Do I Hate Adrien Brody?

one of life's most pressing questions.

I went to Art Basel in Miami once to get absolutely shit faced and accidentally met an artist who rearranged my entire perception of art. You’d have thought, given the event’s title, that I may have visited on account of all the varying levels of expression that Miami had to offer. You’d be wrong. I went there to do drugs and hang out with models / wealthy offspring. I talk about this in my book. Amidst the annihilation, I met a young woman who showed me round an actual gallery. She’s an artist herself. In this gallery, I ended up huddled with around 9 people all taking photos of a huge mural. The mural depicted two skeletons getting out of a car. The detail was otherworldly. And larger than life, but to scale. Hard to compute. Naturally, I found the piece impressive. When I turned to the young woman I was with, she shared with me how much she hated it.

I pushed back and said ‘surely if you don’t like it you still have to respect it for the level of skill?’ To which she looked me dead in the eyes and said,

“you don’t have to be good at drawing to be a good artist.”

Light bulb on, eyebrows raised, fair point. Hadn’t thought of it like that. Furthermore she encouraged me to focus on how art makes me feel rather than whether it is objectively complicated. Door opened. Suddenly I had access to expressionism, absurdism and a whole load of contemporary pieces that I would have otherwise overlooked. Lack of clarity - not for me. Ambiguity - no thank you. Of course, I now crave an unspoken space between my ideas and an artist’s. That space helps me grow. It helps me reimagine things.

After that experience, I left the young painter to meet up with some other friends who were hanging a little away from the gallery. This area was wall to wall with artists vying for attention. New up and comers showing what they could do. Artists doing their best to impress in the confines of a corner. It’s tough starting out. This festival’s competitive. And perhaps people were hoping to impress a collector or curator or someone with influence. Every room I went into, I lead with as many senses as I possessed. Eager to feel out what resonated with me.

At some point, we turn a corner and enter into a big place that appears to be dedicated to only one artist. Big paintings, big pieces, a lot of space. I won’t waste time. I felt genuinely repulsed. As in I didn’t want to be in the room. In front of me was a painting of a burger. That’s it. Just a burger. Behind me was a black canvas with black toy guns glued to it and red paint splattered on top. I was informed this was a commentary on child militia. In another corner was a painting of cigarettes in a chip packet. And all of these pieces had the same tag in the bottom right hand corner. They all said ‘BRODY’.

This huge art space that sat beside bristling ball pits of innocent innovation had been entirely booked out by the actor Adrien Brody. And I’m going to go ahead and say it - again, safe space, I will evolve, this piece is about challenging ego etc etc, always willing to learn, peace and love is the goal I know I know but let me work through it - I’m going to go ahead and say it - I think he’s a fucking awful artist and the art he presented in this space was so appalling to me I’ve actually struggled to watch him again as an actor.

THE BRUTALIST HAS BEEN MET WITH RAVE REVIEWS.

I’m sat eating breakfast with one of my favourite people in Greenwich. I’ve worded that wrong. I’m in Greenwich, eating breakfast with one of my favourite people. She doesn’t live in Greenwich. Not far though. Both of us order a coconut matcha because we’re certified and alternative. In fact, the heavily mashed green tea based coffee replacement makes good bedding for pretentious critique. Charlotte tells me how brilliant Adrien Brody is in The Brutalist. His embodiment of the character makes it almost impossible to remember that he’s acting. A feeling I’d had watching Sandra Hüller in ‘Anatomy of a Fall’. Petty grudge holder that I am, I instantly show her a picture of Adrien Brody at his art gallery.

Everything about his appearance is unacceptable. His poses are also abhorrent. Criminal. Yes, I’m being judgmental. Pretentious. Something has seriously irked me. Obviously the flexing of power in the context of the art world is never pretty. Obviously my own personal opinion on art is in no way definitive. Art is subjective.

Butthereissimplynowaythatanyonecanlikethishitimsorry it’s completely unoriginal, uninspiring and the fact he is displaying it as if it’s providing anything to the world is disorientating. Really this is the worst side of me coming out right now but really and truly. I can’t fucking stand it.

Anyway, Charlotte accepts that his art is terrible but pushes back (lightly) on my dismissal. As any good friend would. We investigate what exactly it is that is getting me riled up. Surely I should be able to watch him act. That’s just too far. So then I wax lyrical about actors being unhinged (Charlotte’s an actor) (but I emphasise she’s an exception for various reasons mainly she’s hilarious), I talk about this empty void they maintain throughout life in preparation for it being filled at some point. I have dabbled in acting but I’m not an actor. I refuse to let 5-7 people at a time decide whether I’m employed or not. It’s a niche existence. There’s a reason actors mainly end up with other actors.

And what makes a truly great actor? It’s becoming another person so convincingly that it’s hard to believe they are not them. Conveying truth momentarily as if it’s an infinite reality. Embodying something so authentically that we ourselves are able to process emotions through their performance. Dramatic acting requires the ability to live entirely within a character. Perhaps cutting off all awareness of external perception. It’s really difficult to do well. And it’s fucking audacious.

That must be what it is. It must be. It’s the fucking audacity of it. I’m envious. I must be. Otherwise I wouldn’t be so rattled. Sometimes I wonder if true hate is actually indifference. And hate hate is frustration with self reflected in another. A trait we wish we had or one that we’re afraid that we already do.

I would love to be able to make fucking shit art and then be photographed in front of it looking like someone typed midlife crisis chic into chat GPT. the absolute uncut audacity. You have to respect it. I have to respect it.

I love Wes Anderson films. The Pianist is one of my girlfriend’s faves. The Brutalist is a strong recommend. I’m going to give it a go. I have to remember that he will not be himself and that’s the important bit.

I just remembered him in Peaky Blinders. Awful. Pastiche.

I will watch The Brutalist. He has a good face. I’m not sure if I want to spend time with him. But maybe I should. So I can learn the ways of audacity. I can be absolutely over the moon with myself regardless of what I do. What a blessing that would be.

Maybe I don’t hate Adrien Brody (concept). I just hate the part of me that might be too self conscious to back myself. And as my friend said

“You don’t have to be good at drawing to be a good artist”

You can be bad at drawing and a bad artist which is fun and audacious!