DVD: Vincent & Theo

With the death of Robert Altman last November, it’s no surprise that his sprawling oeuvre should be finely combed for underappreciated works.

Released in 1990, the four-part TV drama Vincent & Theo has received such a re-evaluation, with a two-disc re-release charting the tumultuous, paranoid and loyal relationship of the van Gough brothers. It begins in a frantic auction room in the 1980s as Sunflowers is sold for £22 million. Then back in time to a country shack, a rickety bed and a grubby little man declaring that he wants to be a painter to his agitated, well-groomed art-dealer brother. Altman’s purpose is clear – the extravagant conquest of the art collector is of little importance. This is the story of a man desperate to be great and the loyal friendship he had with his brother, who financially sustained him through an eight-year metamorphosis in a mire of introspection, bitter frustration and madness.

The title role is handled with gleeful intensity by Tim Roth. He revels as the black sheep of his middle-class family, shacking up with a prostitute muse, berating fellow artists and generally being a curmudgeonly, rotten-mouthed git. Paul Rhys plays the syphilitic Theo constantly on edge as he tries to sell his brother’s work – a self-sacrificing martyr to Vincent’s equally identifiable uncompromising artist. The characters could easily appear over-familiar, but with the help of Altman the actors breathe foul-smelling life into them.

Unfortunately, this is achieved without much aid from the screenplay. Julien Mitchel’s script is plain with moments of banality – take this dialogue between an Arles peasant and Vincent:

P: What are you doing?

V: Painting you.

P: Why?

V: Because I’m a painter.

But as this is a story of men fixated, and totally consumed – Vincent with art, Theo with his brother’s success – the use of words filtered of any eloquence largely goes unnoticed.

It only becomes a problem when considered with the pace. Made specifically for TV, and at two and a half hours, this film has moments that seem drawn out. Although the actors are brilliant, at times they fall short of covering for the patchy script and with a director mostly enchanted with tone and colour in the latter half of the film, some moments can seem indulgent.

At its best, however, it gets under the skin of a fascinating, developed character, showing the unglamorous and almost always agonising moments that came before the multi-million pound fetishising and garish popularising. For lovers of van Gough, this will help excuse the film’s length and lingering camera work. For many others, it will not be enough.          Beren Neale

Buy it here.