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David Hockney: The Colors Of Music

2003, Movie, NR, 85 mins

DAVID HOCKNEY: THE COLORS OF MUSIC
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Operatic sound and vivid color combine to create this lightweight portrait of Yorkshire-born artist David Hockney and the sets he's created for a variety of operas. A leading figure on the English pop-art scene before he relocated to California in 1963 — as well as one of the best-known artists of his generation — Hockney began creating sets in 1975 when director John Cox hired him to design a new production of Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress. Hockney, a lifelong opera lover, went on to design 10 other productions, including Mozart's The Magic Flute, Wagner's Tristan and Isolde, Puccini's Turandot and finally, in 1993, Richard Strauss' Die Frau ohne Schatten. Filmmakers Maryte Kavaliauskas and Seth Schneidman include video footage shot throughout this interesting sidebar to Hockney's career, but rather than arranging it chronologically, start with John Dexter's 1981 production of Parade, an anthology piece which weaves Satie's "Parade," Poulenc's "Les Mamelles de Tiresias" and Ravel's "L'Enfant et les Sortileges" into a fantasia of childhood innocence undone by the horrors of WWI. The filmmakers then jump back in time to Hockney's uncharacteristic work on The Rake's Progress; forgoing the brilliant colors for which he's justly famous, Hockney used outsize black-and-white cross-hatching to evoke Stravinsky's inspiration — stark, monochromatic 18th-century engravings by William Hogarth. Footage shot in Hockney's workshop, however, is the most interesting. Unlike other artists-turned-set designers who leave the whole tricky but crucial business of lighting to the technicians, Hockney fusses over a miniature stage equipped with an elaborate lighting simulator in order to carefully adjust his design for maximum impact. When interviewed, he discusses the challenge of transforming a two-dimensional concept into three-dimensional space, what it means for an artist who's used to working alone to suddenly find himself in the middle of a collaborative process and, poignantly, the fact that he's progressively losing his hearing. No longer sure he can even hear every note, Hockney consoles himself by maintaining that he's also losing the desire. But like so many other artists, Hockney doesn't really have much to say about the work itself; other interviewees, including Cox and Dexter, add little but agree that Hockney is a genius who's also a pleasure to work with. Hockney is unquestionably a genial gent, but the film's rather shallow treatment of his art only reinforces the long-held opinion that Hockney is more a brilliant visual stylist than an artist of any great depth. leave a comment --Ken Fox
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