![]() When Ree first started filming, he couldn’t have known where this story would lead, and in order to re-create that sense of unpredictability, he uses a time-bending nonlinear structure and various sleight-of-hand techniques to deliver information when it’s most effective. As Nordland puts it, “She sees me very well, but she forgets I can see her too,” before sharing insights that had been withheld from us until now. At this point, the film backtracks to the beginning and replays things from Nordland’s point of view, a tricksy structural choice that amplifies the film’s capacity to surprise. Less than 30 minutes into the film, something extreme happens that lands him in the hospital with a broken hip, and instead of pulling away, Kysilkova becomes directly involved in his physical therapy. Kysilkova may have spared Nordland a prison sentence, but he’s still capable of potentially dangerous behavior. (What influence, if any, did the filmmakers have in her decisions?) “I really feel like I’m a painting junkie,” Kysilkova admits, and given what we see of her method, one wonders whether she might benefit from some kind of intervention. There’s a tortured and obsessive quality to her work that aligns with his personality as well, and a vulnerability that both show the camera that makes it possible for Ree to explore the commonalities between them. What appears to be a noble act on her part - refusing to see this ex-con as a thief, insisting on capturing a different aspect in her portraits of him - may actually be a continuation of a self-destructive pattern. The notion that her spouse should have a say in how she seeks artistic inspiration may sound narrow-mindedly patriarchal, but Kysilkova clearly has a history of encouraging unhealthy relationships - including an abusive ex-boyfriend - and though she permits Ree’s cameras to film a relationship counseling session with her husband, questions remain about their dynamic. “The moment I have met him at the court room, I really sort of fell in love with him,” Kysilkova tells her husband, Øystein Stene (another fascinating character, who likens supporting her connection to Nordland to letting a child play in traffic). Ree and editor Robert Stengård don’t give us all the information we might need to form a clear understanding of their subjects’ actions, yet their approach is not only more artistic but somehow more representative of real life: People’s motives - and surely those of addicts and artists above all - can be paradoxical and counterintuitive, and though the situation begs some amount of psychological analysis, one senses that both parties are acting on instinct to a large degree. Was this some form of forgiveness on her part or a strategy to recover the missing paintings? And did she really expect a man with the words “Snitchers Are A Dying Breed” tattooed across his chest to come clean about what he’d done with the stolen artwork? The film isn’t clear about the verdict, focusing instead on the connection between the two title characters. What happened next was the thing that captured Ree’s attention: In court, Kysilkova approached the thief who had been put on trial, a junkie named Karl-Bertil Nordland, and asked if he would agree to pose for a portrait (his accomplice is strategically left out of the picture). Then it shows surveillance footage from within the gallery, as two men with pixelated faces break in and make off with a pair of canvases. The film begins with time-lapse footage of Kysilkova painting “The Swan Song,” a haunting nature morte in which a white bird lies dead in tall dark grass. #THE PAINTER AND THE THIEF MOVIE#'Spotlight' Director Tom McCarthy on Switching Gears With Disney Plus Kids Movie Five Artisans Talk About Their Work on Buzzy Sundance Titles ![]()
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