The Art of the Steal

(Documentary) A 9.14 Pictures presentation in association with MAJ Prods. Produced by Sheena M. Joyce. Executive producer, Lenny Feinberg. Directed by Don Argott.

With: John Anderson, Colin B. Bailey, Julian Bond, Carolyn T. Carluccio, David D'Arcy, Richard Feigen, D. Michael Fisher, Tom L. Freudenheim, Jim Gerlach, Richard H. Glanton, Nancy Herman, Walter Herman, Christopher Knight, Meryl Levitz, Bruce H. Mann, Robert Marmon, Toby Marmon, Ross Mitchell, Barry Munitz, Irvin Nahan, Marcelle Pick, David W. Rawson, Jay Raymond, Edward G. Rendell, Mark D. Schwartz, Harry Sefarbi, Richard Segal, Nick Tinari, Robert Zaller.

By TODD MCCARTHY

The slow-motion hijacking of the world's greatest privately held art collection is documented in impeccable, heartrending fashion in "The Art of the Steal." Telling a complicated story that spans nearly 100 years, documaker Don Argott meticulously relates how the treasures of the Barnes Foundation, worth at least $25 billion, were wrested away by a long-gathering perfect storm of personal, political, institutional and financial interests. Anyone remotely interested in the fine arts will find this compelling, and while the issues at hand are not matters of life and death, the scandal generates sufficient emotion to engage a wider audience, which will be found at fests, in select theatrical playoff and, extensively, on the tube.

The repository of 181 Renoirs, 69 Cezannes, 59 Matisses, 46 Picassos, 16 Modiglianis and seven van Goghs, just for starters, the Barnes has been a cherished destination for in-the-know art lovers since 1922, when it was founded in Lower Merion, Pa., five miles from Philadelphia, as a school and home for the collection of Dr. Albert C. Barnes -- a self-made pharmaceutical baron who invented, among other things, an effective treatment for venereal disease.

The cranky, working-class Barnes was scorned by the conservative Philadelphia establishment; the feeling was mutual, and it's this long-standing animosity that drives most of what played out over the course of the 20th century and into the next. On numerous trips to Europe, Barnes bought according to his personal taste and acquired impressionist, post-impressionst and early modern works, as well as African art, before any of the major American museums were interested.

So antagonistic was Barnes to the institutional art world in general and the Philadelphia Mueum of Art in particular that he specifically stipulated in his will that his paintings could never be loaned, sold or otherwise removed from the building specifically built to house them. What's more, after his death in a car accident in 1951, it was learned that Barnes had left control of his collection in the hands of Lincoln U., a small, historically black school, further rankling the local elite.

All was relatively quiet at the Barnes until the founder's chief disciple, the charismatic Violette de Mazia, died in 1988, and decision-making passed to the trustees at Lincoln, who were not exactly art-world mavens. More than two dozen articulate experts do a very good job of explaining how, under the leadership of the aggressive, politically ambitious Richard H. Glanton, ways were found to extricate the paintings from the restrictions of the will and, for the first time, pry them from the walls upon which Barnes had personally arranged them in his own eccentric fashion. A massively successful world tour and a subsequent influx of tourists to Merion temporarily swelled the coffers, but the always controversial Glanton was finally shown the door, leaving the foundation rudderless by 2000.

The remarkably long arm of personal grudges then insidiously showed itself. Albert Barnes' greatest enemy in Philadelphia was the Annenberg family -- first the gangster father Moses, finally imprisoned for tax evasion, then son Walter, publisher of the Philadelphia Inquirer and, by the 1980s, ambassador to Great Britain due to his close friendship with Ronald Reagan. Over the course of several years, other Pennsylvania financial and power brokers, notably the Pew Foundation and civic leaders drawn to the collection for its touristic potential, got into the act, resulting in an almost irresistible momentum toward transferring the entire collection from its original suburban locale to a permanent new home in downtown Philly. A final-act grassroots effort to thwart what increasingly seems like the inevitable generates considerable suspense.

Docus centered around social or legal outrages get easy mileage out of making politicians and corporate bigwigs the bad guys, and this one is no exception; several of them, as always, "declined to be interviewed for this film." One who did take part, Gov. Edward G. Rendell, comes off well by just speaking plainly and undefensively, and there is a case to be made for, at long last, making these incomparable artworks available to a wide public on a permanent basis.

However, there would seem to be an even stronger case to support the idea that the collection was, as the title implies, stolen through the collusion of monied powers that knew how to pull political strings and manipulate the legal system. Barnes used the best lawyers to ensure that nothing like this could ever happen but it finally did, even if it took more than half a century.

The film is sharp in every way, from the crisp visuals to the brisk editing and lively musical backgrounding. Happily, plenty of footage shows how the paintings looks inside the Barnes (which remains open for now), and color home movies of Barnes himself (usually in the company of dogs) are an added boon.

Camera (color), Argott; editor, Demian Fenton; music, West Dylan Thordson; music supervisor, Susan Jacobs; sound, Gary E. Irwin; line producer, Irwin. Reviewed at Toronto Film Festival (Real to Reel), Sept. 10, 2009. (Also in New York Film Festival.) Running time: 101 MIN.

Read the full article at:
http://www.variety.com/story.asp?l=story&r=VE1117941055&c=31

Like this article? Variety.com has over 150,000 articles, 40,000 reviews and 10,000 pages of charts. Subscribe today!
http://www.variety.com/emailfriend
or call (866) MY-VARIETY.
Can't commit? Sign up for a free trial!
http://www.variety.com/emailfriend