A Bigger Splash

Artist David Hockney is such a lively colorful figure that one might expect a film about his life and art to be a bubbly romp. But Jack Hazan takes quite a different route. He followed Hockney and his circle of friends around for quite a considerable amount of time -- shooting in 35mm, rather than 16mm as was popular for documentary films at this time. Moreover, rather than aim for a "cinema verite" styled "truth," Hazan deals in fantasy and melodrama. The action covers a period in which Hockney and his lover and model, Peter Schlesinger, are breaking up. Hockney is having what appears to be a somewhat difficult time finishing a large canvas for which Schlesinger was the subject, and Hazan suggests that the end of the relationship played a part in this difficulty. But he only suggests. He doesn't offer a set conclusion. What he does do is utilize film as means of entering Hockney's visual world. Many of his close friends and associates, including Ozzie Clark, Celia Birtwell, Patrick Procktor and Henry Geldzahler make appearances conversing with Hockney -- whose verbal wit is everywhere apparent. Most daring of all is scene in which Schlesinger and another young man make love.

When he finally saw the results Hockney was both surprised and slightly appalled. "Two hours of weeping music," he called it. No surprise as "A Bigger Splash" gets a lot closer to Hockney's inner and outer life than he probably imagined it would.

A very important film for art lovers, and a very important piece of gay cinema.

Seems to be one of those 1970s "gay identity" films. British tastes in art never do much for me. Hockney just comes across as an Andy Warhol wannabe--the artificial yellow hair, the I am an artist" eccentric eyeglasses. The flat one-note swimming pool paintings derived from commercial art styles and techniques. Warhol did stylized art of Marylin, Liz Taylor and Elvis--but he did a lot of other things in his art as well. Warhol's 'factory' was open to other creative people. A whole community grew out of his activities. Hockney's world seems like a soap opera of people in a self-indulgent little coterie/clique. Yes there is a swimming pool scene of nude young men with camera angles looking up their butts, and a glamorized but documentary-style shot of two guys having sex. Maybe that was 'cutting edge' for film in the 1970s--but now--who cares? And Warhol's many films about gays and transvestites that same period in New York were a lot more honest, and a lot more weird, and curiously, had a lot more vitality.

So--Hockney is not a very interesting or appealing person on film--just annoying, or out of his depth maybe. And the world has moved way past the gay "statement" films of 50 years ago.

Seems that IMdB reviewers either hate or appreciate this film. As for me, I savored particular portions of this somewhat disjointed, dreamlike take on the early 1970s when Hockney was already thriving, while revealing glimmers of increased fame in the following decades. The choice of classical music was quite interesting throughout, and included snippets of operas... the vibe felt a bit over wrought, but it actually worked. Over the years, I've come to find Hockney to be an insightful, gifted, and innovative artist. His outlook towards using new technological inventions is admirable, and he has educated others on old master techniques and tools.

The camera (whether still frame or cinematic) makes the wide majority of subjects self-conscious. Even when they try to "be on their best", the viewer can interpret this "cover up" according to their own filters. For me, one of the most effective scenes in this film was when the art dealer Kasmin was trying to persuade Hockney to speed up his output so that the lusty whims of art collectors could be satisfied. Hockey appears slightly bemused and his face teases while he endures his gallerist's guidance. This push-pull dilemma is an age old struggle whenever an artist engages others to commercially sell their work. The rhythms of a successful artist's life are no longer their own.

As enticing and lovely as the fashion show segment was, I found it extended and a bit deflated. There were segments of the main characters coming and going to Hockney's place or to Celia's flat which felt stale. For anyone interested in Hockney, his comrades, and gay life in London during the early 70s, I would recommend this movie. Be forewarned though, the pace of some scenes drag, and there are fawning long takes of several choice people which unfortunately decrease the potential for surprise.

I wanted to like this movie but I ended up fast forwarding through a lot of it.

Hockney's paintings have always fascinated me. The quality of space and light and the combination of isolation and transcendence that fills the mysterious spaces in his paintings remind of Hopper--you know, the guy who painted that famous picture of the customers in the all-night diner--The Nighthawks.

When the camera is panning Hockney's fascinating and enigmatic canvases, the film works, because his canvases are so good. In those few moments when Hockney discusses his life or his work, the film works. I especially liked the brief scene where a gallery owner (Kasmin) is trying to convince Hockney to paint faster. It is reminiscent of that scene in Amadeus when the emperor (I think) complains to Mozart that there are "too many notes" in his music.

The film also works when it shows Hockney at work.

But that's about it. These moments, while they linger in the mind, only make up a small part of the film.

The rest of it *seems* to be about Hockney's breakup with his lover. However, there is virtually no exposition. Let me repeat. There is virtually no exposition. The director appears to suppose, wrongly so, that the audience will somehow already know or easily intuit the issues that separated Hockney and Schlessinger(?). Or maybe he assumes that they are just too obvious and commonly understood to bear repetition.

As for the lover, you *see* a great deal of him, but he mostly pouts and sulks and prances about. The film does not reveal whatever it was that drew Hockney to him or held them together or what drove them apart.

You hear virtually nothing about what these men were to each other, why they loved each other, why their relationship failed----nothing.

The problem, of course, is that the film and the bulk of the screen time is supposedly devoted to the failure of Hockney's relationship.

Nor do other people in the film have anything of an insightful or even informative nature to say about the relationship or anything else for that matter. They seem like a surprisingly bored and boring bunch of people.

One of the issues 'dealt with' in the film is whether or not Hockney will leave London for the US and not return. If this film accurately portrays Hockney's life in London, then it is blindingly obvious why he would want to leave London.

Oh, and there's a lot of walking around and, I think, some completely gratuitous frontal nudity, and some pretty boys splashing around naked in a pool. But what's the big deal about that? That sort of footage is widely available.

And the blooming' film goes on for two hours.

So I think this film richly deserves its very low rating. Watch something else.

This is an odd quasi-documentary ostensibly about Hockney's breakup with his protégé and lover (Peter Schlesinger) and, to some extent, its effect on his painting and on his relationships with his friends and colleagues.

Very unfortunately the result is a mish-mash: some glimpses into what passes for access into the worlds of art and fashion (one particularly long fashion show scene is almost painful to watch); musings on the relative merits of London, France, Italy, New York and California (early-70s New York comes off as truly wretched); contextless vignettes of Hockney's friends and colleagues, who could not possibly be as dull as they are presented here; some actually interesting looks at Hockney's techniques, including "joiner" collages he used to construct elements of his paintings; and all this punctuated with what is supposed to be an examination of the breakup between Hockney and his younger boyfriend. A good bit of gay sex and nudity are thrown in to spice things, and while it was assuredly arresting in 1973, very little of it feels very sensual, and certainly not erotic. Their relationship is left entirely unexamined, so at best one might conclude that Peter is more self-absorbed even than Hockney or that he simply prefers the company of men more his age. Ho-hum.

This might have been a lot more interesting at 45 minutes: you might not notice how inconsequential it all seems.