The troubling thing about much of David Hockney’s work is its seeming lack of trouble. Especially in his drawings, his undeniable facility can lead him into images that are trite. Yet there’s no denying the man’s skill and, in his best work, his ability to evoke the grace, character, and beauty of his subjects. Hockney himself is the subject of an adoring new documentary by Randall Wright, and, watching it, I wondered if the director were trying to replicate the ease captured in so many Hockney canvases. Hockney certainly deserves praise, but a puff piece such as this does even the greatest artist little good.
No one can accuse Hockney of being lazy: over a 50-plus-year career he’s embraced every medium imaginable, from drawing and painting to set design to photography to iPad art. His restless quest for fresh visual expression is inspiring even when the results are less than memorable. This flitting about from one type of mark making to another sometimes comes off as a kind of attention deficit disorder; like a hummingbird, Hockney can’t land in one place for too long for fear of getting boxed in.
Directed by Randall Wright
