I always try to catch this film when it's on TV, but I always stop watching before its terrible ending. Jackson Pollock was a great artist, thanks in no small part to his shrewd wife, Lee Krasner. She was the intermediary between this disturbed and ultimately psychotic man and the sophisticated New York art world that never knew quite what to make of him. Compared to today, the postwar New York art scene looks quaintly innocent. All it took was some pontificating by Clement Greenberg and a spread in Life magazine to make Pollock's career. Ed Harris plays Pollock well, and the scenes where he actually paints are fascinating. The film also does a does a good job of showing how artists actually lived in fifties in New York. By today's standards, it was a grubby life in dilapidated walk-ups painted in the harsh, cheap white paint favored by cheap landlords. But it was possible to be poor and still live in Manhattan. In a way, Krasner did her job too well. Pollock was emotionally unprepared for his fame and it sent him (and ultimately poor, innocent Edith Metzger who had the bad luck to be in his car at the wrong time) over the deep end. Pollock is an honest movie that is obviously a labor of love on the part of director Harris and the actors whose performances are excellent.
