Like all artist biopics, this one is sentimental about “art’’ while doing nothing to improve our understanding of the particular art it celebrates. O’Keeffe is already an artist when the story begins, so we get no sense of what led her to it. When she first meets Stieglitz, who has mounted a show of her works in his gallery without permission, there’s a confrontation. O’Keeffe demands that he take down the pictures.
Strangely, however, the film soft-pedals the scene, which in reality seems to have been stormier. Instead of a showdown, we watch a cool and collected O’Keeffe elegantly match wits with Stieglitz. Deftly, he converts her to his cause: “You have no more right to withhold these pictures than to withdraw a child from the world,’’ he says.
The story moves along at a steady pace. We get a sense of O’Keeffe’s ambition and pride - she is the first to flirt with the married Stieglitz - but also her vulnerability: “I’ve been terrified my whole life,’’ she confesses to him, although she insists that this has never stopped her from doing what she wanted. Allen was a fine choice to play O’Keeffe: She perfectly captures the artist’s combination of forbidding reserve and inner frailty. But her efforts are spoiled by a script lacking in subtlety.
Sadly, too many of the crucial lines feel canned: “I never assumed you were anything, except a great shining star I was hitching a ride on,’’ says O’Keeffe after one quarrel. And when O’Keeffe, who wants children, softly raises the subject, Stieglitz declares: “You were put on this earth to paint, not to breed.’’
