The life of Frida Kahlo – the Mexican painter who was, among other things, crippled by a bus accident, bisexual, a lover of Leon Trotsky, and for much of her life consigned to the shadows, to be known mainly as the constant and long-suffering wife of the politically rambunctious muralist Diego Rivera – is told on a broad and colourful canvas in Frida. The film biography captures the woman and her work as much in the style of its telling as in the events themselves. Frida is not afraid to use an artist’s techniques to illustrate the blood and guts of creation.
Frida is a lovely, well-made movie, occasionally distant, frequently warm. It tells us little of the artistic impulse, but a lot about the voraciousness – that old chestnut, the lust for life – of the artistic mind.