There is always too many years between films with real hardcore artistic sensibilities, creative excellence and integrity. Ones that display not only visual stimulation but dialogue that reaches your soul along with performances that match the production itself. Well, this isn’t it. Julian Schnabel the director of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly trades in on Van Gogh’s final years for his own popularity delivering a pretentious assault on our likes and thoughts of the troubled painter. Harsh musical tones to upset an audiences balance and odd visuals to bring us to a spin visiting the madness of how Vincent must have lived while in Arles. At one point I felt as though I might chop off my own ears just to stop the music. There is no interest in discovery of who Vincent might be just an opportunity to make a dreary life of a brilliant artist more macabre.