Just becuase the talent "graffiti painter" Basquiat was turned on drugs, and drifting through life, doesn't mean Julian Schnabel's direction and Lech Majewski's script need be also. What a limp, unpertinent style and feel this production has. On the other hand, there's David Bowie doing a most impressive Andy Warhol, Dennis Hopper convincing as Warhol's colleague, and Jeffrey Wright nicely responding to the director's instructions. As a added bonus, the fine Gary Oldman gives us yet another of his amazing characterizations as a fellow artist. If only Schnabel and Majewski put some life into their work, this would have been a pointed biopic. As is, it's a case of a whole in desperate search of its parts.
