Lovejoy and company - Page 2

Film: America labors with its childhood in "My Kid Could Paint That"
My Kid Could Paint That

Footage is shown with Mark rather aggressively directing Marla's painting. The tide turns: collectors froth at the mouth, journalists and critics harrumph, hate mail arrives in bulk, and the Olmsteads feel shunned in their own community. They take steps at vindication, but things only get more complicated.

If you watch many documentaries these days, you're sick of filmmakers putting their mugs and ruminations on camera, whether germane to the subject or not. But there's a real intensity to Ben-Levy's soul-searching in My Kid Could Paint That, as he weighs emotional attachment to the Olmsteads — and their expectation of loyalty — against his own nagging doubts and the golden prospect of a vérité exposé.

My Kid Could Paint That provokes on numerous levels. Regardless of whether she's all that or not, can so much scrutiny — cynical or flattering — be good for Marla? As the title suggests, Ben-Levy's film also examines deep populist hostility toward abstract (as opposed to traditional representational) art. Perhaps the only question this fascinating documentary doesn't address is one that lands between artistic-value and cult-of-personality terrains. If Marla Olmstead turns out not to be sole creator of these paintings, why are they suddenly worth less? The oil canvases are vividly colored, complex, often ravishing. I'd be thrilled to have a print, let alone an original.

The creepiest folks in My Kid Could Paint That are those whose art appreciation gets turned off the moment it occurs they've enjoyed something possibly not created by an adorable, towheaded child. They've invested so much in the prodigy image they can't see the still-beautiful product that remains. They are pederasts of an acceptable sort — people who only wuv something as long as it comes from a certifiably "pure" source. Innocence-fetishizing Mrs. Lovejoys are always the first to condemn adults who might well be damaged former prodigies themselves. It's a microcosm of the hypocrisy that raises hysteria over mythically elevated levels of child sexual abuse, while caring little about those myriad ill-raised kids who end up welfare mothers or otherwise inconvenient adults.


Opens Fri/12 in Bay Area theaters

Also from this author

  • Ye of little faith

    A priest struggles with his flock in John Michael McDonagh's tasteful, frustrating 'Calvary'

  • Inglorious bastards

    'The Kill Team' brings an ugly chapter in US military history to light

  • Framing fame

    Entertainers take center stage in SF Jewish Film Festival docs

  • Also in this section

  • Ye of little faith

    A priest struggles with his flock in John Michael McDonagh's tasteful, frustrating 'Calvary'

  • Rise up singing

    'Alive Inside' charts one man's quest to bring music to patients with memory loss

  • Shots fired

    A PFA series brings World War I films into focus