Sometimes questions are better left unanswered.
It is said that Matthew Barney is a polarizing figure in art, and that there are two types of people: those who think that he is a ridiculously self-indulgent, esoteric and convoluted rich boy, and those who think his stuff is really cool. But I don't believe that. Rather, I think that both understandings exist within each of us. It is,
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then, a matter of proportion.
Alison Chernick, in her new documentary
Matthew Barney: No Restraint
, does not give fair play to those dueling impulses. Her film, which follows Barney onto a Japanese whaling ship as he records his latest project,
Drawing Restraint 9
, doesn't strive to be objective, nor critical, and in that it succeeds. Interviews with fawning New York intellectuals strive to convince us that Barney's project really is important and to repeatedly inform us that Barney is interested in the idea of struggling against artificial restraints in the process of creation.
The early portions of
No Restraint
are given over to a cursory overview of Barney's early years as a high school football star, Yale premed student and male model of Breezy Linen and J Crew. These biographical points of privilege are perhaps the most well known in the contemporary art world, and provide plenty of ammo for all the "haters" out there.
Next, Chernick breaks out those aforementioned New York intellectuals, all dressed in black, with smart spectacles and pretentious intonations. One is gallery owner Barbara Gladstone, who discovered Barney and sells his art. She simply adores his work. Then comes Barney's biggest cheerleader since his days as a football star, New York Times art critic Michael Kimmelman, who recounts his transition from Barney skeptic to Barney believer.
But most of
No Restraint
takes place among the bewildered crew of the whaling ship as Barney cheerfully directs workers making his giant petroleum jelly molds and symbolic Jell-O-sculpture cuisine. Some of these scenes are cool, especially one in which we see how the super lifelike prosthetic legs that are sliced open in
Drawing Restraint 9
are made. Many of the scenes, however, are laborious and boring.
These "making of" scenes are interspersed with interviews with Barney and Icelandic pop icon Björk, who co-stars in the film and also wrote, produced and performed the score. More important, they are real-life man and wife, making them the "Brangelina" of the art world.
Though his mind might be a bit damaged from too much free-associating, Barney comes off as a really nice and sincere guy. He straightforwardly explains the symbol system that drives
Drawing Restraint 9
. The only problem is that this symbol system, which involves whales, petroleum and ancient Japanese rituals, is not terribly interesting, and so understanding it diminishes, rather than enhances, his
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enigmatic and visually fascinating work.
Chernick's background is in television, and it shows. Her shots are basic, with interviewees always center-frame, and her intent is survey, not study. To her credit, she hits the basic points well, and viewers will gain a rudimentary understanding of Barney and his artistic project.
For such an uncritical take, Chernick's title
Matthew Barney: No Restraint
seems to be a (perhaps unintentional) jab at the artist. Barney, with his massive access to funds and his complete lack of ironic self-awareness, seems to have no challenges, save artificial ones, in his creative process.
Chernick's "documentary" is surely destined to be a DVD special feature or displayed on gallery monitors beside Barney's waxy and erotic creations. Big fans of Barney, who saw
Drawing Restraint 9
and would like to have its puzzles solved for them, ought to see it. For everyone else, show some restraint.
