Francisco Goya (1746-1828), deaf and ill, lives the last years of his life in voluntary exile in Bordeaux, a Liberal protesting the oppressive rule of Ferdinand VII. He's living with his much younger wife Leocadia and their daughter Rosario. He continues to paint at night, and in flashbacks stirred by conversations with his daughter, by awful headaches, and by the befuddlement of age, he relives key times in his life.
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Reviews
Great Film overall
Funny, strange, confrontational and subversive, this is one of the most interesting experiences you'll have at the cinema this year.
It is neither dumb nor smart enough to be fun, and spends way too much time with its boring human characters.
Actress is magnificent and exudes a hypnotic screen presence in this affecting drama.
A psychological portrait of Goya in his last days, the film illuminates his art and complexities. An invocation of Goya's paintings and drawings in their hallucinatory themes and colors, we are presented with a stream of consciousness narrative in which the great and influential Spanish master reminisces about his past glories and failures, his joys and sorrows, his loves and loses, and the darkness and light that forged his work.This Carlos Saura's film is as visionary and evocative as Goya's art and should not be be missed by anyone who is interested in art, the creative process, and the conflicting forces in artists' lives.
Using obvious soundstages, totally unconvincing actors, and dialogue straight out of the "follow your dreams" playbook of tired clichés, the director manages to reduce the fascinating life of one of Spain's greatest painters to absolute tedium. Perhaps its fitting that it is titled "Goya in Bordeaux" as it certainly captures the flavor of the artist's dull last years spent there, essentially dying. For myself, I'm waiting for someone to make "Goya in Madrid" which will, hopefully, depict the dizzying rise of a provincial Aragonese teenager to the coveted title of Court Painter.Maybe the guy who did that Mozart film will have a go at it.RstJ
The visual appeal of the film is exceptionally strong, from costuming to the sparse Jarmanesque sets, to the period settings. The part of Goya is superbly played. Yet too often the character's, mostly that of Goya himself, stoop to uttering banal platitudes about art, about freedom, about life.There is also a bit too much docu-nonsense in the film. Surely with the advent of the Biography channel one need not waste precious feature film time rehearsing an Art-101 bio of the man. One can find that elsewhere. What a waste.Still for the look and mood of the film and the quality of acting, I'd recommend it pretty strongly.I also recommend watching this film close on the heels of Jarman's Carravagio in order to understand why films about art really must avoid talking too much. Jarman's film is difficult, but it doesn't annoy one with the hubris of always trying to explain genius the way Saura's film does.
The patterning motif of 'Goya in Bordeaux' is the spiral, which Goya claims is like life. So this is not the linear historical biography of the artist we have come to expect from Hollywood, moving inexorably from birth, through success and failure, to death. In its circular motion, its conflating time, history, imagination, art, fantasy and dream, the film 'Goya' most resembles is Ruiz's astonishing Proust adaptation, 'Time Regained'. Here the story progresses through the labyrinth of an artist's mind, where the narrative proceeds from a chance memory or incident rather than chronological order. History is monumental, written in stone, immovable - 'Goya', on the other hand, emphasises, fluidity, instability and fragility - the status of any particular scene is always in doubt, such is the complex nature of Saura's narration. The film appears to begins with a dream - an old man wakes up in a foreign land; he does not know where he is, he walks down strange streets, bewildered by the foreign language and customs, having wandered down the obligatary white corridor, before catching a vision of an old, dead love. The next scene, where a lover and friend bemoan his tendency in his illness to peregrinate, suggests that it wasn't a dream. This ambiguity continues throughout. After all, the narrative concerns a dying man, whose life flashes before him, memories flooding back of critical biographical moments in the artist's life - his work at Court; his affair with the Duchess of Alba; his exile in France for liberal sympathies - but these are never merely historical, but revealing of Goya's aesthetic as it developed, theoretically and in practice. The biographical emphasis seems justified in that this development is linked to increasing misanthropy, terror, fear of madness and senility. One of his fears is of being in unrestrained imagination, and some of his later, horrifyingly dark works are a far cry from the dutiful Court pictures, even if these burst with a barely contained passion. Goya's development - from patronage to exiled self-expression - marks a crucial development in Western art towards the Romantic, the solipsistic. Goya lived in times of tyranny, barbarity, slaughter, revolution but history is always filtered through his lurid sensibility, as if with Goya came the pessimistic idea that there is no such thing as objective reality. Saura borrows many devices from Ruiz - the shifting mise-en-scene that flows through time and space, including the aging artist in a dark room watching a gloriously sunny aristocratic garden party decades earlier; or the device of the artists' various selves existing in the same frame. This sense of a personal history as opposed to a chronological one is emphasised in the flimsiness of the mise-en-scene, a literal creation of light and screens. Comparing Saura to Ruiz, however, is like comparing Arnold Bennett to Virginia Woolf. Saura is simply too heavy-handed to achieve the temporal fleet-footedness necessary. His ideas are frequently literal or banal, his need to transpose everything as dance climaxes in a massacre ballet of obscene bathos. Whereas Ruiz sublimely caught the Proustian rush, Saura cannot hope to reach the visual disturbance and energy of Goya, and contents himself with defacing his work (blood spilling from paintings, etc.) Where Proust's end was a beginning (the decision to write the book he was actually finishing), Saura weighs himself down with portentousness; where Proust's ideas were grounded in a compelling plot of war and social comedy, Saura gets lost in ever-decreasing circles. I'm sure there's a resonant comparison being made between Goya and Saura himself, especially in the speech of regret preceding the massacre - both men liberals serving totalitarian regimes. Again, as with 'Tango', the film's main interest is its exquisite score.