Turning her back on her wealthy, established family, Diane Arbus falls in love with Lionel Sweeney, an enigmatic mentor who introduces Arbus to the marginalized people who help her become one of the most revered photographers of the twentieth century.
A retired legal counselor writes a novel hoping to find closure for one of his past unresolved homicide cases and for his unreciprocated love with his superior - both of which still haunt him decades later.
Juan José Campanella
In 1958, in New York City, the upper class Diane Arbus is a frustrated and lonely woman with a conventional marriage with two daughters. Her husband is a photographer sponsored by the wealthy parents of Diane, and she works as his assistant. When Lionel Sweeney, a mysterious man with hypertrichosis (a.k.a. werewolf syndrome, a disease that causes excessive body hair), comes to live in the apartment in the upper floor, Diane feels a great attraction for him and is introduced to the world of freaks and marginalized people, falling in love with Lionel. Written by
Claudio Carvalho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Towards the end of the movie, Lionel is shown beginning to blow up the canvas raft. He later explains that it is for Diane when he takes his final swim. Someone suffering from such extremely low lung function that he will only live a few months would never be able to inflate a raft that size. See more »
What is it?
Well, every month or so I'm able to breathe about five percent less. My lungs are disintegrating. It's getting harder and harder for me to breathe... deeply. In a matter of months, I'll drown without even swimming, because there'll be nothing left... of my lungs.
You're not dying.
Yes, I am.
No, you're not.
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I would be delighted if the Arbus estate, after having seen this film, commission a film called "The True Life of Diane Arbus" with an ending in the same vein as the film portrait of Sylvia Plath.
My feeling, and it is only that, Ms Arbus was never timid in her photography of people. Nor were the people on the fringe of society organised in the way the film suggests they were.
If you like lingering shots of Ms Kidman and enjoy bubblegum for the eyes then do go and see it. If, on the other hand, and that was my motive for going to see the film, you wish to learn more about a talented photographer of worth, then your cinema ticket price might be better spent on a book about Diane Arbus.
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