Cutie and the Boxer movie review (2013)

Exciting archival footage of the 1960s and '70s Soho art world shows Ushio blasting upon the scene from his native Japan, hanging with Andy Warhol and friends. The downside is to see the home movies of the boozed-up artist and his friends and the parties after which Noriko had to clean up.

And in a very verité way, the movie begins with one of the home-prepared meals which dot the film, a kind of Rorschach test. Noriko seethes at how hard she has worked to make an attractive meal for them, only to see Ushio unappreciatively scarf it down. She worries they won't have enough food, and money for it. A wildly funny sequence shows Ushio cooking for once, using celery as a kind of hamburger helper, wearing his artist's protective glasses at the stove, and bitching that cooking is very hard.

Even if you don't give a fig for art, their utter honesty with each other is startling. Watch Ushio's double-take when he first sees her new work; he admits he's jealous. It's refreshing to hear Noriko say when he's away, the air clears and it gets very quiet. When she gives the familiar Virginia Woolf quote about a woman needing a little money and her own room to create, somehow it doesn't sound over-used. Maybe it's her Japanese accent.

The doc has a built-in arc to illustrate her point: Ushio goes to Japan to sell some of his sculptures at mark-down prices. They are that far behind on the rent. Watching him trying to stuff his going-every-which-way pieces into suitcases is mildly absurdist. Yet despite Noriko's anger with him—and he is pretty obnoxious in a lot of ways—we still see her excitedly rushing down the stairs to greet him when he returns.

Their loft is a small disaster, with the accumulation of years of living and working at home. Nevertheless it's thrilling to watch the two of them work in their very different ways. In an instant Ushio can create a painting, splashing his colors onto a huge canvas, with the energy of a boxer. In a quieter, but just as creative, way Noriko works on her autobiographical drawings. They even move, at moments miraculously, as the film uses animation to bring them to life. You can't help but think of the hugely epic and supremely self-confident Diego Rivera, and his wife Frida Kahlo who created her initially less acclaimed art with her personal artifacts.

The best image of the movie, though, is the conclusion of the "Cutie and the Bullie" series, shown in a dual husband-and-wife show. The black ink and pen drawings are now on a gallery wall, with red love hearts fancily floating about. Noriko has learned to "tame the bull."