Natalie Portman embodies camp. This is something the actress’s harshest critics — and even some of her devoted fans — appear to overlook, yet it’s essential to appreciating her performances. Portman earned an Oscar playing a drug-addled ballerina. If you enjoy the Star Wars prequels, claiming “it’s camp!” is a frequent defense for that preference. May December? Vox Lux? Jackie? Pure camp. Admittedly, that balancing act doesn’t always succeed, but with a film like The Gallerist, it becomes a crucial element of a broader, more eccentric whole. The film nearly fails without it; attendees of its Sundance debut might insist it fails completely. For viewers on the correct wavelength, though, it promises considerable enjoyment.
The Gallerist represents the newest offering from director Cathy Yan, previously at the helm of the gonzo Harley Quinn centerpiece . While this latest work is noticeably more polished and far more restrained than Yan’s comic book venture, it retains that same offbeat energy — it simply requires some patience to fully reveal itself.
Portman portrays Polina Polinski, a high-strung diva sporting an eggshell-white bob and a deep-seated desire to leave her imprint on the art scene. Following an acrimonious divorce from her former spouse (Sterling K. Brown), Polina invests her settlement into transforming a former Jiffy Lube into an immaculate gallery. Her debut show, scheduled to coincide with Miami’s Art Basel, centers on the “unproven” Stella Burgess (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) and her Western-themed collection. The phenomenon of white women elevating Black artists for cultural capital certainly applies to her approach here — and art influencer Dalton Hardberry (Zach Galifianakis) appears to be the sole voice courageous enough to point it out. This is partly because Dalton is intimately familiar with Polina: he knew her before she reinvented herself as an arbiter of refined taste, and he professes to see straight through her veneer. Polina may possess integrity, a quality she aims to demonstrate by championing “a genuine outsider” like Stella, but she lacks courage, according to Dalton. She has no authentic artistic vision.
Then Dalton loses his footing on a wet spot and falls onto “Daddy’s Shears,” a ridiculously oversized, perilously sharp replica of the “emasculators” employed for cattle castration. With the gallery opening mere minutes away, Polina lacks the time to conceal the corpse or even contact authorities. Instead, her thoughts turn to numerous corpses depicted artistically in classical artworks: Dante and Virgil. The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli. Pietá. She arranges Dalton’s body in the most ornate manner possible and declares it art, greatly distressing her nervous assistant Kiki (Jenna Ortega). Within sixty minutes, the gallery becomes a viral sensation — but as Dalton’s remains begin to deteriorate rapidly, Polina’s newfound notoriety will inevitably turn rancid.
The Gallerist requires massive suspension of disbelief from the outset. Despite a brief 88-minute runtime, The Gallerist feels considerably lengthier; paradoxically, however, the narrative moves more fluidly as complexities accumulate. Yan, who co-authored the script with James Pedersen, maintains engagement through constant juggling of multiple elements. While Polina attempts to satisfy her artist (she has radically altered the significance of her principal work), control the throngs now filling the gallery, and secretly eliminate a dead body, Yan’s camera glides through the location at unconventional angles. Recurring jokes contribute to both escalating suspense and the story’s comedic absurdity: When Polina and Kiki vanish into the restroom for what seems like the umpteenth time to review their scheme, one cannot help but be somewhat amused.
It’s fortunate that Portman and Ortega aren’t the only cast members attuned to Yan’s brand of absurdity. Catherine Zeta-Jones nearly hijacks the entire production as Marianne, a macabre art dealer who convinces Polina that “Daddy’s Shears” could fetch a fortune at auction. Additionally, there’s Daniel Bruhl, a legacy child frantic to establish his credibility as a legitimate art connoisseur, who emerges as an ideal (and hilariously funny) dupe. Charli xcx makes a brief appearance as one of the rare individuals who recognizes Polina’s stunt for what it truly is. Meanwhile, Randolph and Brown provide The Gallerist with stability by challenging Polina’s purported integrity.
This supposedly “serious” scrutiny of the art sphere doesn’t entirely mesh with all the satire and physical comedy. It remains somewhat ambiguous whether The Gallerist aspires to be a ridiculous caper or a profound industry critique. The film addresses most of its own questions as if they were rhetorical, including those that might resolve one or two narrative gaps. Nevertheless, it’s difficult not to find it endearing, imperfections and all. The Gallerist encompasses many qualities: a theatrical, confined display, an atmosphere-driven behind-the-scenes tragicomedy… Its merit depends on individual perspective, but it deserves more than outright rejection.