A Portrait of Love (Documentary)

Craig Ruddy’s death arrives in this documentary with a suddenness that left me reeling. There is no prolonged account of his health declining, no solemn montage preparing us for the news. Only near the end do we learn that he died from Covid complications. After so much footage of a life full of happiness, his absence feels almost impossible to take in: he was right there, and now he isn’t.

That loss also explains how these private recordings became a film. A mutual friend decided to assemble them into a documentary in Craig’s memory after his death. The footage comes entirely from Roberto, his partner of many years, and what emerges is a deeply personal love letter.

I came to it with very little knowledge of art or the people immersed in that world. An internet search informed me that Craig had won the Archibald Prize; I couldn’t confidently tell you what that prize actually is. Roberto’s record of their relationship was therefore my way into the film, rather than any familiarity with Craig’s reputation.

The moments that held me most firmly were the ones in his studio. Craig spends long hours there, and seeing how he turns an idea into something on canvas is absolutely fascinating. His work is gorgeous. I could happily have watched more of that process, which gave me far more to engage with than the accounts of house renovations or another stretch of sitting in the sunshine.

Much of the documentary, though, takes us through their social and domestic lives. Roberto begins by remembering their first meeting, falling in love, and finding themselves a couple almost before they knew it. Their shared world then unfolds through friends, parties, get-togethers, their fancy house, work, and journeys around the world. Those glimpses are brief and often disconnected. Anyone looking for a fuller understanding of the artist is likely to find them frustrating.

For a while, my own frustration was rather less lofty. Here were two successful gay men with big houses, travel, busy social lives, and an abundance of affection for each other. As one gathering gave way to another, I caught myself wondering why I was spending my time watching two wealthy blokes parade such a luxurious existence in front of me. The love was obvious, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to take from all this enviable living.

Then the ending changed the emotional weight of those ordinary, intimate scraps. Because I had been watching so much pleasure and companionship, I had no sense of what was coming. Gathered together, those memories make the final scenes devastating, bringing back the loss that so many people experienced during the pandemic. I do wonder whether someone equally unfamiliar with Craig and Roberto, or with Craig’s standing as an artist, would respond as I did. This is a restrained, intimate memorial whose closing moments hit hard; getting to them takes patience. (5/10)