A parable of the missteps of life enacted in the hothouse world of late 1980’s New York, in which the art market and the stock market each boomed, and in process spawned a smorgasbord of “yuppie” delusions which still persist. Anna, a French actress studying in New York, crosses paths with a successful stock-broker, Mark, standing before a Vermeer portrait at the Metropolitan, thence ensues a peculiar romance of missed meanings and connections, with tangential asides to the steaming arts world and stock market, loft-mate conflicts, and, perhaps, love. Wrapped up in their blindered worlds, Anna and Mark deflect away from their chances, leaving at the conclusion the wistful face of Vermeer’s portrait enigmatically asking questions. All the Vermeers in New York is a comedy of manners which, as gently as a Vermeer, looks beneath the skin of this time and place, and of these characters.
Reviews
I want to echo what was said in a few above reviews about the litany of boring visuals that stretch across the length and breadth of this gawdawful movie. What I remember most clearly is that a large portion of the movie shows a view of the back of one or another character's head as that character looks at something, such as the sky from the WTC observation deck or a Vermeer painting in the Met. It's literally the "let's look at the back of someone's head" movie. Who thought that would be interesting?Then, for a climax, a character you couldn't care less about bleeds from his ear in a phone booth. When someone asks me what's the worst movie I ever saw, I often cite this one.
Jon jost is an independent film-maker flying under the mainstream radar,quietly turning out masterpieces like this film.The plot is very simple, but this is really a film that is meant to be felt rather than thought about.The images are often breathtakingly beautiful-the camera's dance around the pillars is one of the most amazing sequences I've ever seen in any film-Jost can turn the mundane into poetry.And that's the point,Jost is a poet-not a craftsman.Like Lynch and Kubrick his films have a dream logic and work on a subconscious gut level.Turn off your mind relax and let this gorgeous,undiscovered gem of a film wash over you.A disturbing journey at times but always truthful and always beautiful.
Oh my GOD. This may just be the worst film I've ever seen. That it won awards anywhere seems to be a tribute to the "Emperor's New Clothes" school of film criticism. What a dreadful, film-school quality piece of junk. Endless shots of polished floors, marble-columned office-building lobbies, jet trails cutting across the clouds, all for nothing. NOTHING. And accompanied by a shatteringly harsh soundtrack.If anyone can tell me the point of the scene where the artist with the gambling problem tries to get an advance from a gallery owner, you will get a prize.Run, don't walk. Away, away, away!!
The slowest, emptiest and most boring picture I remember. Just a series of static shots, people talking about nothing, expendable characters (what do we care about the so-called singer that bothers her rommmates?), and artistic pretensions. The climax is supposed to be tragic, but is uncalled for and practically comic for unexpected, improbable and clearly just a way to finish a picture that threatened to be eternal.