This film is purportedly a biopic of the noted Austrian art nouveau
            artist Gustav Klimt
            
           
            Klimt is painted as a atheistic womanizer with 
            several illegitimate children and an obsession with Jewesses. He is 
            disdainful of officials and critics, and claims not to care what 
            people think about him, but really wants his art to be accepted.
            As the film opens, Klimt is delirious, dying of advanced 
            syphilis. (Note that the real Klimt died of a stroke.) An old friend 
            visits, and we see highlights from Klimt's life in 
            flashback, usually through mirrors and reflections. If there is a 
            central conflict, it is Klimt's obsession with a woman, but it is 
            never clear precisely whether that woman is a single woman. He is in 
            Paris, receiving a gold medal for his work, and a short film is 
            presented depicting him and a woman. He falls instantly in love with 
            either Lea de Castro or somebody pretending to be Lea de Castro. 
            Since Klimt's past is viewed through his present delirium, this is 
            not an easy distinction to make!
            He is later summoned to an apartment where one Lea, pretending to 
            be another Lea, seduces him, while another Lea and her benefactor 
            watch through a two way mirror. Lea commissions him to make two 
            portraits, which he never finishes. Another major character is a 
            public official, who is actually Klimt's imagination and alter ego, 
            not to mention at least one and possibly more Klimt doubles.
            Director Raoul Ruiz says that he chose to show the artist as a 
            "phantasmagoria" and was attempting to do with film what Klimt did 
            with canvas. Read his thoughts here.
            You have to give the director points for imaginative experimentation 
            but, unfortunately, his reliance on imagination essentially means this biopic bears 
            little resemblance to the real Klimt (Lea de Castro is a fictional 
            character, for example), and is virtually incoherent to 
            boot. The narrative problem is made all 
            the greater by a studio-ordered cut from 127 minutes to 97 minutes, 
            stranding some scenes without the necessary explanatory material 
            that was (presumably) cut. The film, at least in its present 
            form, just doesn't work, and 
            I wonder if the longer director's cut would be more accessible. 
            The film is not without plusses. First, John 
            Malkovich plays the title role. Second, the set decoration is 
            wonderful, as is the cinematography. Finally, there are lots of 
            naked and attractive women. This film will be of interest to the art 
            film crowd and nudity buffs, and hence does have a small audience. 
            Others should probably avoid it.
          
          
          
 
 
 
    
    Klimt is pretty much of a self-reviewing movie. It was written by a 
    native Spanish speaker in French, then translated into German for the crew 
    in the Austrian and German filming locations, then translated into English 
    for the actors to perform. The director produced a 127-minute cut which the 
    producer deemed totally unmarketable and cut to 93 minutes.
 
 
 
    
    And that's not the worst of it. The capper on the situation is that it 
    was written to be surrealistic in the first place! Although it is supposed 
    to be about the Jugendstil artist Gustav Klimt, the writer/director 
    conceived it not as a biopic, but as a "phantasmagoria" - "a constantly 
    changing medley of real or imagined images, as in a dream," and it is told 
    through the stream of consciousness of a man dying in the last stages of 
    syphilis. 
 
 
 
    
    Knowing all that, how much of a review do you need?
 
 
 
    
    Even if you could have read the original version, it would have made 
    little to no sense, not even if the director had written it in his native 
    language. Since it began its life incoherent by design, you can imagine what 
    it's like now, many generations removed from its original conception.
 
 
 
    
    Essentially the film ignores the real Gustav Klimt, other than the fact 
    that he lived in Vienna during the fin de siecle and was recognized 
    for having painted some works which were as controversial as they were 
    important. The real Klimt never died of syphilis, as pictured here, and he 
    never had a lover named Lea de Castro, who is pictured here as a composite 
    of many of Klimt's paramours. As I interpret it, "Lea" was Klimt's Dulcinea, 
    his romantic ideal, and he thought every one of his true loves was the real 
    Lea - until the next one came along. Confusingly, but perhaps appropriately, 
    all of the Leas are played by the same actress (Saffron Burrows). Even more 
    confusingly, the film is not consistent in its presentation of multiple 
    identities. There are also alternate Klimts, but they are all played by 
    different actors! Although other characters ask Klimt why he is talking to 
    himself, is it not completely clear to the audience whether that is the 
    case. If all that isn't confusing enough for you, there are some elements of 
    the film which just seem like outright flubs. Although English represents 
    the German actually spoken by the actors' real-life counterparts, a few 
    exchanges of dialogue are in German, and the appearance of these exchanges 
    (with no subtitles) appears to be completely random! If English represents 
    German, what does German represent?
 
 
 
    
    You could probably create many other equally defensible explanations of 
    the multiple identities and shifting time frames, since the film is itself a 
    work of non-representational art and thus subject to many possible 
    interpretations. Remember again that the story we watch exists in the 
    jumbled logic of a man in the feverish recollections of his death throes.  
 
 
 
    
    If the film succeeds at all, it is in providing pictorializations of the 
    opulence and decadence in that era just before the Great War, as well as of 
    the work of Klimt himself, awash in gold paint, sexual imagery, symbolism, 
    and swirling floral patterns. If you want to see a film which IS abstract 
    art, it might have some appeal for you. If you want to see a film ABOUT the 
    art or artists of that time, take a pass, because you'll learn nothing here.