Vincent & Theo, a 1990 film by director Robert Altman, may be the worst film ever made by a major director who has made a great film. Watching this two hour and twenty minute abomination left me, and my wife, stunned by its wretchedness. From the nonexistent narrative, to the indulgence of every artistic cliché imaginable by screenwriter Julian Mitchell, to possibly the worst soundtrack, by Gabriel Yared, ever used in a film (even worse than the estimably bad Robot Monster!), it's a wonder Altman ever crawled his way out from under the odium of this horrorshow, the nadir of his career- even more so than Popeye a decade before. Yet, his very next film, The Player, somehow relaunched his career. If I can indulge a cliché, maybe it really can be darkest before the dawn!
I have still yet to see a successful film made on the life of a real artist, where all the clichés were not utilized. Perhaps the closest to that ideal was Amadeus, save for the fact that its protagonist was not Mozart, but Salieri, and the story was the latter's envy of the former's talent, and the truth was that that whole film was an almost total fiction.
This film, however, does not even address the artistic impulse, and the paintings, which is the ONLY reason anyone gives a damn about Vincent Van Gogh, his suffering, or even his brother. Altman states, in the featurette, that what interested him were Vincent's letters to Theo, yet we NEVER get a hint of what they say, only one ridiculously melodramatic scene where a raving Theo bitches at his wife's opening up of the letters.
Altman's always been at his best in ensemble pieces, like Nashville, M*A*S*H, The Player, and Gosford Park. He seems utterly adrift in this intense de facto two person stage play where both actors wildly overact, as if they were in a Roger Corman 1960s comic-horror version of Lust For Life, save with British accents, not Dutch.
Vincent & Theo is a horrible film, in its own stolid way as bad as Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan or Schindler's List, but it seems even worse because Spielberg's never come within a light year of a film as complex as Nashville. There is no progression nor insight into Vincent Van Gogh in this film, nor even his brother. When the brothers die we do not care, nor do we have an iota of insight into Altman's ideas on life and art. Vincent's graffiti that 'I AM THE HOLY SPIRIT. I AM WHOLE IN SPIRIT.' are not only dull and trite, but not given a shred of evidence one way nor the other by Altman. I could go on and on, and list a few dozen other reasons why this is easily Altman's worst film, and a terrible film, period, but hopefully I've earned enough trust with my readership that I can tell them to simply skip this one and watch Lust For Life instead. It's a better film, and more intellectually honest, to boot. OK, exhale!
I have still yet to see a successful film made on the life of a real artist, where all the clichés were not utilized. Perhaps the closest to that ideal was Amadeus, save for the fact that its protagonist was not Mozart, but Salieri, and the story was the latter's envy of the former's talent, and the truth was that that whole film was an almost total fiction.
This film, however, does not even address the artistic impulse, and the paintings, which is the ONLY reason anyone gives a damn about Vincent Van Gogh, his suffering, or even his brother. Altman states, in the featurette, that what interested him were Vincent's letters to Theo, yet we NEVER get a hint of what they say, only one ridiculously melodramatic scene where a raving Theo bitches at his wife's opening up of the letters.
Altman's always been at his best in ensemble pieces, like Nashville, M*A*S*H, The Player, and Gosford Park. He seems utterly adrift in this intense de facto two person stage play where both actors wildly overact, as if they were in a Roger Corman 1960s comic-horror version of Lust For Life, save with British accents, not Dutch.
Vincent & Theo is a horrible film, in its own stolid way as bad as Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan or Schindler's List, but it seems even worse because Spielberg's never come within a light year of a film as complex as Nashville. There is no progression nor insight into Vincent Van Gogh in this film, nor even his brother. When the brothers die we do not care, nor do we have an iota of insight into Altman's ideas on life and art. Vincent's graffiti that 'I AM THE HOLY SPIRIT. I AM WHOLE IN SPIRIT.' are not only dull and trite, but not given a shred of evidence one way nor the other by Altman. I could go on and on, and list a few dozen other reasons why this is easily Altman's worst film, and a terrible film, period, but hopefully I've earned enough trust with my readership that I can tell them to simply skip this one and watch Lust For Life instead. It's a better film, and more intellectually honest, to boot. OK, exhale!