Lumière’s Art Editors on three portraits. By THOMASIN SLEIGH and ANDY PALMER.

THERE’s nothing more amusing that a Very Serious Art Historian. Very Serious Art Historians love Very Serious Artists. So, because this film deals with the work of Picasso and Braque – two Very Serious Artists par excellence – a handful of these kind of art historians get screen time. There is nothing they like better than a good discussion about influence and method. In the case of Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies, it is a discussion around the influence of early cinema on the early cubist works of Picasso and Braque. And they get into it with great gusto.

Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies gives a potted history of early film and the impact that the ability to record a moving image had on writers and artists, as well as the general public. It emphasised how extraordinary this new technology was in its early days. People were now able to not only record movement in real time, but could also manipulate and reverse that movement. In the medium of film it seemed time itself could be deconstructed.

The argument follows that this had a profound impact on the work of Picasso and Braque. These two painters were living in Paris in the early 1900s, and regularly attending the new cinemas which were sprouting exponentially all over the city. They were impressed by the new possibilities in re-presenting movement and supposedly attempted to convey this new conception of time and space by fracturing the picture planes of their canvases.

Beyond the art historical study of these two compatriots, what was most interesting for me in this movie was watching a lot of films from the early 1900s, the majority of which I hadn’t seen before. I was really struck by how experimental many of them were. It seems these early filmmakers were not only interested in recording events, but were obsessed by the further possibilities inherent in this new technology. These enthusiasts were reversing, chopping up, manipulating, and dyeing the physical film to achieve heightened effects. In the context of the current film festival, it was a potent reminder of the excitement that can be generated by the movies and the experimental and artistic possibilities inherent in this medium.


RAYMOND DEPARDON is a photographer with Magnum. Modern Life is a look at contemporary French farming, albeit in a specific part of rural France (the Haute-Loire region). The farms are typically old, small, and run by an aged folk. Depardon clearly has an ongoing relationship with these people. Many appeared in Profils paysans: l’approche (2001) – which I now want to track down – and some were photographed by Depardon in the 1980s.

It’s a slow film, mainly people talking to (and quite often not talking to) the camera. Two things made this fascinating. The quiet, acceptance/resignation of the farmers to the life they have. And the quaint farming practises – these guys are shepherds, taking their stock out during the day for grazing and barning them at night. New Zealand farms these are not.

There is conflict of course. The two octogenarian bachelor brothers jealousy of the recent marriage of their nephew and manager. The son who is only farming because of parental expectations – not that he could/would actually articulate what he would rather be doing. The young couple hoping to develop a farm despite the financial pressures. The 60-year-old farmer who preferred to watch the funeral of a Catholic priest on TV than engage with Depardon. The contrast between the grizzled old men, set in their ways, and the somewhat idealistic young couple is obvious.

The shots are all beautifully composed, generally static with the subject centred, but it’s obvious that careful thought has gone into framing. Even the introductory shots for each farm, driving along the road, the camera mounted on the car, are well framed – thought has gone into placement on the car, and the driving allows for the fact that the camera is there. This isn’t exactly fly-on-the-wall documentary but it’s probably all the better for it.

Depardon isn’t afraid of putting himself in the picture. He creeps into frame a couple of times, and we continually get his questioning of his subjects. Admittedly these people don’t really open up for him despite his questioning, so they’re unlikely to confide without any provocation. That is more reflective of the New Zealand character and makes a change from big, brash, over-opining reality TV ‘stars’.

Modern Life is a quiet, sad, occasionally humorous look at the last days of a particular French farming practice.


PETER MCLEAVEY is without a doubt one of the most important figures in New Zealand contemporary art. As such he is long overdue a comprehensive biography. It’s a shame that this doco isn’t that biography. It is essentially a love story, albeit a multifaceted one – art, people, a building, a city, and a street.

As those who have popped into his gallery know, McLeavey is a natural story teller, and incredibly open and giving even to strangers. Shot over three days The Man in the Hat is largely McLeavey telling stories – his childhood, his interest in art, how he became an art dealer, etc.

A large part of the film follows McLeavey walking from his home to the gallery, and the things he does on the way – chatting to random people on the street, checking his PO Box, getting a coffee at Olive. It’s all very Wellington, and while I enjoyed it, I do wonder how it will play to a non-Wellington audience, people for whom these places aren’t familiar.

In the moment, I enjoyed this film greatly. McLeavey is a compelling person, and behind his characteristic modesty you get the feeling that there is an acknowledgement and pride in the work he has be doing for the past 40 years.

But on the walk home I realised that there was an awful lot of the story missing. Sam Neill reads portions of letters written by McLeavey to his artists, or vice versa, and in these we hear about darkness, “The Blues”. In conversation McLeavey mentions he underwent Jungian analysis. But none of these things are explored. Why did he feel the need for analysis? What caused the periodic episodes of “The Blues”?

And then, there was the fact that most of the film was just McLeavey talking. While we do get to hear from his wife briefly, there is no analysis of the role that McLeavey played in the development of the New Zealand contemporary art scene. Nor was there much of a discussion of his artists beyond those there in the early days – McCahon, Woollaston, Walters. One thing I appreciate McLeavey for is his continuing interest in contemporary art, and finding and developing new artists – Liz Maw, Yvonne Todd, Matt Hunt.

Unfortunately The Man in the Hat really is only half the story, and it is a disappointing that it will be the definitive document on McLeavey until the autobiography that is surely on its way.

See also:
» Straight Stories: Modern Life