“It is impossible to ever finish a portrait”

There tend to be many ambiguities related to the nature of art, but perhaps most challenging to comprehend is its tendency to never be complete. Anyone who has peddled in a form of creation, whether professionally or merely as a pastime, will know that there are two moments in the process of crafting art of any form that tend to be the most challenging – the one where you begin, and the one where you finish. In the case of the former, it is difficult to find the right starting point, and in the latter, it involves making the decision that you have done everything you possibly can to express yourself through a particular piece. In many ways, art is something that begins but never truly ends, which is a premise that we find embedded deep in the heart of Final Portrait, a film written and directed by Stanley Tucci (in his fifth directorial outing) in which he tells the semi-fictionalized story of the collaboration between celebrated sculptor and painter Alberto Giacometti[ and writer James Lord, who encountered one another in the early 1960s while the latter was visiting Paris, and struck by his appearance, is invited by the eccentric older artist to his ramshackle home in a notorious working-class neighbourhood to sit for a portrait, being told that it will take only a few hours, or an afternoon at best. However, these sessions ended up lasting well over three weeks, with the two men initially starting as merely vague acquaintances with a slight interest in each other’s work, and where the pleasantries kept them at an intentional distance, but as the days went on, they started to develop an unexpected kinship that proved that their initial encounter was truly serendipitous. Tucci works laboriously to cobble together a captivating story from quite a simple premise, and the results are terrific – a bold, compelling blend of humour and gravitas that feels much more dynamic and daring than we’d expect on the outset, driven by such extraordinary commitment to detail, a perfect way to describe the nature of this film and its peculiar approach to some very common but fascinating ideas.

Over the past thirty years, Tucci has proven himself to be the very epitome of an everyman. We tend to think of him primarily as the reliable character actor whose versatility is matched by his willingness to do anything for the sake of a role, which has led to a substantial career filled with fascinating works across many different genres. Yet, it’s often his excursions outside of acting that have made him such an enigmatic cultural figure, and while not many people perceive him as a filmmaker (despite having written and directed nearly half a dozen films over the years, most of which have been quite underseen), those who have witnessed his directorial endeavours are certainly aware of his exceptional gifts. Much like his acting – and all other endeavours such as writing and cooking – Tucci views filmmaking as the art of simply creating something from nothing, taking the raw materials and shaping them into something that has meaning or stirs some kind of reaction. It is only logical that he would find value in the story of Alberto Giacometti and his notorious tendency towards an eccentric style of artistry, his entire life being defined by a complete and utter non-adherence to the principles of logic, which is why his work has been so puzzling but brilliant. Final Portrait presents a snapshot into his artistic process, carefully weaving a narrative based on his well-known quirks, while attempting to justify them through his relationship with an outsider momentarily plunged into the madness of his artistic process, and who in turn takes immense inspiration from the awkward but endearing period in which he became a muse for someone whose entire existence is driven by a desire to dismantle the boundaries set down by those who wished to dictate how art is created. The director’s affection for the subject’s life, as well as his own fascination with his methods, form the foundation for Final Portrait, which is as much an ode to Giacometti as it is to the daunting process of creating art and playing by one’s own unconventional rules, which makes for incredibly riveting viewing.

While we could expect a more traditional account of Giacometti’s career would carry a large portion of his life, the cradle-to-grave biographical drama is too limiting and frankly dull for Tucci, who draws inspiration from a different kind of approach, which is to choose a specific chapter in his life and focus on that, which eventually manifests in the premise of Final Portrait, which is set over a few weeks as he interacts with what he anticipates will be just a fleeting collaborator, but in reality eventually becomes something of an unexpected companion, the two men sharing many fascinating conversations that reveal the innermost contents of their respective souls. The film could be considered to be formed through the use of the odd couple dynamic in many ways – these are two very different men who find themselves having to seek common ground solely to be able to communicate on the most fundamental level. To achieve this, Tucci recruits Geoffrey Rush and Armie Hammer, who have become personae non grata in recent years, but who nonetheless deliver objectively wonderful performances that fully embody the complexities and nuances of these characters. Rush in particular is quite impressive – while he has made a career out of playing these radical eccentrics, the masterful command of his craft has nonetheless always been exceptional to see in practice, and he delivers wonderful, engaging work that feels authentic, honest and lived-in, despite the peculiar nature of the character he is portraying. He resists the temptation to turn Giacometti into a stereotype and infuses him with many layers that prove to be unexpectedly quite moving. Hammer is quite straightforward, acting as the audience surrogate, but his debonair charisma and willingness to play second-fiddle to Rush mean that he doesn’t stand out as being overly bombastic, but has some terrific moments of his own. Both actors are remarkable and bring such humanity to these roles, and credit must go to Tucci for not only enlisting them to play the parts but also clearly guiding them with compassion and sincerity from the start.

Much of the impact made by Final Portrait comes in the tone, which proves to be much more dynamic and daring than many may realise. Rather than making a stately, stiff period drama defined by its splendour and luxury, Tucci chooses something far simpler. Giacometti was known to live and work in squalid conditions, with his home and studio being consistently in tatters, an absolute jumble into which anyone could get immediately lost – and this essentially sets the tone for the film, which is far from the meandering, overly precious European prestige drama it seems to be at the outset, and instead flourishes into an unnerving but brilliant blend of ideas. The use of a mostly handheld camera gives us unfettered access into the minds of these characters, allowing us to peer into their lives, voyeuristically observing their intimate conversations while they both engage in the art of creation. The colours are muted and quite drab, an intentional choice designed to contrast with the colourful, off-the-wall personality of the protagonist, a man who may have failed to embrace neatness as a principle, but more than made up for it in his wild approach to living. The joie de vivre with which Giacometti lived his life is extraordinary, and this film showcases it, which not only emerges in the technical elements but also in the tonal shifts. Final Portrait bandies between outrageous comedy, in which the relationship between the two core characters is plumbed for all traces of offbeat humour, and hard-hitting melodrama, designed to underline the sometimes challenging life of those who pursued a truly original life, and ultimately struggled to make ends meet, or who saw their closest relationships slowly fading away over time. It’s a fascinating approach that highlights Tucci’s command of the material, since rather than taking a more orthodox approach, he instead chooses to do something quite different in both form and concept, becoming far more daring and dynamic than we may have initially anticipated.

Final Portrait has not been given the fair assessment it deserves – many look at it and anticipate a star-studded period drama about the virtue of artistic expression and the importance of creation, but ultimately this isn’t entirely factored into the narrative, which plays as more of a psychological drama with liberal layers of humour, both of which highlight the underlying story and everything that it represents to the broader community, who may not see themselves reflected directly in this film, but still will be able to connect between the themes that drive this story and their own lives, which proves to be a far more enticing work than initially promised, which will undoubtedly come as a great surprise to anyone seeking something slightly different and unorthodox, but who also want to find value in the smaller details, the importance of which are the very foundation for this film. Bold and daring, while also being genuinely quite compelling in how it chooses to structure itself, Final Portrait is a tremendously compelling film, and while it is very simple, its honest and sincere approach to its themes is admirable at the very least. Beautifully poetic and bitingly funny, it’s a strong subversion of a genre that is often disparaged, proving just how exceptional these stories can be when done by someone who has a clear vision for the material and the skill to aid it into manifesting, which is precisely the quality that makes this such a tremendous film.