It’s exciting to see Shyamalan on such confident footing once more, all these years later.
It simply won’t do to call filmmaker Frederick Wiseman a documentarian. Even film critics and film lovers who normally aren’t all that actively/avidly enthusiastic about the documentary feature as a form—and I have to admit, I’m one of them—have to give it up for Wiseman. Like the Maysles brothers, like Shirley Clarke, like D.A. Pennebaker at his heights, Wiseman has created a body of work that proves him a great filmmaker, period. His latest picture, “National Gallery,” is a typically lucid, graceful and unobtrusively multi-tiered work.
The movie opens with a considered series of shots of paintings that hang in the London art museum that gives the film its title. While not a small museum, the National Gallery isn’t on a scale like that of New York’s Metropolitan or Paris’s Louvre and hence its focus is a bit narrower; the place displays paintings dating from the 14th Century to the end of the 19th. So immediately, as we perhaps recognize a Holbein or Rembrandt in the opening shots of the film, the movie draws us into an older world. But a familiar sound begins to break the silence that would create the ideal mood for contemplating these works? What is it? It gets louder, and soon Wiseman cuts to a wider shot of one of the gallery’s hanging rooms, and there’s a fellow operating a floor polisher.
This opening is a near-perfect encapsulation of Wiseman’s method. His camerawork is as objective, or as “objective,” as it gets; he’s really the only filmmaker of his gender who could set a documentary entirely in a strip club (his 2012 “Crazy Horse”) without running the risk of indulging a “male gaze.” Where he editorializes, or makes a point of declining to editorialize, is in his cutting. The opening invites the viewer into the realm of the sublime, then drops the viewer into the realm of the quotidian. This juxtaposition, Wiseman suggests, is a part of what makes the Gallery a noble institution.
Over the course of the movie, Wiseman takes us inside all of the activities that define this glorious space. There are shots of docents giving very lively and informed talks about art history and the different way art, particularly religious art, functioned in centuries past: “The painting would be acting as a sacramental channel,” explains one scholar. There is a meeting in which the head of the gallery, the lanky art historian Nicholas Penny, balks at the suggestion of using the façade of the gallery as a space for video projection of the London marathon. A colleague says that as the marathon will end in Trafalgar Square, there’s an inevitability to the Gallery’s presence in the coverage of the event. Penny, though thoughtful and understated, has clearly had it up to his neck with commercial considerations of a certain kind: “It’s gonna happen anyway so we should just use it then,” is not, he states forcefully, an argument that cuts much ice with him.
This message came to me from a reader named Peter Svensland. He and a fr...
Chaz Ebert highlights films with the potential to get us through the confusing political times of the Trump presidenc...
A review of Netflix's new series, Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events," which premieres January 13.
One of the most audacious American films from the 1960s is now available via the Criterion Collection.