(Untitled)

Even though Adam Goldberg plays the same character in every one of his films (2 Days in Paris, The Hebrew Hammer, Entourage), he’s never tiring to watch. His dry sarcasm allows him to underplay his characters’ oddities while making an intelligent audience laugh. In (Untitled), Goldberg plays Adrian Jacobs, a depressed music composer who is struggling to get his voice heard as an artist. Enter Madeleine Gray (Mary Shelton), the eccentric gallery owner who makes a killing off Adrian’s brother Josh’s commercial work in order to exhibit the avant-garde art she prefers.

When Josh brings Madeleine to one of Adrian’s concerts, the two bond over their shared intellectuality and creativity (or is it their shared love of the avant-garde? I think the film makes a case that the avant-garde is not necessarily intellectual or creative but is actually pure bullshit). They soon begin a closet romance, not devoid of affection, but nowhere near warm and fuzzy. The two use each other for their own means until eventually their creative differences tear them apart.

Mary Shelton is adorable as the Goldberg’s counterpart. Her costumes are works of art in themselves, and later turn up as sound samples in Adrian’s compositions. The camera never fails to accentuate her quirky wardrobe, from peacock feather skirt to a dress that takes so long to unzip and unbuckle that there’s no time for foreplay. Shelton embodies the artist who knows what she wants and will do anything it takes to become a curator at the forefront of her field. Adrian on the other hand, will kill himself if he doesn’t find appreciation soon.

The art in (Untitled) is overdone to the extreme, and writer/director Jonathan Parker created incredibly bizarre works to shock and amuse the audience. The strangest art in the film was actually made by the director’s son, and were grotesque creations using taxidermy. The most minimal work was aptly name “(Untitled),” a blank space on a white wall. Everyone and everything in the film is so exaggerated the audience becomes detached from the characters and sits back to watch these artists live their confused lives. The flaw in this is that we never really connect with the characters and aren’t invested enough to care how they fare in the end. We’re curious as to how they’ll turn out, but whether they become successful or not doesn’t matter to us. What could have been a pretentious jab at the elite is an intelligent satire on contemporary art and music. Fans of Goldberg are sure to love (Untitled), and for those who just don’t get it, take a minute, study it, and learn to appreciate.

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