BASQUIAT (R)
A Film Review By Fernando Vallejo
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RATING (OUT OF ****): ****
Basquiat is a reason to believe why I still go to the movies. Jean-Michel Basquiat, the urban New York painter which began as a nighttime graffiti artist and went on to become an Andy Warhol protege, was not salvaged by his art like Al Hirschfield or Robert Crumb. At age 27, he died of a heroin overdose.
Basquiat, the miraculous biopic directed by Julian Schnabel and tenderly acted by Jeffrey Wright, treats its central character as credulous enigma, one which every question posed to him was a rhetorical one.We never quite see the world in his eyes because no one ever really knew Jean-Michel Basquiat. Schnabel doesn't sway us into insinuating the inspiration for his Creole art -- a mix of Africa and Europe -- and this move, one of sheer bliss, is the key to understanding this film and not understanding Basquiat.
The film chronicles the Haitian native from his early days as a homeless adolescent in the late 70's, surviving in a cardboard box and feeding off his graffiti art which rapidly grew conspicuous (signing everything with the tag "SAMO"), striking enough to allure writer Rene Ricard (Michael Wincott), who presents Basquiat to notable art and gallery dealer such as Mary Boone (Parker Posey), Bruno Bischofberger (Dennis Hopper) and even Andy Warhol (a witty David Bowie), with whom he becomes attached via an impromptu encounter.
As he skyrocketed to being the filet mignon of the New York art scene, his drug habit was as gradual as it was irreversible. His very successfulness transformed Basquiat into an even more bewildering artist, both to his companionship (Claire Forlani) and to his close friend Benny (Benicio Del Toro), a Puerto Rican painter that tries to settle him down.
For all its unknowingness Basquiat isn't detached. While his political, social and spiritual views are inundated with mystery, Basquiat's feelings, dreams and accomplishments are vividly drawn out in the movie, very affectingly so. A surf board rippling through some crystal-blue waves signify his hopes of someday visiting Hawaii, a land of purity and cleansing, one free of exasperation, exasperation that may not be visible, but that's indicated by his relentless drug use. The emptiness he experiences during his gallery opening, as every extra freezes and he's left wondering: what next?
Given this unusual protagonist, the stature and power of the work is highly stylized by Schnabel gives the movie an unusual treatment. The New York spotlight of the 80's -- a key movement for avante-garde artists -- is presented as a universe of opportunity with an exquisite mix of black & white footage, plenty of shots of the art, delightful locales and an exceptional compilation of songs. Schnabel moves the camera around conservatively, but with enough freedom to relieve any signs of staginess.
The cast excels brilliantly. Jeffrey Wright, the Tony-winning actor, is at once wonderfully funny and immensely sympathetic, brazen and romantic, heroic and shy; were it for his performance alone the picture would be well worth seeing. Gary Oldman, Dennis Hopper, Benicio Del Toro, Michael Wincott, Parker Posey and Willem Dafoe all bring flair to the supporting roles, but David Bowie is the stand-out portraying Andie Warhol right down to his characteristic "hand" moves.
It's sad it was overlooked by critics and audiences alike. While filmgoers were in their fiftieth viewing of "Independence Day," Basquiat was struggling to gain back its budget. I commend those who make the effort to view films such as Basquiat. It's an experience that, unlike the bulk of what's out there, is durable. (1:48)
(C) Fernando Vallejo 1998
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