![]() Through it all, Ree undermines our understanding of the emotional and artistic transaction that his subjects are conducting. When Nordland vanishes from Kysilkova’s life for a lengthy stretch, this rough-edged love story morphs into a bruising tale of regret and recovery, with a dash of heist thriller for good measure. The course of their relationship does not always run smooth, which works to the movie’s dramatic benefit at times and proves narratively inconvenient at others. Ree toggles between their perspectives, sometimes using their voiceover narration to sketch in quick, impressionist details. Nordland has a girlfriend himself, though the possibility of any romantic feeling between him and Kysilkova is one of many things left either coyly or tactfully unaddressed. Kysilkova, for her part, draws on reserves of love and empathy that she has sometimes been denied herself: Although now happily married, she still bears the wounds of an abusive earlier relationship. Nordland’s history of crime and substance abuse turns out to be rooted in childhood neglect, but his various passions and achievements - among them an excellent education, a talent for mentorship and a love for traditional carpentry - don’t always fit an obvious profile. Asked why he stole her paintings, he replies simply: “They were beautiful.”Ī painting of Karl-Bertil Nordland, as seen in the documentary "The Painter and the Thief." (NEON)Įither way, like any good artist, Ree means to complicate our immediate perceptions and assumptions of both his subjects. ![]() Even more remarkable is the speed and intensity of the friendship that Kysilkova strikes up with Nordland, whose past struggles with drug addiction and gang activity belie his sensitive soul. Soon that idealized veneer will be stripped away a later painting reveals Nordland’s tougher but more vulnerable self, his muscular chest covered with tattoos (including one that reads “Snitchers Are a Dying Breed”). It’s this painting that makes Nordland weep when he sees it, perhaps because it suggests a version of himself he once yearned to be. Sensing a compelling tale in the works, the director Benjamin Ree began filming around the time Kysilkova took the remarkable step of going to the courthouse, introducing herself to Nordland and asking if she could paint him.Īnd so she did, envisioning him first as an elegant gentleman holding a glass of red wine. The crime is presented at the outset: In 2015, Nordland and another man broke into an Oslo art gallery and stole two of Kysilkova’s large oil paintings, “Chloe & Emma” and “Swan Song.” Authorities never recovered the missing canvases, which were valued at about 20,000 euros, but the culprits were identified in surveillance footage and Nordland was arrested. It’s a stunning moment and also a shrewdly calculated one, and it means to reduce you to a puddle as well: A criminal has received an extraordinary measure of grace from his victim, who extends to him the consolations of forgiveness, friendship and art.įortunately, there is more to this picture than a tidy redemption narrative, although how much more remains a tantalizingly open question. The thief - and the subject of the artwork in question - is Karl-Bertil Nordland, who takes one look at his likeness and descends into loud, convulsive sobs. Karl-Bertil Nordland and Barbora Kysilkova in the documentary "The Painter and the Thief." (NEON)Įarly on in “The Painter and the Thief,” a sweepingly emotional new documentary from Norway, the title characters meet for a momentous unveiling.
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