Sir Alec Guinness play a drunken artist in what I can only describe as he's most interesting roll. He gets released from prison, harassed by a dorky kid with a stutter, who wants to be an artist just like him, despite the fact that mr. Guinness keeps telling him to scram, get lost and to get a real job. Doing something more productive with his life. Then mr. Guinness precedes to try and screw over a bunch of rich people by either painting them strange art or trying to sell them already existing art of his own. He's one of those abstract artists where the work is interesting but not necessarily great and is only really worth something if someone stupid enough to buy it.
He also hits on every woman he meets ether with clever innuendo, proposition or sometimes just giving them a smack on the fanny, because there is nothing more dead in this world than the art of subtlety.
He could be this Generation's Picasso or he might just be another talentless fraud. Who's to say, after all ''what is art?''
In a lot of ways the film resembles a character study of a very odd and interesting man who has a talent for Colour theory but at the same time doesn't. He is both genius and and fraud intermix at the same time. I think it really captures the idea of how art is betrayed by people and how we venerate those once they're dead but certainly not when they're alive. Something about time that gives legitimacy to even the most awkward of tripe.
Or it's all just a big bunch of bullshit, I'm leaning to the latter.
I am absolutely baffled that sir Alec Guinness can have such a gravelly voice he sounds like he gargled a mouth full of marbles and Rusty razor blades, it's really quite a talent the prim-and-proper man of all of England plays one of the best street bums.
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