Mark Reviews Movies: THE LOST LEONARDO

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Review by Mark Dujsik | August 12, 2021

There's little doubt that Leonardo da Vinci painted a portrait of Jesus, with one hand raised in a blessing and the other holding a starry orb, and called it Salvator Mundi, or "Savoir of the World," for non-Latin speakers. There are sketches, officially attributed to the great Renaissance artist, of that outstretched hand and the falling sleeves of the robe beneath it. After Leonardo's death, other artists who studied under him, studied under his pupils, or just knew of his work made copies of the painting, attempting to re-create the form and style of the master.

For all anyone knew, the real Salvator Mundi was lost—missing or destroyed, as so many works have gone or have been in the ensuing decades or centuries following their creation. In 2005, two men, Robert Simon (an art dealer) and Alexander Parish (a so-called "sleeper hunter," who searches for works that might be worth much more than the price at which they're valued), purchased what many believed to be one of those copies in New Orleans.

Parish is convinced the portrait of Jesus might have been painted by someone close to Leonardo or close to someone close to the master. Either way, the $1,175 the two paid for the painting would be a pretty solid deal.

That's just the start of the puzzle and the ride of The Lost Leonardo, director Andreas Koefoed's momentum-fueled and information-packed documentary. It's ultimately a real-life mystery and occasional thriller that embodies the old maxim that one person's trash can be another's treasure. Here the painting in question begins either trash or treasure from an objective standard. By the time the real or fake Salvator Mundi becomes a world-wide phenomenon, though, even the suspicion that the painting might be trash increases its value as treasure.

When it comes to stuff like this, it's probably best not to think about or question it too much, if only to save one's sanity. All of this seems pretty simple: Either the painting was done, in whole or in part, by Leonardo, or it wasn't. If it wasn't, that's more or less the end of the debate, and the only questions remaining are who actually painted it and what, if any, relationship did that artist have to Leonardo. If it was partially executed by the master, the painting is surely a piece of history and culture, and that's the end of that.

What if, though, it was entirely painted by Leonardo? His surviving paintings, with some degree of acceptance that he was involved in their creation, numbered less than two dozen in 2005, and when it comes to universally accepted paintings, that number remains fewer than ten.

In the art world, one expert colorfully notes, finding a lost Leonardo painting would be akin to a UFO, containing a bunch of unicorns, landing in someone's backyard. It's not just unlikely to the point of impossibility. It's an absurd prospect, as well as a ridiculous claim.

As Simon and Parish have the painting analyzed and restored, though, the outlandish idea that this Salvator Mundi could be Leonardo's work becomes a possibility. Diane Modestini, a world-renowned art conservator, suspects it could be. From a single detail that reminds her of Leonardo's technique in the Mona Lisa, she decides, without any doubt, that it is a work of the master.

Others believe her claim, too, including experts at the National Gallery in London, where the painting was displayed and attributed to Leonardo at an exhibition in 2011—which, coincidentally or not at all so, broke ticket-selling records. From there, the painting becomes controversial and ignored—until a Russian oligarch sets his sights on it.

By the end of Koefoed's movie, we do not learn if the painting actually was done by Leonardo (The painting itself and some—let's generously call them—quirks of its restoration, which remind one of the paradox of Theseus' ship, certainly give the skeptical an advantage in the debate). The fascinating thing is that, somehow, that lack of a definitive answer doesn't matter. This documentary is about an assortment of issues with cultural institutions, the processes of art restoration and analysis, the realm of politics becoming involved in the dissemination of history, tax laws, and, in general, our willingness to believe an appealing deception or fantasy—until there's little to do but howl into the void of acceptance or simply give up caring one way or the other.

As for Koefoed's technique—arguably the most important element—in unraveling this puzzle and uncovering all of the story's layers and ancillary issues, the tactics here often feel a bit too straightforward (a mix of straight-on medium shots of a variety of talking heads, archival footage, and rudimentary re-creations) and sometimes deceptive (We know the interview subjects know more than they're letting on at any given point, but the mystery has to be maintained). The narrative here covers a lot of chronological, philosophical, ethical, and even legal ground, but instead of taking the time to stop and examine any of these topics and qualms, Koefoed keeps the affair moving at a rapid pace.

The Lost Leonardo, then, is superficially intriguing, as Koefoed rushes through detail after detail and twist after twist. Watching all of these experts assemble this puzzle, without offering any substantial expertise as to its meaning, feels like a missed opportunity, though.

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