Hey folks, Harry here... I like this story. It asks you what you believe. If you believe the Bible. God used to grant visions all the time. Today, not so much. Here we have this child, that apparently began painting visions of God, Heaven and more... beginning at the earliest of ages. Raised by Athiests, self taught in the form of art - and her work is amazing. SO - what do you believe? From the mouths of babes? Well, at least from this one's brush. I'm very anxious to see this film. Not just that, I'm anxious to see more of this kid's work as she progresses. -- As for what I believe. In faith, I'm Christian, but not a church goer. I don't know, I've only seen news footage of this girl's work. It's amazing. My nephew has scared his parents (both not religious) by talking very accurate Christian Jesus stories - although he has no contact with people that would tell him those stories, and when asked, he claims Jesus told him. In his bedroom. As a result, he's now in Catholic school. If he's going to be interested, he should understand the stories and be given access to people that can answer his questions. Of course, my nephew also fights invisible zombies and believes there's an evil version of himself that takes him over to do bad things, leaving him to deal with the results... and he's never seen HEROES. Well - enough of that, on to Grib and his look at the fascinating documentary... MY KID COULD PAINT THAT

Hey, Harry,

Grib here with a review of "My Kid Could Paint That," a fascinating Sundance documentary:

In what is shaping up to be my favorite Sundance, I saw a great documentary tonight, one that defined what the genre is all about and presented a host of challenging questions. It is called "My Kid Could Paint That," and it chronicles the meteoric rise and fall of a little girl with prodigious painting talent, Marla Olmstead of Binghamton, New York. In 2004, Marla burst onto the world art scene at the tender age of four when the New York Times picked up a story from the Binghamton paper about a young girl who was churning out abstract expressionist masterpieces that reminded seasoned experts of Kandinsky and Pollock. Soon a local gallery was putting on a show of Marla's work that sold out quickly, sparking worldwide interest in her paintings. Individual works from her oeuvre commonly fetch over $20,000.

The director, Amir Bar-Lev, is granted intimate access to the Olmstead home and is able to record the changes in the family's routine as phone calls start streaming in from all corners of the globe asking for pieces of Marla's noteriety: at one point Crayola asks for Marla's participation in an ad campaign (the family refused this request). Bar-Lev's cameras also capture the surreal sight of a packed gallery opening at which the artist runs around at the clamoring adults' feet, playing with other children, largely oblivious to the spectacle she has wrought.

Marla's mother, Laura, is hesitant to throw her daughter into the global spotlight before kindergarten, but she defers to her husband, Mark (who dabbles in painting himself but works the night shift as a manager in a Frito Lay plant), who wants it all for his daughter. The Olmsteads swear they haven't touched the hundreds of thousands of dollars in Marla's "college account" (that's going to be one heck of an education). One begins to wonder if her father isn't motivated at least in part by the almighty dollar. For her part, Laura repeatedly states that she would be perfectly happy if all the fame went away. But she never puts her foot down, and the ball keeps rolling. Until it stops suddenly and unexpectedly one night: the family is gathered to watch a "60 Minutes" piece on Marla. It starts out as planned, with collectors and critics gushing about Marla's work, but then host Charlie Rose questions noted child psychologist Ellen Winner, who has some doubts about whether Marla's work is entirely her own. Winner bases her suspicion on her review of footage of Marla in action, which, she says, does not feature the "rage to master" that other child prodigies display. Rather than dancing about the canvas in Pollock-like reverie, Marla is "just pushing paint around" as any child would. It is fascinating to watch Marla's parents react to this report; all is going so well and then it comes crashing down in a matter of seconds.

The fallout from this report is disastrous; the demand for Marla's work dwindles to nothing, and her parents are left bewildered, protesting to all who will listen that Mark had nothing to do with Marla's painting, that she loves to paint and that these masterworks are all her own. 60 Minutes agrees to install a hidden camera in the Olmsteads' basement to record Marla at work (her parents posited that she gets nervous on camera and can't produce top-notch work), but Winner is not impressed, even after viewing several hours of tape. She notes that several of Marla's paintings are very professionally "polished," while the work she produced on the hidden camera lacks such flair.

On a tense drive home from Binghamton one night, Bar-Lev confides to his camcorder that, although he has become close with the Olmsteads, he is beginning to doubt whether Marla's work is all her own. He admits that he now feels conflicted in his role as documentarian; he will have to remain objective even as the Olmsteads try to convince him that Marla is a legitimate prodigy. They now see the documentary as a way to salvage their reputation. Filming in their home becomes a tense tapdance; in one particularly poignant scene, Laura looks at the camera and says "I really need you to believe me."

There are more surprises in store for Marla and her family, but I will let you see them for yourself. I don't want to spoil the emotional rollercoaster that this film takes the viewer on. So many fertile questions are raised: where is the line between nurturing a child's precocious talent and exploiting it? How can one truly evaluate abstract art when a four-year-old can approximate the work of the masters of the form? (Bar-Lev enlists the help of a New York Times art critic in unpacking the puzzle that is modern art; these conversations are equal parts mindbending and illuminating.) Is the value of art purely market-driven? How can a documentary filmmaker remain objective when he begins to have doubts about whether his subjects are telling him the truth, yet he is still filming in their home?

In the postfilm Q&A, Bar-Lev admitted that he still has not made up his mind about the veracity of Marla's art. He explained that he came to approach the making of the film in much the same way that the abstract expressionists focused on the process of representing an object rather than the object itself: by presenting both sides of the story and not taking sides, Bar-Lev reaches the core of what documentary analysis is---a search for the truth using the facts available to the filmmaker. While the filmmaker as artist inevitably shapes the reality he is presenting by making necessary editing choices, if objectivity is the goal, the filmmaker must try not to edit such that the facts are slanted one way or another. Bar-Lev has done a wonderful job of giving the viewer both an inside look at the Olmsteads' story and a fair representation of both sides of the debate about Marla's work, and he leaves it to the viewer to decide. This is a fascinating film even if you know nothing about art. It is a study of human nature and of our culture's fascination with seemingly divine childhood gifts.