When I created the Word document to start this review, up popped the message from Co-Pilot asking me what I wanted to draft. Just for fun I entered ‘review of the movie The Stolen Painting’, and it came up with 5 paragraphs of highflown pretentious prose using words like meditativeness and integration and non-linear, about some Portuguese movie allegedly with the same title. I went looking for it online and there was no such movie, although there was a Portuguese movie called ‘The Hypothesis of The Stolen Painting’
Anyway, I binned it. So much for my first attempt to use AI to write something creative. Anyway, it’s cheating.
The one I saw was the seventh movie by veteran French filmmaker Pascal Bonitzer. I hadn’t heard of him, but apparently he is highly regarded in European cinema. The Stolen Painting is inspired by the 2005 discovery, in the French city of Mulhouse, of a work by Egon Schiele, the early 20th-century Austrian expressionist.
Schiele is best-known for his exquisite line drawings and sketches of human bodies and his self-portraits. There is an air of raunchy decadence about his work. He would not have been one of Hitler’s favourites. The painting that is the subject of this movie is Withered Sunflowers, a 1914 work which disappeared during the Second World War. It had been looted from the home of a Jewish family and was found in the home of a French factory worker.
The pre-publicity for the movie talked about its examination of the amorality of the art market, the greed and cynicism of collectors and dealers and the vexed questions of restoration and ownership. I was expecting a story a lot more cynical in tone.
But it wasn’t like that at all. It’s a character-driven, psychological drama with a mild air of mystery. I admit I did find that sentence online – on Wikipedia, I think, and I nicked it for myself because it sums the movie up perfectly.
The central character is Andre, a hotshot dealer at the French equivalent of Sotheby’s. His ex-wife Bettina also works there as a valuer, and they have an amicable working relationship.
Andre has an intern, who’s good at her job but there’s friction between them because he’s a hard taskmaster and also he calls her out on her compulsive lying, sometimes about unimportant things.
When the mother of the factory worker – Martin – gets in touch with the firm to ask them to take a look at the painting, which they think might be valuable, Andre and Bettina take the job on.
The young worker and his mother are battlers. Their lives are far removed from the style and sophistication of the art dealer crowd. When Andre and Bettina first see the painting hanging on the wall of this plain house in a grimy industrial suburb, they look at each other and laugh. Martin and his mother are offended. Are these Parisian toffs laughing at us for our ignorance? Is the painting worthless after all?
No. Andre and Bettina hasten to assure them that the painting is a genuine Schiele worth a lot of money, and explain that they were laughing in delight at the recognition of it. It’s a lovely scene.
They soon track down the rightful heir to the painting – a wealthy New Yorker. He’s a decent fellow, willing to share with the poor French folks a portion of the bounty which will come from the sale.
They’re all decent people, except for one shady character who tries to get the painting for himself by trying on an under-valuation scam. It’s a nicely detailed sub-plot which is best enjoyed as it unfolds within the story.
As are the details of the personal lives of the players. They all have their fears and foibles and quirks, and Bonitzer treats them all with warmth and dignity. The Stolen Painting delivers an engaging human story every bit as interesting and intriguing as the story of the stolen painting itself. I’m going to seek out his previous works now.