Rarely do you see a movie that restores complete faith in the transformative element of film, so profoundly imaginative, spiritual, elevating one’s soul and psyche to the realm of “the starry night”; watching this staggeringly beautiful film I experienced wonderment, awe and joy; greatness, love and genuine happiness, basking in its ingenuity. Sharing, with directors Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman, a vast admiration and appreciation for the artist Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890), and the alchemic, wizardly capabilities of filmmaking; the narrative is the result of 65,000 hand-painted frames (over seven years in its creation by hundreds of painters) mimicking van Gogh’s frenetic style; taking place in 1891, a year after his apparent suicide. Viewers experience astounding animation, soaring beyond and above the genre.
Postman, Joseph Roulin,(Dougles Booth) gives his son, Armand, (Chris O’Dowd) a letter from Vincent to his brother Theo, and thus commences a journey that imbues life and personality to van Gogh’s iconic brushstrokes; familiar portraits, landscapes, domiciles vibrate, stun, with veracity and mystery; did the artist die by his own hand?
For the remainder of my life I will never look at a van Gogh portrait without hearing their explanations of the artist’s life, loves, and disintegrating mind, or see a landscape knowing the torment that informs its beauty; a barren bedroom, a bed and pillow, witnesses to the lonely, delusional plight of an isolated, misunderstood genius. Also, an acute belief in an afterlife; justice for a man who, with the exception of one, never sold a painting while alive, experience an awareness that “The Sunflowers” sold for 39 million, and “The Irises” for fifty-three million dollars.
“Loving Vincent” resides alone in magnificent, marvelous, harmonious perfection.