It may seem obvious to point out, but the trouble with most biopics (if not all) is that you can’t ever really tell if the film has been accurate and fair in its depiction of its subject. Watching director Ondi Timoner’s Mapplethorpe, the audience is left with a very stark impression of the movie’s eponymous subject, the legendary and somewhat infamous photographer Robert Mapplethorpe: he was a great artist, and he was a selfish prick. And both of those things are hammered into the work over and over again, like stanzas in a Philip Glass piece. Of course, it didn’t start that way. Early in the film, we get to see the confused low-confidence kid looking for love and meaning. But once his work is recognized, the train goes off the rails. It’s unlikely the audience can ever know for sure if that’s really how this rebel signature artist lived his life. But in the story of the film, this character was captured as perfectly as any of the notorious and beautiful pictures Mapplethorpe himself every created.

Matt Smith as MAPPLETHORPE

First and foremost, much attention must be paid to lead actor Matt Smith. His sharp portrayal of the storied portraitist thrives with character vivaciousness which fills the frame with his every appearance (which is pretty much every scene). One will walk away feeling as if they met this man in real life. The persona Smith crafted is an independent soul, wholly convincing to the point that you can be forgiven for mistaking him for the historical Mapplethorpe (watch YouTube videos of his 80s interviews, it’s an uncanny how much Smith nailed it). In a fair and balanced world, this virtuoso performance would garner an Oscar nomination. Except the movie has a whole lot of dicks in it, like a lot of the bare-naked penises, beyond the actual photographs from the actual artist, and I’d be surprised if The Academy could handle that (so to speak). Every moment that Smith romps around in Mapplethorpe’s skin is utterly compelling and engrossing and instantly, eternally memorable. Truly, he deserves the highest of accolades.

Which brings me to the film’s biggest problem: it’s way too short. As in, maybe this would have been better as an extended mini-series. There simply wasn’t enough of it for me. It’s not just Smith, many of the supporting players did a lot to drive the narrative. But there was always more that felt unsaid, perhaps more than could fill the trim 95 minutes we are offered. To be clear – it’s not just that I wanted second helpings of an awesome meal. It often felt like there were crucial moments missing from the story. Like how exactly Mapplethorpe went from being dejected shy artist trying desperately to be discovered to a wealthy hedonist who treated his personal relationships as utterly disposable. It’s a fascinating transition. The film even references it directly with a line proclaiming the shutterbug diva as “the Jekyll and Hyde” of the New York art scene. But it’s like we don’t get to fully witness the transformation. The acting and writing themselves screamed for more.

MAPPLETHORPE

Could that be the point? Mapplethorpe’s character in the film lives only for his self-gratification and to do his art. He offers almost nothing else to anyone. Fidelity to the most generous of lovers is fleeting. Familial bond doesn’t keep him from treating his adoring brother like shit. And first-love Patti Smith doesn’t seem to get anything from him between his initial betrayal of her until his final days. The artist just refused to give of himself to the people around him. Perhaps the film made that decision, too. Those missing pieces we yearn for simply might not be available, just as the artist refused to make his own soul available to those closest to him. Except, of course, through his art – but that was only incidental. He loved making his art and was lucky enough to find paying customers for it. Mapplethorpe the film may have been emulating that characteristic in its approach. Am I being too generous with this escape clause for the work? Maybe, but then, incidentally or otherwise, the filmmakers gave the audience something well worth the price of the ticket. Art might just imitate life sometimes, whether it knows it or not.