Review of Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) by Raechel B — 26 Dec 2009

This is the story of a single painting, the Pearl Earring--how, when, why it was made, and who was involved.

There's lots for the eye to savor--the stage set is marvelously crafted--, but the drama that unfolds here is sadly hollow. Three and a half stars gives a bow to the prodigious efforts made.

The luscious visual worlds of Merchant Ivory come to mind--that's the goal, at least. It is a beautifully imaged, period piece, as only the Europeans can do--costumes, furniture, tableware, locations, every detail. A vivid sense of place and time.

The interior of Vermeer's house mirrors the class structure within, the "upstairs/downstairs" world of master and servant. Contrasted against the artist's brilliantly luminous studio is the inky darkness of the cavernous kitchen below--even the family's living areas are pretty somber.

The eye of the cinematic artist lovingly frames each scene. And frankly here is where we learn more of art than from the story itself. Yes, we get to see painter's pigments laboriously prepared (minerals ground by hand and mixed with oil, binder, etc to the perfect consistency), in the days before magically simple "tube colors." (Also a brief look through a "camera obscura.").

But Vermeer's stand-in, Colin Firth, hasn't got an artistic bone in his body. He is clueless as to how a painter thinks or works. He does what he is told to "look" the part.

What we DO learn about is the creative "context," the tangled web of relations--the financial, political, and social systems--that allows the artist to do art and make a living. Or "survive." Even a Vermeer, in his fine house, is dogged by fears of bankruptcy (we see his long time neighbor's household moved out onto the street).

The "villain" in this scenario is the art patron. In the past, art was commissioned by the massive apparatus of state and church. In 17th century Holland, we are already moving toward a modern art market, with a large middle class--many, modestly wealthy buyers supporting many individual artists, and freer expression.

Vermeer's patron (and his fellow collectors) still have the final say on his output, and must be catered to.

The realities of this art market drive events in the Vermeer household.

And are interlaced with more mundane matters. Vermeer's marriage is rocky. His wife worries desperately over money (and the good life it brings). Both she and her resident mother tyrannize the painter, push him to produce, monitor his progress.

Added is the pre-modern "normal," that a child a year appears, adding to financial pressures, and the general hubbub--and competition for romantic attention.

Vermeer is vulnerable, and develops a (Platonic) attachment for one of his maids, Griet, who displays curiosity about his work and a keen eye for observation--something Vermeer's wife seems to have none of.

The maid (not the wife) becomes the sitter for the "Pearl Earring" painting, an under the table commission for his patron.

And the film really comes off as Griet's story. Scarlett Johansson's portrayal of the quiet, inquisitive maid is finely wrought, but she is on her own dramatically.

Yes, there is a competent supporting cast, but as Sterritt in the Monitor says, they seem like stock characters taken off the shelf--the domineering mother in law, the good hearted head of the servant staff.

They all are pretty one-dimensional, especially Firth, as Vermeer. The artist/maid relation is simply one-sided.

The film is a hard call. If you revel in sheer visual artistry (the "being there," and a snapshot of life under the roof this Dutch master), then the film could be for you.

If the story, the acting, matters a lot, you'll likely be disappointed.

(You will probably not recognize Johansson as the heroine of "Lost in Translation," issued several months after Earring).

Not surprisingly, the DVD extra, "Anatomy of a Scene," is excellent--not just talking-head interviews or running commentary on the film itself, but a crisply organized walk through the creative process.