A heretical thought. Films released on the big screen are designed to be devoured in one swallow. But if ever a three-hour epic was made for consumption in bite-sized chunks, it is National Gallery, Frederick Wiseman’s discreet profile of the much- loved institution and all who sail in her. An episodic tour through the galleries and the backrooms the public never see, it greatly lends itself to DVD. Indeed, much as one goes back to a gallery to look at just one painting, its 15 chapters can be visited and revisited on an individual and selective basis.
Wiseman is as interested in people as paintings, both those passing through and the curators who expatiate upon the priceless works hanging mutely on the walls. We are also privy to meetings about budgets and marketing in which the gallery wrestles with its ongoing relevance, eavesdrop on life classes and learn a great deal about restoration technique. As a document of record it is deliberately obtuse. There are no captions telling you who’s who, not even the outgoing director Nicholas Penny who elegantly straddles the chasm between hi-falutin connoisseurship and down and dirty branding. The only names checked are those of the artists: Leonardo, Rembrandt, Poussin, Vermeer and co.
These and others are the stars and raison d’être of a slow, meandering and wonderfully patient love letter to an institution at the heart of our national life. An ideal purchase for any devotee of the Old Masters, especially those not able to drop in on the National Gallery itself.
