Producers: Andreas Dalsgaard and Christoph Jörg Director: Andreas Koefoed Screenplay: Duska Zagorac, Andreas Dalsgaard, Christian Kirk Muff, Mark Monroe and Andreas Koefoed Cast: Dianne Modestini, Jerry Saltz, Yves Bouvier, Robert Simon, Kenny Schachter, Alexander Parish, Robert K. Wittman, Warren Adelson, Evan Beard, Martin Kemp, Luke Syson, Antoine Harai, Alison Cole, Doug Patteson, David Kirkpatrick Distributor: Sony Pictures Classics
Grade: B+
An absorbing art documentary that plays like both a scholarly thriller and a muckraking critique of a cynical global business, Andreas Koefoed’s film is about the strange transformation of the painting called “Salvator Mundi” from an obscure, severely damaged Renaissance artwork reportedly purchased for £45 in 1958 by an American couple at Sotheby’s in London to the most expensive painting ever sold in public auction, purchased by none other than Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman for more than $450 million at Christie’s in New York in 2017.
Of course, over the course of those six decades it had been extensively restored and not only attributed to Leonardo da Vinci but heavily promoted, even being nicknamed “the male Mona Lisa” to enthrall avid viewers—and bidders. And since its record-setting sale in 2017, it’s been hidden away somewhere, presumably in Saudi Arabia (one report says on the Crown Prince’s yacht), its planned inclusion in a 2019 Da Vinci exhibition abruptly cancelled, according to reports either because of questions about its authenticity or because museum officials declined to showcase it alongside the “Mona Lisa.”
Koefoed and his co-writers divide their fascinating retelling of the painting’s modern trajectory from obscurity to fame into three segments—“Art Game,” “Money Game,” and “Global Game.”
The first part of the triptych begins in 2005, when a so-called “sleeper hunter” named Alexander Parrish spied it listed in a New Orleans auction catalogue and enlisted art dealer Roger Simon to purchase it for a bit over $1,100. They then took it for restoration to Dianne Modestini of New York University, and in the course of her work she discovered several hints that indicated it was not some later copy but the work of Leonardo himself. A cursory sketch of the results of investigation into its provenance accompanies interviews with all three of the “finders.”
After the London National Gallery showed the painting in 2011 with that attribution, interest in it understandably exploded—as did its value. That segues into the second chapter of the film, on the machinations surrounding the sale of the painting following its London appearance. It spent some months in storage at the Dallas Museum of Art, whose staff tried—unsuccessfully—to solicit donations from wealthy supporters to buy it, supposedly for $100 million or or .
But that detour is overshadowed by the extensive coverage of the dealings between Swiss businessman Yves Bouvier and Russian billionaire Dmitry Rybolovlev. Bouvier acquired the painting in 2013 and then sold it to the Russian at an extraordinarily high markup; the result has been litigation that Bouvier—the coverage of whom, complete with plenty of footage and interview clips, makes for a mini-documentary in itself, with digressions about how “freeports” can be employed to facilitate ownership transfers of such items without burden of taxation—says has ruined him
It was Rybolovlev who put “Salvator Mundi” up for sale again; a transcontinental tour, accompanied by ads showing people—including celebrities like another Leonardo, DiCaprio, gazing at it transfixed—preceded the auction to build interest. Expected to fetch $200 million or so, the painting eventually went for more than twice that, an episode Koefoed presents in breathless fashion, taking time for a digression on the business practices of high-end auction houses.
But the major emphasis of the third “Global Game” segment of the film is on the international politics involved in the Crown Prince’s purchase of “Salvator Mundi” and his apparent intent to use it as a means of diplomatic haggling and a magnet for tourism. The irony of the acquisition of a full-face depiction of Jesus by a Muslim head of state, despite Islam’s prohibition of such likenesses of prophets, does not go unmentioned.
Koefoed deftly maneuvers his way through this thicket of information and opinion, aided by skilled work from cinematographer Adam Jandruo, editor Nicolás Nørgaard Staffolani and composer Sveinung Nygaard. Newly-shot footage is nicely integrated with archival material and numerous interviews with those who have been involved in the painting’s peregrinations, as well as scholars and critics.
And at the close of “The Lost Leonardo,” one might be left with the lingering suspicion that the title should really end with a question mark. While some experts seem fairly confident that the painting is by Leonardo rather than a follower (or, some might add, by Modestini, whose restoration was so extensive as to make it her work as well as that of the original artist), others are far more circumspect about the attribution, and a few are absolutely dismissive of it. The most outspoken is certainly voluble New York magazine art critic Jerry Saltz, who not only rejects the idea that da Vinci painted “Salvator Mundi,” but opines that it’s not even a good painting. He calls it “garbage.” If he’s right, one can only observe that it’s incredibly valuable garbage. (Of course, some really lousy movies have taken in a lot more than $450 million.)
But since the art business traffics in evaluations, it’s only proper to judge “The Lost Leonardo” as well as “Salvator Mundi.” The happy news is that it deserves a firm recommendation as a sharp, timely case study of how the world of art has come to be dominated by greed and self-aggrandizement rather than interest in a work’s intrinsic quality, its ability to instill true awe in viewers. In this instance, it’s clear that it’s the price tag that inspires awe, rather than the painting itself.