The novel on which this movie is based, a slim thriller by the great American writer Charles Willeford, is in many ways typical of the author. It examines misogyny and murderous psychosis from so seemingly close a perspective as to make the reader queasy, if not downright upset. But the 1971 book contains something extra: an erudite satire of contemporary art, often expounded upon by an insufferable mansplainer.
The mansplainer, in the book and this movie adaptation directed by Giuseppe Capotondi, is James Figueras, played as a looming, imposing figure by Claes Bang. First seen delivering a lecture cum con job to some museum tourists in Milan, he’s soon summoned to the Lake Como estate of a rich art collector named Cassidy. He brings along Berenice, a plucky pickup (Elizabeth Debicki) who proves to be an impediment to the task Cassidy has in store for James. Cassidy has put up a reclusive, legendary artist at his estate and wants James to steal one of his paintings.
One of the jokes here is that the artist, incarnated as an avuncular soul by Donald Sutherland, has no body of work — at least that anybody’s seen. This compels James to enact all manner of fraud, property destruction and worse.
There’s some grim stuff here, but very little of Willeford’s mordant humor. A small and potent quantity of this quality is delivered by the larger-than-life rock star Mick Jagger in the role of Cassidy. Jagger shows a refreshing lack of conventional vanity by allowing both Bang and Debicki to tower over him. Possibly because he, and his character, have the upper hand anyway. His character is a nonchalant Lucifer and, as it happens, the strongest reason to see this movie.
The Burnt Orange Heresy
Rated R for sexuality, nudity, language, psychosis. Running time: 1 hour 39 minutes.
Source: Movies - nytimes.com
