Review of My Kid Could Paint That (2007) by Mark D — 18 Dec 2007

These days in the documentary film, itâ??s not unusual for the filmmaker themselves to play an active role in events â?? Michael Moore and Nick Broomfield immediately spring to mind. However, for Amir Bar-Lev, itâ??s perhaps fair to say that his supporting role in the story of child-prodigy abstract-artist Marla Olmstead was forced upon him.

His documentary focuses on the sudden emergence of the talented four year-old, dubbed the pint-sized Pollock, whose paintings were being sold for tens of thousands of dollars, attracting media hype from big names like the New York Times and 60 Minutes.

Warmly received by the Olmsteads to film them, Bar-Levâ??s initial intention was to use Marla as a platform to debate the value of modern art, like the pretentious scribbled crap that would sell for millions at Christieâ??s, if it could be mimicked by a four year-old.

Thereâ??s even a kind of wonder that perhaps Marlaâ??s innocence is what makes her art so unique to her collectors, without the cynicism or smugness of most abstract artists and perhaps alluding to the optimistic vibrancy of Kandinsky.

But, just before you think weâ??re about to stay in the warm-hearted tone akin to spelling bee doc Spellbound, we, Bar-Lev and his subjects get a shock twist in real-time, courtesy of 60 Minutes. The special episode begins with praise before twisting the knife into the canvas and launches a savage attack on the authenticity of Marlaâ??s work; with some damning evidence the show suggests that her paintings were edited and improved upon by her â??coachâ?? â?? a malevolent finger pointed straight at Mark Olmstead.

All of a sudden the world looks darker and that elephant in the living room has grown. What follows are moments of supreme awkwardness like watching a nervous train wreck, Bar-Lev voicing his own doubts about Marlaâ??s parents, and plenty of public backlash, including a small sample of vitreous e-mails.

The unexpected attack from 60 Minutes also prompts tension between Bar-Lev and the Olmsteads, who think his film will clear their name, a demand he ultimately cannot deliver; itâ??s not helped when, on the night of Marlaâ??s exhibition following the 60 Minutes exposé, he captures Marla blurting that her 2 year-old brother Zane â??painted the green oneâ??.

Worse still is when the Olmsteads launch their counter-attack by releasing a 5-hour DVD of Marla painting her new work â??Oceanâ?? from start to finish. But when you put the new work side by side with her previous works, you donâ??t have to be an art critic to see the lamentably, unbearably painful, difference.

All of this of course is what makes My Kid Could Paint That so compelling to watch; as uncomfortable a position Bar-Lev was in as a filmmaker, he has produced a far more insightful film than he could have imagined, exploring the lies in art of any medium and the motives for these constructions, his own motives for completing this film as much as what went off-camera in Marlaâ??s work.

What is perhaps most heartbreaking is the position Marlaâ??s mother Laura finds herself in at the end. From an oblivious mother proud but protective of her daughterâ??s achievements, thereâ??s a sense that she is the real innocent party, deceived by her own husband who continues to go through the motions of defending the authenticity of Marlaâ??s talents.

Sniffing away her tears, she looks into the camera and remarks ruefully, â??Itâ??s documentary gold!â?? Quite so.