Gauguin: Voyage de Tahiti

Paul Gauguin is a problematic subject for a modern biopic, his freewheeling and indulgent lifestyle led him to various spots around the globe in search of artistic inspiration and hedonistic satisfaction. So the less you know about his life and personal trials, the more successful this semi-fictional study of the artist is likely to work for you.

In 1890's Paris, celebrated artist Paul Gauguin (Vincent Cassel) languishes in depression over the strictures of his life: his estranged wife Mette (Pernille Bergendorff) and five children, his ailing bank balance, the lack of interest in his artworks and his claustrophobia at being trapped within a society that he believes does not understand him or his art. He looks further afield for inspiration and suggests to his group of artist confidantes that Polynesia be considered as a viable destination, somewhere where his creativity might flow. 

Paul travels to Tahiti, where he lives in a hut, painting and carving constantly. Recovering from a recent heart attack, he travels to a remote village and within the space of a day, meets a family there and is betrothed to their young daughter, Tehura (Tuhei Adams). Travelling back to the coast, Gauguin and Tehura bond over art. Over the coming months, she models for many of his artworks. Local man Jotepha (Pua-Tai Hikutini) is romantically interested in Tehura, and she in him, so it's the spectre of this relationship that looms over Gauguin, as his wife shuns him, as his artistic output fails to find buyers back in France and as his health fails him. 

Beautifully shot by cinematographer Pierre Cottereau in shallow focus, virtually every image is flattened by this technique, creating an effect where the texture of each frame is like an expansive canvas. As the tortured artist in his island residence, Vincent Cassel throws himself headlong into the role and he's (typically) stunning. Cassel's lean, muscular frame is rendered almost skeletal amidst the deprivations of 1890's island life and with his gaunt face framed by an unkempt beard, his Gauguin is the definitive portrait of a starving artist. Cassel's intense demeanor and always-reliable thousand-yard stare lends a molten intensity to the role, overshadowing his Polynesian co-stars who make the best of their rather underwritten characters. Far from verbose, their perspective is largely expressed in long vacant stares and sideways glances, seen through Gauguin's paranoid and distorted gaze. 

Long-time Nick Cave collaborator, Australia's own Warren Ellis, lends his warm and evocative violin to a score that is both lyrical and beautiful. It quite literally transforms the film from a somewhat underwritten, revisionist character study into a quietly beautiful tale of an artist refusing to compromise at all costs. It's this moody and tender orchestral veneer that goes a long way towards covering the underwritten story gaps and creating dark and stirring emotion in a story that, as written, doesn't really attempt to delve too deeply into romanticism but desperately wants you to feel.