J.M.W. Turner

There’s an expansiveness to the emotionality of Spall’s performance, similar again to his paintings. His gruff, guttural line readings, his carefully naturalistic mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, and the tears he sheds are a work of art in and of themselves, allowing Leigh and Spall to create a portrait of a man that does seem to elevate the art in some way. Leigh isn’t bent on building up Turner, tearing him down, and building him up again as so many biopics are prone to do; J.M.W Turner just is. Flawed, powerful, generous, and one hell of an artist.

Suffused with the landscapes that the famed British painter J.M.W Turner admired and translated into legend, director Mike Leigh’s newest film hints at the inner life of the man behind the accomplishments but stops well short of explicating his eccentric actions. Unable to articulate his feelings and more often than not treating the people around him with callous indifference, it’s obvious that Leigh’s Turner has cultivated an environment of emptiness that has allowed him ample space to do exactly what he wants with his life. The silence is frequently richer than the dialogue, with the luscious scenery speaking more to the turmoil of his mind than he can adequately express to those who want to be close to him. Mr. Turner tests one’s patience as we crawl through the waning years of the man’s life, but Spall’s offbeat performance and the gorgeous backdrops immerse the viewer just enough to offset the sparsity of the artist’s stunted emotional intelligence.