Goya's Ghosts

With the old dismissive adagio "a film critic is just a repressed/failed film director" in mind, it's hard to talk bad, if not dirty, about a film. Unfortunately, Milos Forman's comeback does not leave much space for praise.

Set in Spain in 1792, the story revolves around Francisco Goya's double role as official painter for the King, and critical voice documenting the abuses of the Inquisition in his sketches. He's also in charge of saving his supposed muse (although there is no proof of a particular relationship between the two) Ines from the clutches of perv Brother Lorenzo, the long arm of Spanish Inquisition who locks the girl in prison for presumed heresy and rapes her. Fifteen years later, while Napoleon invades Spain and is later defeated by Wellington, Goya reunites with the daughter Ines had conceived in prison and Lorenzo is struck by Enlightenment.

All the lead actors try their best to infuse some meaning in characters that are cut out in cardboard: Javier Bardem has the physique du role but his English is appalling; Stellan Skarsgaard is good but ridiculously miscast and the reasons for a Swede playing a Spanish will always remain a mystery. The better bits are delivered by Natalie Portman, whose story is the only that makes sense from the beginning to the end – not enough from a director of Forman's calibre.

Old genius Jean-Claude Carriére, former collaborator of Luis Bunuel, seems to have lost touch with concepts like plot, storyline, character; that Forman's proved expertise provides the film with astonishing historical setting, soundtrack and costumes doesn't save the film from being confused, redundant and not at all about Goya and his seminal artwork. Which can be fine if we consider him only a pawn in the bigger game of History; but we don't get this bigger picture either. We don't get any picture after all, just a patched tapestry with frayed borders – a wasted occasion.

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