European Films

The Polish painter biopic Mój Nikifor (My Nikifor) is – despite being a film – more akin to a portrait in the static sense of the world; a picture that provides some insight into the character of the naïve painter Nikifor but does not much illuminate his life and times beyond what is strictly related to his character, much like Rembrandt revealed his son Titus’ character through committing his likeness to canvas but told next to nothing about the events of his son’s life. The eye-catching characteristic of Nikifor is an odd one: stubbornness, and this characteristic is part of the film’s own fabric as well; it is a stubborn portrait of the painter, foregoing the likes of high drama and enticing historical events that could contextualise his life in favour of showing us what his life was really like: uneventful proceedings day after day, filled with creating his miniature paintings while grumbling.

The film is divided in two sections, one set in 1961 and another in 1967, but it could have all been set during a single day. Painted in mostly quiet scenes, Nikifor (Krystyna Feldman) goes about his work and his bickering with Marian (Roman Gancarczyk), the man with whom he shares a studio and whose life is infinitely more eventful than Nikifor’s. The possessive adjective of the title refers to Marian, as Nikifor becomes increasingly dependent on the young family man who so direly wants to be an artist himself.

In what can only be described as a stunt performance, the male painter is played by actress Krystyna Feldman, whose name above the title on the film’s poster will assure that everyone is aware of this fact before they head into the cinema. It is difficult to assess her performance since this knowledge is distracting at first; one automatically tries to find the female behind the moustache, dirty stubble and wiry frame. As the film progresses and the novelty of the reverse-drag performance wears off, Feldman gradually disappears and Nikifor finally takes centre stage: a grumpy old man who left over 40,000 works when he died in 1968, possibly poisoned by his own paint.

The film's cinematography by Krzysztof Ptak and the musical score from composer Bartlomiej Gliniak seem perfectly attuned to the major theme of the film (besides grumbling): naive painting. The colours and lightning scheme of Ptak's photography create the impression we are watching scenes in dense water colours that are still drying, while Gliniak's score is both effectively melancholy and naive without drawing too much attention to itself.   

Here is a film where the main character would have probably left the cinema grumbling after five minutes if they showed him this film about his life; the less grumpy and infinitely more patient viewer will likely remain seated until the understated end.

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