Jane Austen and Mark Twain both left their final novels unfinished. Orson Welles didn’t live to see the completion of his swansong. Bach and Beethoven and dozens of classical composers began works they never lived to see to fruition. Painters like Benjamin West and J.M.W. Turner left behind work they were only in the middle of. And ironically enough, Robert William Buss as well -a grand portrait of the figure and stories of Charles Dickens, who likewise penned a final mystery unsolved. Incomplete masterpieces are common among great artists -who die, get waylaid, or lose inspiration. And yet the value in these works is tremendous. The notion of actually finishing them a daunting one. Should someone else dare to make that attempt? Can they?
That question is of tremendous importance in The Christophers, the latest movie from Steven Soderbergh, written by Ed Solomon; and one that does feel uniquely personal to both -even as it comes at a time where Soderbergh seems strangely detached from the humanity of artistry in recently expressed attitudes towards A.I. In the context of what this film speaks on, it is especially strange. A movie that emphatically believes in the singularity of an artist’s work, however close another might come to understanding or imitating them.
It is a movie about a deeply compelling and unique relationship, and the tense circumstances that bring it about. It begins with Michaela Coel's Lori Butler, an art curator, critic, and discreet forger, being hired by the estranged children of the acclaimed artist Julian Sklar, played by Ian McKellen, to pose as his new assistant for the purposes of finding and completing 'the Christophers' -a series of unfinished paintings he began in the 1990s that he abandoned, along with his art career. Highly sought after in the art world, the children hope to sell the paintings after their father's death. But the awkward, frustrated, and thorny Julian proves to be a match for Lori, their dynamic dripping with discomforting suspicion until their situation is turned on its head.
Soderbergh is perhaps underrated as a director of actors and that is on unfiltered display here, where a majority of time is spent on scenes in Julian's house between him and Lori, oftentimes him monologuing as she reacts subtly -the critic in her clearly listening and analyzing his temperament and personality while he provokes and susses her out, believing he has the upper hand in scrutiny, unaware how open his vulnerabilities are. It is a captivating display of raw performance from both of them, that is only more fascinating the further into the film it goes. McKellen, in his best performance in years, is as sharp as he's ever been -perfectly capturing layers of insecurity and regret beneath his tired frame and abrasive, confrontational attitude. While his passive-aggression about the contemporary art world and society in general speaks of genuine frustration (he bemoans his 'cancellation' a few years back for comments perceived as misogynistic), Julian is a man who protests way too much on his disinterest in his own work, the Christophers especially, and his inflated ego. McKellen enthusiastically chews on the bitterness and resentment here, the facade of not caring, and the efforts to challenge his young adversary -but when it peels back in instances where he can't help himself, particularly the memories evoked by the Christophers over a failed romance, it is sublime to see.
But while McKellen is more showy, Coel is perhaps the more impressive -and not just in successfully holding her own against one of the greatest living thespians. Her poise is a perfect foil and antidote to his chaos; she is rarely on the back-foot either with Julian or her clients, when they come to confront her and make a thoughtless attempt to blackmail her. Coel's performance is entirely controlled and subtle -and Soderbergh wants you to notice it. Several scenes are framed with Julian in the foreground, talking but out of focus while Lori stands in the background fully clear as she simply absorbs and reads him -the subject that he sees himself as. Though acclaimed for her British shows Chewing Gum and I May Destroy You (each with radically different tones), Coel is a newcomer to mainstream cinema. That power she radiates, much of it from her captivatingly distinct features and expression, is palpable. Yet she is wholly formed here in relation to her screen partner, with her own secrets and an emotional history tied in to Julian (whom she once critiqued rather viscerally) though her defences are far better fortified.
The waves of this relationship, the psychological plays by each party, are a treat to watch, especially when the two wind up as allies in an endeavour to get one over on Julian's opportunistic children, played by an appropriately cast Jessica Gunning and James Corden. Although it is a touch unclear how earnest Lori is in the enterprise, given what it drives Julian to do with the Christophers. Yet it may have been needed for his own sake -she only gives him the push.
Solomon's script is surprisingly moving and empathetic, the further along in its thematic throughlines that it gets. Julian unconvincingly makes claim to a dismay over the Christophers -as Lori points out he could have destroyed them years ago if he really wanted to. What they represent is a painful though important part of his life, and he is uncomfortable about the notion of closing it -either through completion or destruction. Yet his stubborn pride won't let him admit that. That personal connection to one's art holds true for Lori as well -it is a piece of oneself and that understanding may be what connects the two in spite of everything.
There is also a subtext of the value of the art on its own terms, especially in the movie's ending. And in this messaging one can't help but see some self-reflection on Soderbergh's part in his relationship to his own work. Soderbergh's portfolio is a very eclectic one, both in terms of subjects and styles, and he is rarely ever in the conversation of auteur directors. But this film does suggest a more personal connection he bears towards his movies, in conjunction with a certain cynicism over the commerce-driven industry in general. In Julian we see a consummate artist in the soul, despite his resistance to its pull, his efforts at self-sabotage, and his feigned dispassion. How much of that is true of Soderbergh as well?
It is ironic again, given his recent support of A.I., that such a human interpretation of the artist's mindset is front and centre of this humble, melancholy movie. But, as Julian proves, no artist is required to necessarily understand the meaning and value of art. And if he does jump aboard the A.I. bandwagon, The Christophers will have been an effective swansong for his longevity as a real filmmaker. A stellar acting showcase with some meaningful meditation on art and legacy that is quite fun at times in its machinations and power plays. A nice piece to have finished.
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