Curating Compassion (and how The Square’s ape-man might save the world)
Curating Compassion (and how The Square’s ape-man might save the world)

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Curating Compassion (and how The Square’s ape-man might save the world)

“May 30-31: Exhibition, non-exhibition. An evening conversation that explores the dynamics of the exhibitable and the construction of publicness in the spirit of Robert Smithson’s sight, non-sight. From non-sight to sight, form non-exhibition to exhibition, what it the topos of exhibition, non-exhibition in the crowded moments of mega-exhibition?”

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Claes Bang in THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

For anyone even slightly acquainted with the contemporary art world - with galleries and exhibitions, with write-ups and interviews - this précis, from Swedish director Ruben Östlund’s latest film The Square, sounds familiar. Terms like ‘dynamic’, ‘construction’, and ‘topos’, strung together in an apparently profound logic, seem to pervade discussions of modern art. Yet, as the opening scene of the film asks, isn’t there something a bit superficial about it all?

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Elisabeth Moss and Claes Bang in THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

Journalist, Anne (Elisabeth Moss), is seated in Stockholm’s fictional X Royal museum, in the midst of a cutting edge, solo exhibition, ‘Mirrors and Piles of Gravel’, which consists of, well, piles of gravel, heaped around the large white room. Opposite her sits Christian (Claes Bang), the museum’s handsome head curator who is diligently answering her questions. “I want to ask you about something that I read on your website that I didn’t understand,” she says, “and that I was hoping you could help me to understand.” As Christian listens to the convoluted excerpt on ‘exhibition, non-exhibition’ his composed expression falters. “I’m clearly not as scholarly as you are,” Anne offers, giving pause to hear Christian’s explanation:

“Well this is…um…this was…a couple of evenings in May, where we discussed…when, when…I mean, if you place an object in a museum…for instance, if we took your bag and placed it here…would that make it art?”

“Ah…” Anne looks towards the vacant space to which Christian gestures, nods knowingly, fumbles for something to say, panic flashing across her face. “Ok.”

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does,” she says with conviction. “I think. Yeah.”

“Well this is…um…this was…a couple of evenings in May, where we discussed…when, when…I mean, if you place an object in a museum…for instance, if we took your bag and placed it here…would that make it art?”

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A scene from THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

The Square’s satire cuts to the very core of contemporary art criticism: the idea that, perhaps, none of this really means anything, that it’s all just piles of gravel or, worse, an attempt to “explore the dynamics of the exhibitable and the construction of publicness” - whatever that may mean. The triumph here, however, is not that this taps into some kind of philistinism, but that is speaks to the very fears that rack the insiders of the art world - the critics, the creators, and the curators alike. In other words, the film isn’t an attempt to savage the art world - Östlund’s approach is too nuanced, too attuned to the institution that he’s depicting for the film to stage a clumsy take-down. The observations are so on point that, at times, The Square feels more documentary than drama. And after all, what is Östlund’s Palme d’Or winner if not, itself, a work of contemporary art?

Which is precisely why its depiction of the art world is as superficial as the picture that it paints of contemporary art. What I mean is that the museum setting is a surface device, acting as the perfect backdrop to the film’s bigger question: one of social responsibility, of trust and help, and of the need to interrogate our motivations. The interview tableau cuts to a street scene: outside Stockholm’s train station, a man is sleeping rough, commuters rushing by, as a charity worker can be heard, asking over and over: “Do you want to save a human life?” Most of the passersby ignore her. “Not today,” one responds. Another man stops, takes out an earphone to hear what she has said, but quickly puts it back in when he catches her drift.

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Claes Bang in THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

Christian walks out of the station, oblivious to the homelessness around him and deaf to the charity worker’s appeal. Meanwhile, ’The Square’ is being installed at X Royal. It’s an interactive installation, complete with a plaque that tells the viewer: “The square is a sanctuary of trust and caring. Within its boundaries we all share equal rights and obligations.” Apparently, Christian needs the intellectualised space of the museum - the white cube or clinical square - to exercise his trust and compassion: on the harsh city streets, in the dirty spaces of daily suffering, he seems to have forgotten all about equal rights and obligations.

As he strides through the throng, another voice can be heard, quiet at first but getting louder as we follow Christian’s trajectory: “Hjälp!” The word repeats, again and again, until, eventually, people stop to look around. And now social pressure dictates involvement. As soon as one person relents and intervenes, it becomes not only negligent but obscene for others to ignore the anguished cries. The question is: how far do we have to go, how bad do things have to get, before this social impulse kicks in?

This question lies at the heart of the film. Christian is unmoved by the cries of help that float from a cast of faceless characters throughout the film, their voices always detached from their bodies, which lie strangely out of the frame (though he is roused to vigilante action when his phone and wallet are stolen, rampaging around a poor council flat on the outskirts of the city, threatening hundreds of innocent residents - albeit in the non-confrontational form of an anonymous letter - to reclaim his worldly goods).

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Dominic West and Terry Notary in THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

The herd remains still for what must be some of the most jaw dropping seconds in cinema history until, eventually, one man rushes to help the victim, followed immediately by the rest of the room, who throw themselves on Oleg, screaming: “we must kill him!”

This trope is repeated throughout the film, culminating in its most memorable set piece. A swanky dinner-party-cum-glamorous-art-world-event is taking place at the X Royal. A large, opulent room is filled with important art world guests, and Christian and the museum’s director are attendant in full dinner dress. Before the food is served, an art performance is laid on. An announcement rings out over the room, that bears more than a passing resemblance to the gentle warning message that greets the visitors at Jurassic Park: “Welcome to the jungle. Soon you will be confronted by a wild animal. As you will know, the hunting instinct is triggered by weakness. If you show fear, the animal will sense it. If you try to escape, the animal will hunt you down. But if you remain perfectly still, without moving a muscle, the animal might not notice you and you can hide in the herd, safe in the knowledge that someone else will be the prey.”

Enter Oleg, the artist whose performance consists of the near-perfect imitation of a wild gorilla. He leaps around the room, his arms swinging on stilts, haranguing the dinner guests with whoops and howls. Suppressed giggles and expressions of embarrassment quickly turn to silent fear, as Oleg begins physically interacting with his viewers. Dominic West - who plays Julian, the artist behind ‘Mirrors and Piles of Gravel’ - gives a spectacular performance as the unwitting, embarrassed-not-embarrassed participant. Desperate to remain composed, West’s face flickers from pride to panic - how far will this ape-man go? Eventually, West is forced to flee his attacker, bolting from the room as the rest of the guests hide quietly in the herd. Having terrified his audience into submission, Oleg straddles a woman who appeals to the room for help - laughingly at first until, as she is dragged to the floor by her hair and mounted by Oleg, she is screaming in sheer desperation. The herd remains still for what must be some of the most jaw dropping seconds in cinema history until, eventually, one man rushes to help the victim, followed immediately by the rest of the room, who throw themselves on Oleg, screaming: “we must kill him!”

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Claes Bang in THE SQUARE, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

Through its satire of the art world, The Square winds up showing us that art can be, and often is, a necessary vehicle for exploring and interrogating humanity. Brutal though it may be, Oleg’s performance forces a confrontation with its viewers - just as Östlund’s film does. Perhaps the distinction between exhibition and non-exhibition, sight and non-sight - in other words, between great conceptual art and piles of gravel, made beautifully manifest in the confrontation between Oleg and Julian - might just be something we need to pay attention to after all.

By Mae Losasso.

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