Showing posts with label Joseph Losey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Losey. Show all posts
Sunday, 28 May 2017
Mr Klein | Joseph Losey, 1976
Mr Klein | Joseph Losey, 1976
Adriaen van Ostade's The Analysis (1666) haunts the home of Robert Klein, an art dealer in occupied Paris who buys paintings such as this for a fraction of their worth from desperate Jewish families fleeing the war, who's unwittingly cast into the labyrinthine life-swap scheme of his mysterious Jewish namesake and doppelgänger.
A student of Frans Hals and a contemporary of Rembrandt, van Ostade, who'd changed his name from Adriaen Jansz Hendricz, was a celebrated painter of the Dutch Golden Age, whose younger brother, Isaac, later became his student, emulating his style and taking his new surname. The two van Ostade's, however, had vastly different careers, and Isaac, forever stuck in the shadow of his brother, never found the same success as an artist. He died in 1649 at the age of 28, just as he was beginning to step out on his own.
The portrait owned by Klein, The Analysis, painted by Adriaen several years after the death of his brother, is not only a souvenir of the cruel business he profits from, but one which suggests that the best way to survive in this wintry, war-torn world is be one step ahead of it, to cast your own shadow, to develop your own style, to make your own terms — for Klein, however, it's too late. Like Isaac, he's already lost, doomed to chase the shadow of his own name as the world leaves him behind.
Sunday, 29 January 2017
Accident | Joseph Losey, 1967
Accident | Joseph Losey, 1967
"There is nothing to keep her here."
"She loves me."
Rooms darkened by overflowing bookshelves, tables alongside tables, and mantelpieces loaded with ornaments, ashtrays, lamps, glasses and bottles; an enclosed tennis court surrounded by overgrown flowerbeds; the claustrophobia of an overturned car. Joseph Losey's Accident is designed to push people close to one another and make them fight for limited space. One idyllic summer afternoon, a professor is invited on a boat ride with two of his students: a beautiful “Austrian princess” and her high-achieving boyfriend. He jumps in next to her and his eyes soon dart around her body: legs, chest, neck, face. He’s enthralled by her, and is emboldened to impress her by swinging from a tree overhanging the water. But, of course, he falls in. Her boyfriend, propelling the punt with a pole, laughs, his show of strength having defeated his professor's. Humiliated and soaked through, the professor bashfully returns to his office to change clothes as his students walk hand in hand behind him. The failure to understand that physical closeness doesn’t equate to intimacy will always be the undoing of men.
"There is nothing to keep her here."
"She loves me."
Rooms darkened by overflowing bookshelves, tables alongside tables, and mantelpieces loaded with ornaments, ashtrays, lamps, glasses and bottles; an enclosed tennis court surrounded by overgrown flowerbeds; the claustrophobia of an overturned car. Joseph Losey's Accident is designed to push people close to one another and make them fight for limited space. One idyllic summer afternoon, a professor is invited on a boat ride with two of his students: a beautiful “Austrian princess” and her high-achieving boyfriend. He jumps in next to her and his eyes soon dart around her body: legs, chest, neck, face. He’s enthralled by her, and is emboldened to impress her by swinging from a tree overhanging the water. But, of course, he falls in. Her boyfriend, propelling the punt with a pole, laughs, his show of strength having defeated his professor's. Humiliated and soaked through, the professor bashfully returns to his office to change clothes as his students walk hand in hand behind him. The failure to understand that physical closeness doesn’t equate to intimacy will always be the undoing of men.
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