Last night we went to see the Giacometti film, "The Final Portrait." I think Christine was wanting a more existential and cerebral film; instead it is a look by an outsider of sorts, American James Lord, at Giacometti's life over the two weeks plus Lord sat for Giacometti to paint his portrait. There's a bit of the American raised eyebrow at the the sexual relationships of Giacometti & his wife (Giacometti's prostitute-model a far larger presence than the brief glimpse of Annette's lover. The film is desaturated at a level i think only met by "The Road" in my watching experience (which is limited), with only a few brief bursts of color -- Chagal's Operahouse ceiling, the pool water, Annete's dress, and Caroline's car.
Christine's comment was, "It was too funny, i didn't like that." or something along those lines, at which her sister & i laughed. Giacometti was portrayed as tortured and frustrated and struggling with his relationship to his work, and those around him had to find a way to cope. Giacometti's moods were like a force of nature, sweeping up his household and the narrator into a furious current, then leaving them abandoned on some beach, before sweeping them up again. The humor was part of how they coped -- but there was pain as well