Basquiat (1996)

Jeffrey Wright as Basquait, at work in his studio.

“What is art?”

It’s a question I don’t have an articulate answer for. Perhaps the best I can do is “something that makes one think and might, on rare occasions, even elicit an emotional response?” Maybe that’s a long-winded way of saying “I know it when I see it?”

On the surface, “Basquiat” (directed by artist Julian Schnabal: “Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” “Before Night Falls”) examines a short part of the life of New York City graffiti artist and painter Jean-Michel Basquait. After living in a cardboard box in Thompkins Square Park, he became fabulously successful almost overnight. His success came not only because of his considerable talent, but also his incredibly fortunate timing, and a close association with style icon Andy Warhol. He was in the right place at the right time, surrounded by the right people.

But delve beneath the surface. It’s also an examination of the troubled lives many artists lead. Drug addiction. Searing, all-consuming ambition. Intimate relationships that fade. The inexplicable and nearly-instantaneous change of fortunes, based not on talent and hard work, but because of the fickle nature of ever-changing tastes, perception, conventional wisdom and prevailing opinions.

As Basquiat, a young Jeffrey Wright (recently “Dr. Narcisse” on HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire”) is mesmerizing. He captures completely the idiosyncrasies and eccentricities of the burgeoning artist. He possesses competing feelings of innocence and arrogance, hope, sometimes aimlessness, and self-destructive inner turmoil of an artist who goes swiftly from poverty and anonymity, to buying $3000 tins of caviar on a whim, all because he’s managed to become the darling of local taste makers.

The film isn’t just a biography of a troubled and talented young painter, but also an examination of the creative world in which he lived. What is art? Why are some works indescribably valuable, while others worthless? Where does this value come from, but some collection of opinions? Given the materials involved, why is a Picasso worth any more than a crayon children’s drawing? Similar to sports memorabilia, inanimate objects take on unimaginable value, based on little more than perceived worth.

I know little about the artist, or his work. What I learned from the film “Basquiat” is that in his brief lifetime, he went from struggle and poverty to the pinnacle of the New York contemporary-art world. Wikipedia informs me that his paintings are, or have been, owned by such celebrities as Metallica’s Lars Ulrich, Leonardo DiCaprio, tennis star John McEnroe, Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Jay Z. His works have been auctioned by the famed Christie’s and Sotheby’s houses, and have sold for over $13.5 million. In addition to Warhol, he also worked with David Bowie, early new-wave band Blondie, produced a hip-hop album, and dated Madonna. All in 27 years.

A persistent recreational-drug user, the title character also has an interesting innate sense of self-confidence. Watch how he approaches Warhol uninvited in a restaurant, interrupting the icon’s meal to solicit a sale, right his table. At the same time, try as he might to navigate the cynical, money-drenched erudite art scene, he’s constantly unsure of who his friends are, and who is just using him for fame, notoriety, fortune and celebrity. Agents and art dealers, drenched in ulterior motives and not-so-hidden agendas, swirl around Basquiat, trying to raise their own profiles (and bank balances), by association.

“Basquiat” isn’t so much concerned with what the mercurial artist accomplished during his brief but productive life (apparently his estate wouldn’t allow his actual works to be used in the film, so Schnabal re-created all the pieces himself), but instead about who he was not simply as an artist, but as person struggling to find direction. It examines the relationships he has before he gains fame, and how they are all mercilessly altered by his change in station. It’s also a critique of the art world itself, the blind greed and cut-throat avarice of dealers and gallery owners, and how this all plays out against a world of unimaginable money.

The romanticized stereotype of the desperate artist toiling namelessly, fighting against depression and anxiety, creating works of staggering genius, certainly describes the early life of Jean Michel Basquait. What happens to the artist’s depression and anxiety when fame and wealth replace anonymity and poverty?

Director Schnabel (along with costume designer John A. Dunn and art director C.J. Simpson) do an admirable job of recreating the shallow, greedy, superficial yet dynamic and high-energy New York art world of the early 80s. This art world feels believably real.

Along with Wright, Basquiat boasts an impressive supporting cast: Benecio Del Toro, Christopher Walken, Clare Forlani, Parker Posey, Courtney Love, Dennis Hopper, Gary Oldman, Michael Badalucco, Vincent Gallo, Tatum O'Neill, and David Bowie (as Warhol) all show up in interesting roles.

“Basquiat” has an elegiac tone. Its characters seem largely unhappy lost souls, searching for that something which might redeem their difficult lives. When the movie finished, I felt sad. Which isn’t a bad thing. The brevity of his life is a sad tale. But it’s also a story with several terrific, uplifting, hopeful moments. It is, I believe, art.