“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life”

These words by Pablo Picasso have lingered in my mind ever since I first encountered them years ago. It’s a simple statement, but one that I feel best reflects how we perceive art, which is not merely as pieces of creativity hailing from very gifted individuals, but rather the outward expression of the self, carefully curated by skilled artists who can turn their innermost existential quandaries and curiosities into something tangible. Through the course of his long career, Picasso saw the world change in incomprehensible ways, witnessing life through a truly unorthodox lens, which influenced so much of his work, which was always extracted from his desire to understand the world that surrounded him, and the inevitable surrender to the fact that he would never truly be able to comprehend it in any meaningful way. The intersection between art and the self is a fascinating one, and it forms the foundation of The Christophers, the most recent directorial outing by Steven Soderbergh, who works closely with screenwriter Ed Solomon to tell the story of Lori Butler, an obscure former artist who currently works in art restoration. She is approached by two unscrupulous individuals who have quite an offer for her: their father, Julian Sklar, is a world-renowned painter who has mostly retired, not having produced a new artwork in decades. Upon realising that there is an incomplete series of plays hidden in his home, his children hire Lori to pose as his assistant as a front for her to complete a series of paintings that he has intentionally decided to abandon, so that they can be sold for an enormous price after his impending death. A simple assignment that eventually evolves into a fascination relationship between two complex individuals, contained within a witty, challenging dark comedy about art, culture and the ties that bind us together under a common humanity, it all eventually comes to serve as one of Soderbergh’s most intriguing productions in years, and a film that takes a unique approach to a subject that has been notoriously difficult to represent on screen over the years.

Everybody perceives art differently, whether in terms of its production or the final result. However, we don’t often see in-depth explorations of one very simple fact: in the majority of cases, the process of creating an artwork is a very lonely experience, at least in terms of a medium like painting, which is essentially a single person accompanied by an idea and a canvas onto which they can bring it to life. Of course, there are always exceptions, but we find that it can be a very isolating experience, and one that is not always easy for someone who is facing their own challenges of identity. The Christophers builds itself from this premise, following two individuals who have become jaded by not only the cutthroat nature of the art world (albeit from different perspectives – one grew weary of the expectations of being amongst its most celebrated visionaries, the other pushed away from her dream of achieving greatness long before she even came close to achieving it), but by the loneliness that emerges when trying to navigate those long, lonely existential corridors down which every creative individual finds themselves travelling. It’s not difficult to see why Soderbergh would be drawn to this premise, since he has often been seen as someone willing to pursue a single idea to the point of obsession, even momentarily retreating from the industry altogether. I can imagine he saw a lot of himself in both the characters of Julian and Lori – one a master of his craft who wishes to disappear while also leaving behind a legacy, the other someone who is constantly seeking perfection, but feels frustrated that her greatest works will likely be viewed through a very different lens. In fact, I’d argue that anyone who is even vaguely inclined towards art, whether as a vocation or merely as a hobby, will find this film resonating deeply, since The Christophers proves to be a steadfast exploration of art as not only a form of self-expression, but also self-discovery, the paintbrush becoming the tool through which one can excavate their own internal existential quandaries, the world becoming so much clearer when it has been committed to paper rather than being restricted to one’s mind.

However, there is so much more to The Christophers than just a meandering story of two people bickering over what art represents. This is indeed where the film starts, but certainly not where it leads as a whole, since there’s something so intriguing about a film that can carefully unravel the psychological state of two very different characters to the point where it primarily becomes a story of a friendship evolving from a very unconventional set of circumstances. The discussions around art and creativity, while absolutely vital to the premise, are only the impetus. The Christophers is a film that traverses an extraordinary amount of conceptual ground, exploring Julian and Lori as three-dimensional, complex individuals. Are they artists who have had to learn how to be people, or people who have found themselves pursuing the treacherous task of being professional artists? There’s no clear answer to this question, but it is asked in such a way that it always provokes thought and causes us to look deeper within ourselves, as reflected through these characters. This all sounds overly dour and quite serious, until we realise that Soderbergh has made what is essentially a buddy comedy, drawn from the taut but successful trope of the odd couple, which takes two opposites: a misanthropic elderly recluse whose advanced age is mistaken for senility, and the cynical young woman who is instructed to deceive him, not realising that this supposedly feeble old man is far smarter than she or anyone else initially anticipated. It’s an outrageously funny premise that is made only more delightful by its sincerity, examining subjects such as age, identity (there’s some wonderful queer commentary contained within the film that isn’t overt, but still leaves an impression) and inspiration. This particular aspect is most important, since it merges the two central concepts, looking at the existence of muses as not only a source of artistic inspiration, but something much more profound, the surprise of which should not be spoiled, but which makes The Christophers amongst Soderbergh’s most lovely films.

The premise behind The Christophers is strong, but only as much as the actors themselves are willing to commit to the material, since this is a challenging subject in that it requires performers who are truly able to plumb the emotional depths of these characters, more than just reciting the dialogue and going through the emotions. Michaela Coel has been on the rise for a few years, with her work on both sides of the camera proving her to be an essential voice in contemporary media, someone who has more than justified earning a considerable amount of our attention. There’s something very charming about the work she is doing in this film, since while her character is quite simple in the sense that she’s more of a reactionary, focusing on being the calm amongst the tempest caused by the rest of the characters, there’s a depth to her that someone like Coel, whose ability to play someone so stoic and stone-faced without ever overlooking the simmering emotions beneath the surface, can achieve. She’s paired alongside Sir Ian McKellen, who is most certainly the main attraction in this film, which everyone involved will likely agree was the reason this film took on such an intriguing form. Considering there are not many roles for actors of McKellen’s age in anything other than stuffy period dramas (of which he’s done his fair share, and exceptionally well), it’s always absolutely delightful to see him deliver a performance in something that goes against the grain, and while The Christophers may not be structurally revolutionary, it does harbour one of the celebrated thespian’s most enthralling performances, where he plays a man who knows he is living on borrowed time, but rather than feeling remorseful for his actions, chooses instead to embrace the laissez-faire lifestyle of a bohemian artist, living recklessly without purpose. It’s a striking performance from an actor who has never delivered a performance in which he hasn’t committed entirely, and he infuses so much charm into an otherwise unlikable character, binding the film together through playing to the rafters most sincerely and endearingly imaginable, proving that he still can surprise us, even with a more conventional character.

More than anything else, the marvel of The Christophers comes in how Soderbergh takes this material and turns it into something very special. Considering he is a director known to push the boundaries, defying the constraints placed on him by the industry, it’s surprising that he’d be interested in something so simple, especially as he is in a phase of his career where he’s more experimental than ever. Yet, in many ways, there is nothing more defiant than occasionally playing by the rules so closely that the audience is in a perpetual state of wondering what the catch is going to be, since it’s been a very long time since we’ve seen a Soderbergh film that is as direct and to-the-point as this one. The rebellion here is not found in the formal elements, nor the more obvious narrative ones, but instead in the emotions, which are kept very restrained, but have a subtle complexity that proves to be extraordinarily provocative in a very interesting way. At no point does the film default to the same hackneyed technique of trying to extract every bit of sympathy from the story – there are clear emotions and an obvious arc undertaken by the protagonists, but its simplicity is what keeps it so dynamic. Part of this is focusing on making the concept work, which involves structuring it as a two-hander, an opportunity for two very different actors whose differences form part of the internal dynamic, engaged in 100 minutes of frantic back-and-forth, playing a witty game of cat-and-mouse in which they battle for dominance. It’s like watching two extraordinary grandmasters sparring off in a game of chess, where our attention is firmly kept on the ever-changing relationship between these two characters. From this, the film doesn’t feel at all impelled to do anything more than what was necessary – the filmmaking is simple (although the production design of both the protagonists’ homes and studios is extraordinary, with Sklar’s house in particular being so fascinating that it becomes a character in itself), and doesn’t need to rely on anything more than the story to stay afloat, drawing us in through a deliberate combination of subtle emotions and deeply moving conversations that are both bitingly funny and profoundly compelling in equal measure.

Who could’ve expected one of the most profound and insightful examinations of the intersections between art and psychology would come from a collaboration between Soderbergh, who has relished in his refusal to find a niche, and Solomon, whose best-known work includes low-brow comedies that are beloved but far from the definition of complex artistry. The Christophers prove that some of the most interesting and compelling works are those which emerge from unexpected sources, and that simply being willing to take a chance is often enough to immerse us in these fascinating and challenging stories. We don’t see anything revolutionary about this film from a distance, since it delivers exactly what it promises and not much else: a well-crafted two-hander that pairs up a couple of actors who we never imagined would have been selected to act across from each other in this kind of story (since the entire premise is built on the differences between two people, and who they’re swept aside by the mutual admiration they have for their art, the underlying theme that connects the whole film), and allows them to create these fascinating, complex and engaging characters who may seem unlikable on the surface – if not outright despicable – but whose gradual unravelling reveals that they are both extremely vulnerable people, creative individuals forced to exist in a world where they cannot permanently be hidden behind a canvas, even if this is where they are most comfortable. The screenplay is wickedly funny and deeply entertaining, the cast is absolutely exquisite, and the overall experience is a film that knows how to draw the audience in, promising us something quite unexpected and delivering a story that examines art from several different lenses, revealing some fascinating ideas and generally being a profoundly moving depiction of the world through the eyes of two people who tend to see life as an array of colours, shapes and compositions, a small fraction of which they’re committed to throw onto a canvas, in the hopes of capturing even the smallest of life’s many complex mysteries, in the pursuit of answers to these impossible but captivating questions.