Cabaret Modigliani

Since January 30, Johnny Depp's film “Modi: Three days on the wings of madness” on the screens

This version of Modi has lived by Michael Davis's classic Bayopic Modigli. With clown drinking artists from God Utrillo and Sutin. With a deceiver, a rogue, a visionary and a doomed genius of Modigliani (Riccardo Scamarchio), who does not understand boring collectors, appraisers and money bags. With his nightmares. And masks of death that strangles.

And everything begins as a performance-cabaret: Modigliani in the famous Le Dome cafe on Montparnasa with a long baguette beats a rude warrior, anti-Semite. And after a short fight, turning the tables, it flies out into a rare stained glass window per street. The police are looking for him. He has no money for food and wine. He manages to sell a portrait on Montmartre as a penny as the last picture of the newly known little -known genius of Modigliani. And from all sides they tell him that his portraits are dead eyes, they have no life in them.

Now he needs to urgently get out of the city (he is looking for the police after a melt) and stay, because a day later the famous collector Maurice Ganyata (Al Pachino) will come to Paris, in the collection of whose work Renoir, Picasso, Sezanna. Such a chance is impossible to miss.

This is not a bayopic - only three frantic days in the life of Modigliani.

It seems that Depp in this somewhat chaotic picture to some extent shot history and to himself. About existence on the edge, "when you can demolish your head at any moment."

Artists choose to pick up a brush or rifle, the war thunders in Rabelazian Paris, mixing parties with bombing. And sometimes it seems that blood from his throat is spray of the same indestructible blood of a merciless war.

And although he does not have a penny in his pocket, while you can still love the divine Beatrice, write it and sculpt it. He has four years before his death. And do not care about the damned buyers of his talent, seeing in the living - dead, and in the dead - living.

It seems that everything is crazy here, but primarily Chaim Sutin (Ryan McArland), who does not wash, catches flies, prays Rembrandt, looking for the right light. In his tightly locked room, cow's carcasses rot (he writes them day after day, spreading a terrible stench throughout the district), and the chicken paw is his Calvary.

Depp, it seemed, wanted to make a spectator cinema under the noodle noodling Sasha Putnam in the spirit of Bregovich. About the damned artists who are ready to burn on the altar of art who do not want to lie and adapt. Neither in life nor in art. About the Brazhnik and a vagabond worshiping Dante and ready to break, destroy his sculptures in the absence of understanding and love. About the eternal relationship of the "poet and book seller."

Alas, the film has a lot of hustle and bustle, chaos, there is not enough clarity, the transparency of the plot. At the same time, the feeling that the action slows down is running in place.

And the name "Wind on the wings of madness" is a line from his beloved Baudelaire. The main question is when time itself moved from the coils, maybe it is madness in its highest embodiment - a work of art will help answer the question: to create or destroy?

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