Basquiat
he never did get his tequila factory did he. in this tragic biopic— schnabel expresses his residing distraught over the loss of his friend through the frustration and seeming misinterpretation of jean-michel’s art; his individuality being a member of the human race rather than categorising himself as one specific thing whether it be painter or musician or victim of american race politics. it doesnt paint (pun intended) jm as an idol to look up on yet shows pride in his works and i am sure that he would have appreciated this film if he ever got to see it. jeffrey wright may have been the only man out there to possibly convincingly portray basquiat so credit where credit is due to himself and the casting director. one failure i see in this film is its dependence on what i like to call “name brand a-listers.” sure oldman, hopper and bowie are fantastic and do a good job in their respective roles but i believe such an experimental project on such a rebellious artist needn’t shift the focus off the main artist himself by overwhelming the viewer with “oh my god i know that guy, he was great in _________.” that being said, benicio del toro is so enigmatic in this film like he is in majority of his others and he adds to the legend like no other. claire forlani is absolutely dropdead, so insanely gorgeous that it baffled me even imagining the neglect she had to embody. to summarise; this film perfectly shows that a meteoric rise will never be able to escape its eventual impact— with this particular body falling to the ground not with grace but with devastation and impact and that can both be a terrifying and beautiful thing. does not deserve the hate that it got.
p.s. i love king krule even more so now.