`Frida:' a bit too unconventional
Anne Hamilton
Scene Movie Critic
"Frida," is a rigorously competent and compelling art house film that distills perhaps a bit too much of the unconventional life of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. The true story chronicles the life of political, artistic and sexual revolutionary Frida (Salma Hayek) in beautiful, broad-brush strokes of narrative and color. In addition to being a great artist, Kahlo (1907-54) was a bisexual and a Communist struggling with an abusive husband, a life of wracking pain following a trolley accident, the amputation of a leg and finally, drug and alcohol abuse which killed her at age 47.
The film follows her unconventional and often rocky relationship with her husband, Diego Rivera (Alfred Molina) who also served as her confidant, comrade, and mentor, as the pair took the art world by storm. From her complex and enduring relationship with Rivera to her controversial affair with Leon Trotsky (Geoffrey Rush), to her bisexuality, and her illuminating and visceral interpretations of her life, the film attempts to capture, and does with some success, the enigmatic force that was Frida Kahlo.
Director Julie Taymor's trademark surreal touches blend seamlessly into the biography of this Mexican painter and 20th century icon. The first is a nightmarish sequence of chattering skulls, which represent a part of Frida's consciousness immediately after her accident. They culminate in a scene wherein Taymor uses a clip from one of the old "King Kong" movies, replacing Rivera's face for the great ape's, and Frida's own for the damsel in distress.
The surrealism also helps to give a feel for the beauty and macabre of Frida's work. (After a miscarriage, Frida insists on painting her dead child.) It also allows for amazing transitions between canvas and film. Often in the film, Taymore takes Frida's original artwork and recreates the scene, using the same dress, background, hairstyle, lighting etc., and slowly, seamlessly, fades from the canvas to the scene, or vice versa. (It's an amazing, and startling, effect.)
The colors she chooses are also spectacular. My favorites are when Frida's peasant dress, green and magenta, is caught hanging out to dry just as it begins to snow on an afternoon in New York City, and also in a hotel in Paris, when Taymore chooses to color the stained-glass fixtures and canopy in the atrium, but leaves the people in sienna shades of light.
The most beautiful and terrible scene in the film is immediately after the accident wherein Frida lays motionless on the floor of the trolley, impaled from behind, bleeding, and covered with the gold dust spilt by a miner who was also a passenger in the crash.
Hayek and Molina both give good performances; however, neither has what it takes to fill the tall order each is presented with in playing Frida and Rivera. Hayek comes off as being too sweet and too pretty (which Frida definitely was not), and Molina presents a Rivera who could be passed off for a Mexican Santa clause with a paintbrush. The acting in this film is by no means exceptional, but what it lacks in quality it makes up for in quantity of talented actors who appear on the screen.
Ashley Judd plays Tina Modotti, a famed Italian photographer, Antonio Banderas plays David Alfaro Siqueiros, an artist and Rivera's rival, and Edward Norton plays Nelson Rockefeller, who famously contracted Rivera to paint the lobby mural of Rockefeller Center, only to renege because it included a portrait of Lenin.
Others in their eclectic circle of friends included Russian leader and refugee Leon Trotsky (Rush) just before Stalin had him assassinated, muralist Jean Charlot, painter Pablo O'Higgins, composer Silvestre Revueltas, photographer Edward Weston, and briefly singer Josephine Baker, with whom Frida supposedly had an affair.
The cinematography and score are also well done. Rodrigo Prieto ("8 Mile," "Original Sin") does an excellent job with the lively colors of Mexico and the artwork in the film, as well as with the contrast between Frida's home and the cooler, grayer skies of New York and Paris.
Composer Elliot Goldenthal, student of both Copland and Corigliani, shrewdly sublimates his modernism in service of the rich, evocative music and songs of Mexico and Central America. Utilizing performers that range from the contemporary, to the folk-classic Goldenthal generously displays the breadth of Mexican folk music, while seamlessly infusing it with the minimalist corners of his own underscore.
Despite the film's beauty and competency, something is lacking in "Frida."
First, even though Frida Kahlo died at a relatively young age, Hayek doesn't age at all in this film. Her dewy skin and youthful optimism stay afresh throughout her lifetime. Also, the film does not succeed in fully capturing the essence of the main character, as other epics such as Richard Attenborough's "Gandhi" and "Chaplin" do.
Frida was dark and mysterious, and although "Frida" is candid about her life, it is not candid enough or in the right way for this particular figure.
Hollywood succeeds too much in making her lovable and domesticated when Frida, as a bisexual alcoholic artist, was anything but. However, the film does seem to capture a bit of the Van Gogh-like madness she exhibited in her self-portraits (look for the one right after she has cut off her hair).
The film also does not address the unresolved issues surrounding her death, which many believe was caused by her own hand.
The real Frida may have been attractive, but she was by no means so in any conventional sense. Often painting herself in men's suits with her hair cropped, or bleeding from self-inflicted wounds, and always sporting her infamous brow, it is easy to confuse what is interesting about Frida for what is beautiful.
Taymor and the writers of this film, through the course of events in her life, try to crystallize Frida into an injured butterfly, when what she really seems to be is a night-winged creature.
Both sadistic and selfish, absorbed and alcoholic, pathetic and powerful, sharp and sensuous, Frida Kahlo is not a creature anyone can easily cast light upon, and while this film does an admirable job, it is no exception.
The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
Anne Hamilton is an overly opinionated film critic who spends far too much time watching movies. You can contact her at ahamilton@nd.edu.
All Scene Stories for Thursday, November 21, 2002
