me at a loss when I have to describe them to others. For one thing, it's long been a labor of love for director / star Ed Harris, which maybe causes me to have more sympathy for the picture than I should -- after all, I'd hate to ream a project that he's spent so much time and energy developing. For another thing, I usually find biopics a bit crippled because, in most cases ("Pollock" included), I already know the plot, and without the plot to get lost in, I'm left to look at little things like, you know, the acting, writing and directing. Lucky for Harris (and my conscience), then, that the acting is uniformly great, the direction is mostly seamless (and downright kinetic at times), and the writing, while not being great in the "Casablanca" sense of the word, serves the story well. "Pollock" dodges all the pitfalls that often turn biopics into boring history lessons.

The film picks up with Jackson Pollock the Unsuccessful Drunk (Harris), dabbling in surrealist painting and proclaiming Picasso to be a fraud. There's enough promise in his work, though, for him to gain a girlfriend, Lee Krasner (Marcia Gay Harden); a benefactor, Peggy Guggenheim (Amy Madigan); and a professional critic, Clement Greenberg (Jeffrey Tambor), who champions his work in print. From there we watch Pollock take the express train to art world superstardom, becoming one of the world's foremost abstract painters.

The fly in the ointment, though, is Pollock's notorious temper, aided and abetted by his equally notorious alcoholism. Life in New York City is doing his personal life no favors, so he and Krasner move to the countryside, and it's here that he stumbles upon his "drip method" of painting, granting him another wave of fame and recognition. It is this sequence, in which Pollock makes his pivotal discovery, where Harris's talent as a director comes to the fore. Although we're aware that we're watching an actor perform a discovery that was made by someone else more than fifty years ago, it's an exciting, dynamic moment as Harris dances around his canvas, flicking paint from his brush in a blur of motion. It doesn't come off as staged or phony, but as a moment of genuine discovery, and for those moments we might as well actually be watching Jackson Pollock revolutionize the art world.

From there, though, ego, alcohol, and the mechanics of change all prove to be Pollock's undoing, leading, of course, to his untimely demise. Through it all, Harris seethes with a feral intensity, giving a performance that should rightfully win him an Oscar (and check out the dramatic weight gain at the end. Tom who?). Harden, his co-nominee, is also excellent (although she's stuck uttering lines like, "You've done it, Pollock. You've cracked it wide open."). In lesser hands, Krasner could be just another version of the screeching, wailing, put-upon wife, but Harden bolsters the anguish with a fine layer of anger; the torment of a woman who loves the person causing her misery, but who is unwilling to let go of the principles which led her to enter and maintain the relationship on her own terms.

"Pollock" ultimately succeeds because we know how it will end, we clearly see how unpleasant and deluded the artist had become, and still we can't look away. Harris's labor of love serves as an auspicious debut for someone who, at this stage, seems just as skilled behind the camera as he is in front of it.

As heavy and darkly textured a film as any one of his masterpieces, director and star Ed Harris takes us into the tortured, inebriated world of abstract painter Jackson Pollock (1912-1956)and leaves us assured that Pollock is a certifiable candidate for the Hall of Fame "self-destructive genius" award, joining the illustrious, besotted ranks of Ernest Hemingway, Hank Williams, John Barrymore, Helen Morgan, et al. True, when has Hollywood ever bothered to put on cinematic display a gifted artist who wasn't a poster child for Betty Ford? We usually reserve well-adjusted geniuses for quieter, more tasteful retrospectives on cable TV.

Harris spares no time in letting us know that Pollock is a crude, mindless, gifted mess veering toward unmitigated disaster, taking everything and everyone down with him as he does. Amazingly, in his brutally brief 44 years, Pollock manages to find, with a man-child brilliance, his life's destiny as a master of artistic expression and interpretation and the accidental inventor of the drip-action technique. Harris painstakingly chronicles the little known details of this wretched genius who somehow learned how to free up his own artistic mind while confine the rest of his world to an absolute hell.

The actor/director wisely manages to avoid most of the pitfalls characteristic of these grand bios of agony and angst. In a stark, no-holds-barred performance, he lays the character out like it is -- unredeeming, hopeless, desperate, supremely gifted, yet intriguing. Its a daunting, fully etched performance that, in lesser hands, could have been one long cliche. He doesn't toy with the audience by thinking had the right circumstances come along for Pollock (and they DID come along with wife and caretaker, Lee Krasner) he could have somehow prevailed. Harris is quite believable, losing himself in the painter while showing off his researched skills with a brush. It's a true labor of love and it shows.

Marcia Gay Harden's self-sacrificing Krasner breathes life not only into Pollock but the film itself. Harden, in a rich, flashy portrayal, is mesmerizing as one artist compelled to save another, giving interesting dimension to a woman whose reasons are not totally pure and selfless. Amy Madigan (Harris' wife in real life) makes the most of her few scenes as the eccentric museum maven Peggy Guggenheim, while Val Kilmer appears in an odd, thankless cameo. Harris and Harden were both deservedly Oscar-nominated for their work here.

Yet, problems do creep into the film. While Harris pours his heart and soul into this show (a ten-year pet project, so they say), Pollock's "before life" is never set up to demonstrate why Pollock became such an inveterate drunk and monster. As such, little sympathy can be mustered, holding viewers at bay. Moreover, a couple of manipulative scenes also seem to be thrown in merely to punctuate the already well-worn theme of Pollock's misery and desolation. Less is more in this case. For the most parts, however, this little film succeeds.

Until now, little attention has been paid to the artist Jackson Pollock. Harris rectifies this injustice, as reprehensible as some of it is, with unsparing honesty, dedication and precision.

Pollock (2000)

There's no question this is a well made film, and based pretty much on truth, and an interesting truth--the life of a great Abstract Expressionist. Some would say the greatest of them all.

For myself, this isn't enough, and I know this is me. I'm an art critic and professor of Art in my real life, and I'm never very patient with movies about artists. The reason isn't that there are inaccuracies, but that there is a subtle or not-subtle goal of aggrandizing the subject. This reaches a beautiful but, again, romanticized, peak when Pollock makes his famous break into true gestural, raw work in a large commissioned piece for Peggy Guggenheim (who is portrayed, oddly, as a shy and dull sort, which I've never pictured). Then later he makes his drip works. And then he dies, again over dramatized and made aesthetic, as tragic and ugly as it had to have been in life.

If you want to really get into Pollock's head, especially if you aren't already a fan (I love Pollock's work), this is a convincing movie. At the helm as both director and playing the artist is Ed Harris. He is especially believable as a painter, which is something of an important point. This isn't like those movies about musicians where the actor is clearly not playing. Harris actually paints the darned thing, the big masterpiece, on the cusp of the drip works. I don't know if Harris was drinking, too, but he's a good drunk, and of course Pollock was a better drinker than a painter, even.

It's a cheap shot to say a movie could have been shorter, but this one sure would have propelled better with less atmosphere, less filler that is meant to create his life but is interesting only as an illustration of historical facts. It wore me thin for those reasons. Again, it might be a matter of how much you can get sucked into the given drama that is Jackson Pollock's life. It was quite a life, crude, untempered, brave, and immensely connected to what matters as an artist.

a good film, though perhaps i was expecting a little more. The psyche of a troubled artist is somewhat predestined these days and maybe it is just that our assumptions are correct as they are all portrayed in a predictable way. If this is how the artist truly was then then Harris could have done nothing different, it just seems a little distant. I didn't feel at one with the artist, i couldn't sympathise with him or feel his pain. The 'intellectual' artistic debates and gendredising continuously used by his wive left me with no sympathy for her. She appears desperate from the first scene pretentiously trying to be involved with the next big thing. The most depressing part of this film is that two people can be stupid enough to waste their lives on each other without searching for the happiness which they truly seek. The emphasis is on Pollock as a man whereas i would like to see more of him as an artist, did his individual paintings have meaning or did he just do them out of hate for the world.... i guess i didn't feel you see his mind and its true agony's, maybe he was just generally mad at the world.

Really not a bad film for what it is, just to me it lacked true emotion.

sio

I think it is very hard in general to make a "based on a true story" sort of film, that alone can clamp a pretty heavy anchor to your ankles. Moreso when that true story is one that means a lot to you as Ed Harris has said about Jackson Pollock's biography.

Based upon those precepts, I feel Harris succeeded, however I cannot say this film is an unqualified success. It is sprawling, but unlike Pollock...for cinema circulation, Harris could not stretch his canvas so wide. He gets over two hours here...but I suspect he could have filled six easily.

Based upon early buzz when this came out, including the snippet shown at the Oscars for Marcia Gay Harden, I had trepidation that this would be reduced to a shout and spittle film; that the rage and angst of Pollock and Krasner would be the story. Certainly this is one aspect presented, but not the sole one.

Interestingly to me, it seemed that the more halcyon Pollock's life was, the better his exploration of his art. I went in expecting that alcohol-oiled turmoil would be presented as the key to complicated creation. An artist must suffer and so on.

This shows that while I was familiar with Pollock, I was not that familiar. I could recognize his later chaotic, laced and dripped paintings...but I did not know anything about his personal life.

But in the course of two hours, I did enjoy...

1) Seeing a progression in Pollock's paintings. I had not seen many of his earlier works that had more blocks to them, that were more easily seen as assemblages of images. The way these were filmed, in the act of creation was well done here. Same is true for the latter works.

2) The importance of Pollock's family. I loved seeing his Mother come to the openings. I did not know that two other brothers also painted; Sande alone seems to understand Jackson's talent and torment. Their relationship could have made a film of its own.

3) Jeffrey Tambor's portrayal of Clem, a critic/king-maker of sorts. Us posters here, run the risk of being posers as well. And I think the best of us realize how subjective our comments are, a function of when we watch films, and who we are with, or how we are feeling as much as the films themselves.

4) Following on that notion, to me one thread of "Pollock" is how the circle of critics destroys artists with either persecution or praise. It is not a revelation, that much art is highly personal, both for the purveyor, but painfully so for the artists. Not a revelation, but still worth repeating...

When we see Pollock "drunk" on his ascent, reading from an Italian magazine during a family reunion, that really got to me. Maybe that was more dangerous than alcohol. Even if that critical acceptance is not essential, eating is. Another thread alluded to in this film, how to "work" and to live as an artist.

That scene also drove home the obsessive nature of being an artist, how it is hard at the same time to be a brother, or uncle, husband or perhaps impossible to be a father. Thus that obsession helps to contrast Sande and Jackson, and certainly sets up the power of Marcia Gay Harden's performance. Krasner too is an artist, who has had some success. She retains her name, and her dreams, but fully embraces Pollock, and Pollock's artwork. Her support of him, while aware of her limits, was presented without martyring her. She was not a saint wandering into Pollock's hell.

5) Talking to an artist about his/her obsession is problematic. They are already communicating in their chosen medium, and presumably they are communicating that way as it is easier than using words. I thought the interview with Life magazine in this film, and Pollock's notion of viewing his art as one views a field of flowers helped me. Maybe that was obvious to others, I think that way in music/sound...but in art too often I am hunting for images, for mirrors to our world.

The radio interview that Pollock conducted, halting and awkward could have underscored the travails of talking about art, or it seemed like he was trying to read from a manifesto of sorts (perhaps in real life one exists). Finally, the documentary film is painted as an undoing of Pollock. Fascinating as we ourselves are watching a film about Pollock. It's as if Ed Harris the actor in character could be talking to Ed Harris the film auteur.

The documentary film was to Pollock, what a zoo can be to a wild animal. The habitat corrupts the inhabitant. How Pollock puts on his shoes, when he's done painting, all control is lost...the private process made public, is made impure.

No, that's not the point to this film. If you are looking for a film with one tidy point, go elsewhere. But for an abridged but admirable biopic on Jackson Pollock, with many tangled and tantalizing threads...this is one to rent. And now a book for me to read. Rarely do I watch the deleted scenes and wish they had been in the film, as I did in this case.

There was a great shot early in the film where Pollock is pacing before the mural commissioned by Peggy Guggenheim. From the plot, we know he's worried about looms before him, and we get eerie shots of his shadow projected on the empty canvas to reinforce that. Harris too may have felt this was an ominous undertaking, I hope he pleased himself as he did me.

7/10