Art is a lie. That isn’t a cynical take from a frustrated painter; it’s basically the heartbeat of The Burnt Orange Heresy, a film that feels like it was designed to make you feel both incredibly smart and slightly dirty. Directed by Giuseppe Capotondi and based on the 1971 noir novel by Charles Willeford, the movie hit the festival circuit around 2019 and 2020, landing right in that weird liminal space before the world shut down. If you haven't seen it, or if you watched it and felt like you missed a layer of the varnish, you're not alone. It’s a movie about the vacuum of truth.
The plot kicks off with James Figueras, played by Claes Bang, who is a disgraced but brilliant art critic giving lectures in Milan. He’s the kind of guy who can convince a room full of tourists that a random smear of paint is a masterpiece simply by lying about its backstory. He meets Berenice Hollis (Elizabeth Debicki), a traveler who seems too grounded for his world of pretension. They end up at the Lake Como estate of Joseph Cassidy (Mick Jagger), a wealthy art dealer who has a specific, dangerous job for James: steal a painting from the world’s most reclusive artist, Jerome Debney (Donald Sutherland).
What Most People Get Wrong About the Film's Meaning
Many viewers walk away from The Burnt Orange Heresy thinking it’s just a heist movie that goes off the rails. It's not. If you go in looking for Ocean’s Eleven, you’re going to be bored or annoyed. The heist is actually the least interesting part of the story. The real meat is in the way the film deconstructs the relationship between the critic, the artist, and the audience.
Think about the title. A "heresy" is a belief at odds with established doctrine. In this case, the doctrine is that art has intrinsic value. James Figueras proves in the very first scene that value is manufactured. He shows the audience a painting and tells a heartbreaking story about its origin. They gasp. They find it beautiful. Then he reveals he made the whole story up and the painting is actually trash. He’s showing us that the "burnt orange" truth is whatever the loudest person in the room says it is.
Honestly, the movie is a bit of a middle finger to the industry. It suggests that the higher you go in the art world, the less art actually matters. It’s all about the "provenance"—the history and the hype.
Mick Jagger and the Power of the Puppet Master
We need to talk about Mick Jagger. He doesn't act often, but when he does, he chooses roles that lean into his natural, serpentine charisma. As Joseph Cassidy, he is the ultimate shark. He doesn't care about the brushstrokes; he cares about the acquisition.
Cassidy is the catalyst. He knows James is desperate for a comeback. He knows James is ethically flexible. By dangling an interview with the legendary Debney—an artist who hasn't been seen in decades—he sets a trap that James is all too happy to walk into. Jagger plays it with a terrifying stillness. It’s a stark contrast to his stage persona. He’s the one holding the strings, and he doesn’t even have to raise his voice to make James jump.
The dynamic between Jagger and Bang is fascinating because it’s a battle of egos. James thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room because he can manipulate a crowd. Cassidy owns the room. He reminds James that a critic is just a parasite on the back of a creator.
Jerome Debney and the Myth of the Reclusive Genius
Donald Sutherland’s portrayal of Jerome Debney is the soul of the film. Debney is a man who had everything burned—literally—and decided that the only way to protect his art was to make it invisible. He talks about "the frame" being the only thing that matters.
There is a specific scene where Debney explains his philosophy to James. It's a masterclass in nuance. While James is looking for a masterpiece to steal, Debney is showing him that the most profound art is the stuff that can't be bought, sold, or even seen. He’s the "anti-critic." He creates for the sake of existence, whereas James analyzes for the sake of ego.
The tragedy of The Burnt Orange Heresy is that James cannot understand this. He is so blinded by the need for a "win" that he misses the point of Debney's life entirely.
Why the Ending Is So Divisive
Without giving away every single beat for those who haven't finished it, the final act takes a hard turn into psychological thriller territory. Some critics felt this was a betrayal of the film's intellectual setup. They wanted a talky, philosophical drama. Instead, they got something closer to a Patricia Highsmith novel.
But that’s the point.
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When you live a life based on lies, the "heresy" eventually consumes you. James’s descent into violence isn’t a plot hole; it’s the logical conclusion of his character. If nothing is true, then nothing is forbidden. He becomes the very thing he pretended to be: a void.
Real-World Parallels: Is the Art World Really This Corrupt?
You might think the movie exaggerates, but the art world is notoriously opaque. Take the case of the Salvator Mundi, the painting attributed to Leonardo da Vinci that sold for $450 million. To this day, scholars argue over how much of it was actually painted by Leonardo and how much was "restored" or painted by his assistants. The value fluctuates by hundreds of millions of dollars based on whose opinion you believe.
That is the world of The Burnt Orange Heresy. It’s a world where:
- Critics can make or break a career with a single paragraph.
- Dealers manipulate markets by "chilling" certain artists or inflating others.
- The actual object—the canvas and the paint—is often the secondary concern.
Willeford, the author of the original book, was a master of the "hardboiled" genre. He loved writing about men who thought they were in control but were actually spiraling. The film captures that sense of impending doom perfectly. It uses the lush, beautiful backdrop of Lake Como to mask the rot underneath. It’s a gorgeous movie to look at, which makes the ugly behavior of the characters even more jarring.
Technical Nuance: The Look of the Film
David Ungaro’s cinematography deserves a shout-out. The lighting in the film shifts as James loses his grip on reality. At the start, everything is bright, crisp, and academic. As they move to Cassidy’s estate, the shadows get deeper. The orange hues—referencing that "burnt orange" motif—become more oppressive.
It’s a slow burn. The pacing is deliberate. It’s not a movie for the TikTok generation; it requires you to sit with the discomfort of these people. Elizabeth Debicki provides the only real sense of humanity, and watching her realize what kind of man James actually is provides the emotional stakes. Her height and presence make her feel like a statue come to life, fitting for a movie set in a literal gallery of ego.
Practical Insights for Viewers and Art Enthusiasts
If you’re going to watch The Burnt Orange Heresy, or if you’re a collector yourself, there are a few things to keep in mind regarding the themes presented.
First, the "critic's bias" is real. In any creative field, the person explaining the work often has as much power as the person who made it. Don't take a review (even this one!) as gospel. Look at the work yourself.
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Second, the film highlights the danger of the "sunk cost fallacy." James gets deeper and deeper into a criminal conspiracy because he’s already invested his reputation and his time. He can’t turn back. In the real world, knowing when to walk away from a "bad deal"—whether it's a painting, a job, or a relationship—is the only way to keep your integrity.
Finally, understand that the movie is a satire. It’s mocking the pretension of the elite. When Cassidy talks about art, he’s talking about power. When Debney talks about art, he’s talking about spirit. When James talks about art, he’s talking about himself.
To truly appreciate the layers of the story, you have to look past the "heist" and see the character study. It’s a film about the masks we wear and what happens when those masks are ripped off. It’s uncomfortable, it’s cynical, and it’s deeply skeptical of human nature.
Actionable Steps for Further Exploration:
- Read the source material: Charles Willeford's novel provides a much grittier, more nihilistic perspective than the film. It's a great example of mid-century noir.
- Research the "Invisible Art" movement: Look into real-life artists like Yves Klein, who sold "zones of empty space," to see where the inspiration for Debney’s character likely originated.
- Re-watch the opening scene: Pay close attention to James’s lecture. It sets the rules for the rest of the movie. Everything he tells the tourists is a blueprint for how he will try to manipulate the audience (and you) for the next 90 minutes.
- Check out the soundtrack: The score by Craig Armstrong is subtle but incredibly effective at building the sense of unease that permeates the second half of the film.
The film isn't trying to be liked. It's trying to be remembered. Much like a controversial piece of modern art, its value isn't in how "pretty" it is, but in the conversation it starts after the credits roll. It challenges you to ask: if someone tells you a lie is beautiful, and you believe them, does that make the beauty real? The answer, according to James Figueras, depends entirely on who is holding the brush. Or the gun.