The Oscars are behind us, but the contributions of films will linger forever, even those that tragically fell in battle against cinematic nominees deemed superior. Just because it didn’t win “Best Picture,” doesn’t mean it wasn’t the best picture.
Loving Vincent is a landmark in film history as the first fully oil-painted animated feature film, an endeavor that required four years, a team of 125 painters and 65,000 painted frames. The film is best described as an animated biopic documentarian detective mystery that follows real-life postman Armand Roulin. He attempts to deliver the recently-deceased Vincent Van Gogh’s last letter to his brother, Theo, stumbling upon some revelations about Van Gogh in the process.
Though I knew it was a fully oil-painted film, it took some time for that concept to sink in. Watching it, I found myself repeatedly thinking “surely not” and “this has to be some kind of filter.” But, about 15 minutes in, the revelation hit. Each frame was meticulously painted in the style of Van Gogh, which makes every second of the film as interesting and impressive as its own conceived work of art. It’s as though the viewer is seeing the whole world as Van Gogh did, experiencing his world long after his death.
The style somehow lands without hitch. Art merges with cinematography in an almost seamless way, and the frames synchronize with one another insanely well, making everything look cohesive and fluid. Watching Loving Vincent, you just don’t want to look away, but, the second you do, you will see everything differently, finding the shades and strokes of color in your whole world.
I’ve heard the complaint that the movie, being so obsessed with its visual style, forgets to put together a pleasing storyline in the process, which is fair. It definitely feels like Loving Vincent’s visual experience is much more interesting than its storyline, but this storyline still is compelling, if not as much as the visuals. As Roulin investigates Van Gogh’s death, he seems to experience some of the same feelings and struggles as the artist himself. He’s emotionally troubled. He gets fired, he’s desperately eager to prove himself, and he finds himself sympathizing more and more with Van Gogh until he’s practically trying to avenge him. Roulin is proof that the artist is the hero inside all of us. This dynamic alone made the story satisfying enough to keep me interested.
Throughout Loving Vincent, the question is often asked of whether Van Gogh’s art would be truly appreciated after his death. To me, this film is incontrovertible proof that his artistic legacy can only breed more art in a gorgeous cinematic display and truly fulfilling experience. But it would seem that some artists simply aren’t fully appreciated in their day.
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