Coming soon — this fall — a movie that’s bound to infuriate the contemporary art and
contemporary music worlds, make them howl with knowing laughter, or both. It’s called (Untitled), and I went to a preview of it last week, thanks to my co-blogger Amanda Ameer (Life’s A Pitch). One of her clients, Pulitzer-prizing-winning David Lang, wrote the music.
The plot follows a contemporary-art gallerist in Chelsea who makes her money from sales of vapid paintings by a terrible artist, but seduces his brooding brother (played by Adam Goldberg, left), an unsuccessful composer who disdains his brother’s schlocky paintings but envies his success. His music is so awful that even his parents walk out of his mostly empty concerts (“40 minutes of pure tedium”).
“Ten thousand dollars a picture,” the father says of the one son, in front of the other, “he’s a genius.”
But Madeleine, the gallerist (played by Marley Shelton, below) who exhibits dreadful works (many involving taxidermy, including a monkey with a vacuum cleaner) by a crazy, boorish artist, has a solution. She invites the composer, named Adrian, into her world, to present his music at
her gallery. The story proceeds from there.
The zingers never stop. One collector is “not familiar” with Matisse. Ray, the taxidermy artist, leaves Madeleine her for a better dealer. Then she discovers a tongue-tied artist named Monroe whose works include a pushpin (which he hilariously “hangs”) and a post-it note inscribed “Do!”
What are these things about? “I think I want what I want to say to go without saying,” says Monroe.
And there’s a chubby-fingered new collector who made his fortune in technology and doesn’t understand that money won’t necessarily buy him the hot works he wants.
All the while, Adam’s brother Josh yearns for a show of his paintings, but Madeleine hides his works in the back room, lest she be embarassed. An older, unfashionable art advisor comes in regularly to buy Josh’s paintings, which all look alike, in bulk — for hotels.
Is this a film a clef?
Not quite. The characters seem, to me at least, to be composites of various dealers and artists. But the filmmakers, writer-director Jonathan Parker and writer Catherine di Napoli, get the Chelsea scenes, the props, Madeleine’s clothing, and the lines right.
“Art does not look as good when it goes down in value,” says one character. Explains another: “Critics love theory; collectors love beauty.”
If anything, the send-up of new music is even funnier.
Adrian (the composer) employs chains, bubble-packing, and screeches as instruments. His musicians crumple paper, tear newspapers and kick buckets. Adrian instructs a musician exactly how to kick the bucket — from the hips — “to get a much more carnal tone.” A practice scene ensues.
Adrian plays the piano in a restaurant to earn a living, and when out of frustration he departs from the old standards to veer into new music, diners pay him not to play. He tries again at….enough said, you get the picture.
I have no idea how critics will react. They may say it’s predictable — and it is. But it’s still funny.
(Untitled) opens in wide release on Oct. 23. Here’s a link to its website.
Photo Credits: Courtesy of Samuel Goldwyn Films