Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Mary Harron
Starring: Ben Kingsley, Barbara Sukowa, Rupert Graves, Suki Waterhouse, Andreja Pejic, Ezra
Miller, Christopher Briney
If you were going to go to a fancy dress party as an artist then the
easiest, and most clearly recognisable, costume to pull off would be
Salvador Dali. A quick recce reveals that fake Dali moustaches are both
cheap and readily available (2.99 from a site called Carnival Store). One
of those and an old suit, along with a long-haired wig: ahí tienes! I
didn’t find any Francis Bacon or Matisse cosplay, and it wasn't masks of
Joan Miró that the criminal madrileños of Money Heist wore,
either. Pre-Warhol (who was NY mates with the man called Avida Dollars),
Dali was perhaps the most image conscious and deliberately iconic artist,
who consolidated the artist as celebrity/brand, a playful meta-concept
sorely absent from the insular, investment driven and aloof art climate of
today. As much as I love her work, can you imagine Cecily Brown featuring
as a guest on Through the Keyhole? No, you can't. But in an equivalent
situation during the opening of Mary Harron and
John C. Walsh's (director/writer) Dalíland, we yet see Salvador Dali (Ben Kingsley, taking full advantage of
Carnival Store’s thrifty deals) on a 1950s episode of What's My Line where
via a series of pertinent questions the contestant correctly guesses who
he is! Try that with Jenny Saville.
Harron's loose biopic portrays an era where art was perhaps more central
to the mainstream culture, a post-Factory American 1970s where pretty
vacant James (Christopher Briney), a made-up character, is
instructed to infiltrate the offbeat world of Dali by his poshnob boss.
Gallery curator Christoffe (Alexander Beyer) initially gets the
young buckaroo to act as an intermediate, graduating to "keeping an eye
on" Dali and "making sure he paints" instead of falling foul of his
celebrity. Dali is drawn to the boy's beauty, and its conformance with his
glam entourage (which includes a poundshop Alice Cooper who is seemingly
played by someone from the Strokes circa 2001).
Ok, as a premise, it's thinner than watercolour, but in the opening of the
film Harron's storytelling is as crisp as ever, with an artist's sharp eye
for detail (at a hotel room party the guests drink champagne not from
flutes but coupe glasses: i.e. correctly), and makes for a reasonable
evocation of the title's promise. Kingsley is good value, and
instinctively understands the assignment (like all the greatest, Dali
recognised that art is simultaneously the most important and the most
ridiculous thing in the world, and must therefore be rendered accordingly,
cf. Un Chien Andalou). I like easy, funny Sir Ben, and he portrays Dali with just the right
gnomic camp here, as he bangs on about big cocks and arses all the time.
Perhaps he will win another Oscar.
Speaking of sex, we see, in the first half hour of the film, James, who
never existed irl, have it off twice. Ok, one time the sting reveals that
pervy Dali is watching from behind some curtains (The Great Masturbator,
indeed), but such narrative choices are indicative of the issues that
limit Dalíland, which reduces its namesake to a background player while centralising a
bland confection and his so-so coming of age (initially
Ezra Miller – I'm not getting involved - was to play this part but
couldn't due to the Fantastic Beasts stuff. However, they're still at
large here playing Dali in expressive flashback). Unlike
Oppenheimer, we don't see Dali have sex, or do a great deal else, really - our
experience of him is filtered through other people, who are not especially
interesting save for Dali's wife Gala (Barbara Sukowa). If James is
the face of the film, then Gala is the Beating Heart of
Dalíland; Dali's rock, who is taken for granted by the painter, and taken for a
ride by the star of Broadway's Jesus Christ Superstar (Zachary Nachbar-Seckel
playing Jeff Fenholt - now there's a biopic in the waiting...). It's a
theme which is followed through to the film's climax, which involves James
uncovering forgeries and unsanctioned deals implicating Gala: as ever,
scrape away at the illustrated canvas and you'll find a primer of commerce
beneath. Sukowka is great in this role, which contrasts Dali's candaulism
and Gala's sybarism, exposing how the liberated existence is perceived
differently depending on who is living it...
Imposing narrative structure onto real life events (notwithstanding the
fictional James) is always tricky - throughout the film, dear old
Rupert Graves (playing Dali's secretary) duly pops up every so
often as an ersatz Basil Exposición - but the last act invocation of faked
lithographs is notably whimsical, as is the [SPOILER for a man who has
been dead for almost a quarter of a century] near deathbed reunion of Dali
and fictional James, which is oddly unearned. The film becomes more about
the work experience of some basic kid, and not an insight into a pioneer
whose vision permeated popular culture from Disney to Chupa Chups lollies.
An undemanding biopic, where the period detail and Kingsley make for a
pleasant diptych, but Dalíland isn't one to persist in the
memory.
Daliland is on UK/ROI VOD now.
