Steven Soderbergh’s latest London-set film, The Christophers, has provided an unexpectedly delightful portrait of the contemporary art world, anchored by a remarkable on-screen partnership between Ian McKellen and Michaela Coel. The seasoned performer plays Julian Sklar, a curmudgeonly and dated painter living in bohemian poverty in Bloomsbury, whilst Coel portrays Lori Butler, a ex-art student hired as his assistant. Written by American screenwriter Ed Solomons, the film blends sharp wit and intellectual sophistication with authentic emotional resonance, offering a pleasingly unsentimental take on questions of artistic value and cultural significance. The result is a bracing, fast-paced comedy that stands with the best portrayals of English society in recent cinema.
A Director’s Masterclass in Surprising Viewers
Steven Soderbergh demonstrates a rare gift amongst even the most acclaimed filmmakers: an consistent capacity to surprise audiences. This constantly active director travels light creatively, creating varied works with seemingly effortless versatility. His approach—utilising digital technology, using confined spaces, and drawing exceptional work from invariably distinguished casts—has become his signature style. Having recently moved to the United Kingdom, Soderbergh has crafted a London-based picture that proves exhilarating and funny in equal measure, as bracing as a generous vodka and tonic consumed before lunch. The film advances with impressive momentum and intelligence, its plot developments handled elliptically and without a suggestion of mawkishness.
In creating Julian Sklar, Soderbergh and screenwriter Ed Solomons have achieved something extraordinary: a convincing portrait of reactionary Englishness that ranks with the best instances in contemporary cinema. Previously, one might have pointed to Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread or Robert Altman’s Gosford Park as the gold standard for Americans capturing genuine English superiority. Yet Soderbergh and Solomons—the latter the son-in-law of John Cleese—have demonstrated themselves to be equally masterful at conveying the particular flavour of English eccentricity, cantankerousness and cultural pretension that defines their main character’s perspective.
The Composition of a Outstanding Dual Performance
What sets apart The Christophers beyond a mere satirical romp through the modern art scene is the remarkable rapport between McKellen and Coel. Their pairing represents the duo performance of the year, a showcase in contrasting performance styles that miraculously blend perfectly. McKellen’s volcanic energy meets its ideal match in Coel’s carefully controlled restraint, creating a dynamic tension that sparks through every scene. The film derives much of its considerable wit and emotional resonance from watching these two performers circle one another, their connection evolving from professional detachment and formality into something considerably more intricate and truly moving.
McKellen’s Cantankerous Genius
Ian McKellen’s portrayal of Julian Sklar is nothing short of magnificent. The actor embodies the role of a formerly prominent yet presently obsolete painter with complete conviction, delivering toweringly witty and cantankerous rants against all that affronts his sensibilities. His Julian is a man living in bohemian chaos, reduced to recording Cameo videos for cash and hawking subpar contemporary pieces at roadside stunts. Yet McKellen imbues the character with such intelligence and theatrical flair that his bitterness never curdles into mere sourness; instead, his acerbic observations about the art world’s hypocrisies ring with unsettling authenticity.
McKellen’s greatest achievement is rendering Julian sympathetic without ever diminishing his core personality. This is a genuinely unpleasant man—his grown children Barnaby and Sallie, played by James Corden and Jessica Dunning, are justifiably fearful of him. Yet the performer reveals the damaged self-regard beneath the bombast, the authentic gift that has been abandoned by trends. His portrayal captures the specific sadness of the artist abandoned by time, rendered obsolete not through want of skill but through the unpredictable character of popular taste.
Coel’s Cryptic Reserve
Michaela Coel’s Lori Butler operates in an entirely different register, and therein lies the excellence of their pairing. Coel plays a former art student fallen on hard times, hired as Julian’s assistant by his acquisitive children. She holds intense fury and passion within an mysteriously civil and fundamentally unreadable bearing. This is a portrayal of exceptional control, where Coel expresses volumes through delicate changes in expression and precisely calibrated silence. Her Lori reveals herself slowly, reluctantly, as if each disclosure costs her something precious.
What renders Coel’s work notably compelling is her refusal to make Lori sympathetic in conventional ways. She is not the dignified, downtrodden subordinate; she holds her own goals, her own inner conflicts. Yet Coel’s compelling composure pulls us toward her character’s psychological depth, leading us to engage in her persistence and final success. The scenes between Coel and McKellen vibrate with unspoken understanding, a shared acknowledgement between two people constrained by their situation, each finding in the other an surprising echo of who they are.
Preserving Genuine English Character From the Perspective of American Observers
One of the film’s most striking achievements is how Soderbergh and screenwriter Ed Solomons—an American who happens to be John Cleese’s son-in-law—have shaped a vision of hauteur and English sensibility that equals the best instances of the genre. Their representation of Julian Sklar and the artistic sphere surrounding him recalls the same refined grasp of English character and mannerism seen in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread and Robert Altman’s Gosford Park. The screenplay crackles with wit and stylistic precision, capturing the distinctive rhythm of English complaint and the unspoken hierarchies of class and taste that shape the culture. What could have been a weary reflection on the contemporary art world instead becomes a rigorous exploration of obsolescence, pride, and the stark disregard of cultural fashion.
Soderbergh’s direction enhances this authenticity through his distinctive stripped-back style: intimate London locations, especially Julian’s tumultuous Bloomsbury residence, serve as character studies in themselves. The film moves with the pace and sharpness of a carefully constructed literary work, its narrative developments presented obliquely and without sentimentality. Every scene overflows with intelligence and dark humour, whether Julian is launching impressively articulate tirades against modern society or recording degrading Cameo videos for modest sums. The result is a film that feels distinctly English in sensibility whilst staying appealing to international audiences, a uncommon juggling feat that Soderbergh accomplishes with consummate skill.
- Soderbergh’s US perspective delivers new insight to English artistic pretension and cultural duplicity.
- The script balances intellectual refinement with sharp wit about artistic merit, cultural currency, and social redundancy.
- Intimate London settings and measured filmmaking produce an genuinely British ambience devoid of parody.
The Hunt for Lost Art and Greater Understanding
At the core of The Christophers lies a deceptively simple premise that unfolds into something considerably intricate and ethically uncertain. When Michaela Coel’s Lori Butler arrives at Julian Sklar’s deteriorating Bloomsbury residence as his recently appointed assistant, she finds a man in decline—creating humiliating Cameo videos for extra money, his latest works sold at makeshift sales, his tax debts resolved through the wry positioning of one of his canvases in an HMRC office. Yet beneath this surface degradation exists a more profound secret, one that Soderbergh and Solomons examine with typical intelligence and subtlety. The film becomes increasingly distant from the art establishment’s callous disregard and more about what persists when reputation crumbles, and what secrets could be concealed within the turmoil of a gifted individual’s downfall.
The relationship between Julian and Lori functions as the film’s emotional and cerebral engine, a dance of mutual recognition between two people divided by generation and circumstance yet united through shared understanding. Coel’s acting is accomplished in its containment—she plays Lori as someone who shields considerable intelligence and passion behind an impenetrable politeness, never quite revealing her hand. McKellen, meanwhile, channels Julian’s irascible genius without ever allowing him to become just a cantankerous figure. Their rapport sparkles precisely because both performers restrain their hand; they move through scenes with the exactitude of seasoned strategists, each word infused with subtext. What emerges is a study of artistic integrity in jeopardy, and the possibility of renewal through unforeseen connection.
A Manor of Secrets
Julian’s chaotic townhouse operates as far more than mere setting; it becomes a character unto itself, a tangible expression of a mind in disorder and a existence governed by aesthetic rather than practical principles. The neglect Lori encounters is not the result of idleness but of profound indifference to the material world—every surface cluttered with canvases, sketches, and the detritus of a life dedicated to art. Within these walls, Soderbergh reveals the visual language of decay and memory, transforming domestic chaos into something almost poetic. The house guards its secrets jealously, and as Lori traverses its maze-like rooms, the audience starts to perceive that the real mystery here involves not just Julian’s past, but what he and his acquisitive offspring might be hiding from one another.
- Julian’s Bloomsbury residence reflects his creative deterioration and intellectual brilliance simultaneously.
- Lori’s appearance disturbs the meticulously preserved secrets within the decaying structure.
- The building itself serves as a medium for exploring questions about obsolescence and artistic integrity.
- Concealed realities surface slowly as the relationship of Julian and Lori strengthens through collaborative uncovering.
What Makes This Film Resonates Today
In an era when modern art has become increasingly commodified and detached from genuine artistic vision, The Christophers offers a refreshingly sceptical examination of value, authenticity and cultural gatekeeping. Soderbergh and Solomons craft a narrative that examines who decides what art counts, and at what cost artists must sacrifice their creative vision to survive financially. Julian Sklar represents a particular cultural concern about obsolescence—the fear that one’s life’s work might be rendered irrelevant by shifting tastes and commercial pressures. The film’s commitment to treating this subject seriously, without falling into either pretension or cynicism, feels truly important at a moment when the art world is full of speculation, hype and the relentless pursuit of the next fashionable trend.
Beyond its specific focus on the art world, the film addresses wider issues about generational tensions and the possibility of genuine understanding across difference. Lori and Julian’s relationship unfolds as a quiet rebuttal to the transactional nature of contemporary life—a space where two people from utterly different backgrounds find common ground through shared intellectual curiosity and mutual respect. In a cultural environment often dominated by cynicism and surface-level engagement, this depiction of authentic human relations feels remarkably moving. Soderbergh demonstrates that cinema can still examine these tender, complex truths with wit, intelligence and emotional depth.