Herb and Dorothy

Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of 5): ****½

Art lovers – particularly modern art lovers – will not want to miss Herb & Dorothy, Megumi Sasaki's splendid documentary about the title art-collecting couple. What's so special about them, you ask. There are many collectors throughout the world who do the same. Ah, yes, but they, of course, are rich. Herb and Dorothy Vogel are resoundingly middle-class, but have a passion for art that has resulted in their acquiring the kind of collection most museums would kill for. And they did it all on their middle-class salary and life-style (until their retirements, he worked for the US Post Office, she for the Brooklyn library system).

How in the world could a couple who made that little money and lived in a relatively small, rent-controlled New York apartment become the doyen/doyenne of modern art, particularly the "minimalist" variety? Sasaki leads us on a fascinating and surprising journey that begins with the couple's early years together, then takes us through their own personal stabs at painting non-figurative art themselves but deciding, fatefully, that they might be better at collecting it than creating it.

The documentary takes us back to New York City in the 1960s, and while the nostalgia is great fun, it's the art -- and the artists -- that matter most, and Herb & Dorothy is full of it (and them): Robert Barry, Chuck Close, Christo and Jeanne-Claude, the Mangolds, James Siena, Lucio Pozzi, Lynda Benglis and Richard Tuttle. These artists speak so openly and fondly of this collector pair (the couple's purchases often help sustain the artists during their early pre-success career) that we come to appreciate art that might very well not be to our own taste. The film makes clear that the Vogels have a splendid eye for modern, minimalist art -- particularly, it would seem, Herb: At least he proves the more talkative of the two about what's good and why. He is exceptionally convincing in his reasoning and makes beautifully clear, from time to time, what is it that so appeals to him about a piece.

There's one particular interaction between artist, curator and Mr. Vogel, during which it seems the collector misunderstood the art in question. And yet, by the end of the interchange, you're ready to place Vogel's view above that of the artist (and don't they say that an artist never fully understands his own work?) Sasaki also allows various curators and art historians to explain their view of why the Vogels are so important to the art world, and in particular a couple of fellows from the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. The connection between the Vogels and this museum -- of which, the movie shows us early on, the couple has long been fond -– proves a kind of goldmine for both parties. (I won't spoil one of the most moving and surprising sections by explaining how.)

The one thing missing from the film is money and its particulars. The Vogels simply do not talk about how much they paid for anything, then or now, nor even what the rent for their apartment might be. This seems perfectly understandable; you don't get to be this good at collecting by blabbing too much. (We do learn that Herb and Dorothy acquired a Christo drawing by baby-sitting his and Jeanne-Claude's cats, and that, because the couple has never "speculated" on art, it completely avoided art's financial downturn of a few years back.)

At the beginning of this review I pegged the documentary toward art-lovers. But it's bigger than that. Anyone who wants a peek into one of the more specialized areas of "high culture" (and how it became so) should not miss it, but its the compelling look at two people who genuinely love art for art's sake that finally makes Herb & Dorothy extraordinary.