The Art of Legacy: Why 'The Christophers' Is More Than Just a Movie
There’s something profoundly unsettling about watching an artist grapple with their own irrelevance. Steven Soderbergh’s The Christophers isn’t just a film—it’s a mirror held up to the art world, to aging, and to the desperate ways we try to cling to meaning. Personally, I think what makes this film so compelling is how it refuses to romanticize the artist’s struggle. Julian Sklar, played by Ian McKellen, isn’t a tragic hero; he’s a blustering, flawed man whose legacy is being auctioned off while he’s still alive. And that, in my opinion, is where the real drama lies.
The Artist as a Relic
One thing that immediately stands out is how Soderbergh frames Sklar’s decline. He’s not just an aging artist—he’s a relic of a bygone era, reduced to selling personalized messages on a Cameo-like platform. What many people don’t realize is how brutally this reflects the commodification of art. Sklar’s early works sell for millions, but his recent pieces are virtually worthless. This raises a deeper question: Is art only valuable when it’s disconnected from the artist? Or is it the artist’s story—their pain, their passion—that gives it worth?
From my perspective, Sklar’s situation is a commentary on how society consumes art. We fetishize the past while dismissing the present, especially when the artist no longer fits the mold of the tortured genius. Soderbergh doesn’t shy away from this uncomfortable truth, and that’s what makes The Christophers more than just a dramedy—it’s a critique of our cultural amnesia.
The Heist That Isn’t
The plot of The Christophers is deceptively simple: Sklar’s children hire art restorer Lori Butler (Michaela Coel) to forge his early works, hoping to cash in on his legacy. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how the film subverts the traditional heist narrative. This isn’t about stealing art—it’s about stealing identity. Lori isn’t just completing sketches; she’s rewriting Sklar’s story, erasing the messy, inconvenient parts of his life.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Lori becomes a stand-in for the audience. She’s both an observer and a participant, questioning the ethics of what she’s doing while being drawn into Sklar’s world. Her character forces us to ask: Who owns an artist’s legacy? Is it the artist, their family, or the market? What this really suggests is that legacy isn’t something you can control—it’s something that’s constantly being negotiated, often behind your back.
The Fire That Changes Everything
Sklar’s decision to burn The Christophers is the film’s most pivotal moment, and it’s also the most misunderstood. On the surface, it’s an act of defiance—a masterstroke from an artist who refuses to be commodified. But if you take a step back and think about it, it’s also an act of self-preservation. Sklar isn’t just destroying his work; he’s reclaiming his narrative.
What many people don’t realize is how this moment echoes the broader theme of authorship. Sklar’s children want to turn his art into a product, but he reminds us that art is inherently personal. By burning The Christophers, he’s asserting that his legacy isn’t for sale. Personally, I think this is the film’s most powerful statement: Art isn’t just about the object—it’s about the intent behind it.
The Unlikely Duo at the Heart of It All
McKellen and Coel’s chemistry is the backbone of The Christophers, and it’s a masterclass in contrasts. McKellen’s Sklar is all bluster and bravado, a man who’s still trying to convince himself of his own relevance. Coel’s Lori, on the other hand, is quiet but relentless, a woman who’s seen enough of the art world’s hypocrisy to know better.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how their relationship evolves. They start as adversaries—Sklar the aging artist, Lori the opportunistic forger—but by the end, they’re almost collaborators. Lori understands Sklar better than he understands himself, and that’s where the film’s emotional core lies. It’s not just about art; it’s about connection, about two people trying to make sense of a world that’s left them behind.
Legacy as a Living Thing
If there’s one takeaway from The Christophers, it’s that legacy isn’t static—it’s a living, breathing thing that evolves long after the artist is gone. Soderbergh doesn’t give us easy answers, and that’s what makes the film so rewarding. It’s not just about Sklar’s legacy; it’s about ours.
In my opinion, the film’s greatest achievement is how it forces us to confront our own relationship with art and legacy. Are we the ones forging our own stories, or are we letting others do it for us? What this really suggests is that legacy isn’t something you leave behind—it’s something you create every day. And that, personally, is a thought that’s stayed with me long after the credits rolled.
Final Thoughts
The Christophers isn’t just a film about art—it’s a film about what it means to be human. It’s messy, it’s complicated, and it’s utterly captivating. Soderbergh has crafted a story that’s as much about the past as it is about the future, and that’s what makes it so timeless. If you take a step back and think about it, isn’t that what great art is supposed to do?
