Art School Confidential

Normally I don’t write about movies that I decide need a little panning, but I was so utterly disappointed by Art School Confidential that I can no longer remain silent.

The film begins well enough: a young artist enrolls in art college to land hot babes and become the most relevant artist of the 21st century. Part wink-wink insider’s look at the art school crowd and part satire of American relationships to art/artists, the film criss-crosses back and forth between studio workshops, the dorms, and an oddly-narrativized series of serial killings.

Unfortunately, this film needed one more script draft before heading to the screen. Lacking the irreverence of the director’s last film (the luscious Ghost World), the movie putzes along as a series of fits and starts, never really making a real story happen. The most awkward element here are the scene cuts: the director and probably screenwriter include several toss-off scenes that don’t contribute anything to the narrative and don’t even reach any kind of climactic moment. The film feels like one big anticlimax after other until, finally, you don’t even care when people die. Oh, dead? Oh, whatever. Let’s see more art girl boobies! This movie also has a penis in it, if you’re into that sort of thing.

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