Words by Isabelle Blakeney
The dark of the theatre is interrupted by bright, saturated images of unposed faces, un-filtered bodies, un-staged beaches. The Clash’s White Riot rips through the quiet. If you didn’t know it was a Martin Parr film before, you do now.
This jolting but jolly opening sequence is the perfect introduction to a documentary that juxtaposes the boldness of Parr’s work with the quiet consideration of the photographer himself.
Martin Parr (b. 1952) is an icon of the global photography scene, and it’s his very Britishness, or relationship with Britain and the British subject, that has driven his photographic portfolio. Known for their bright, vivid colours, and raw but humorous – bordering on satirical – themes, Parr’s work is internationally appreciated and instantly recognisable, so much so that on one photographic expedition, a woman unwittingly asked him if he was taking photos ‘like Martin Parr’.
Despite its seemingly intimate title, the documentary actually gives very little insight into the man behind the images. It follows a somewhat chronological path, yes, beginning with his childhood inspirations of birds and migration patterns, that moved into black and white photos of abandoned Morris Minors in Ireland (a subject matter that in fact seemed to set the precedence of the subtleties in politics and the shifting social class system that runs through his images). But other than a brief touch on his relationship with Magnum (the photography agency which was split over the subject of his membership), his move to colour photography, a few interview clips with his wife Suzy, and a general glance at his favourite and most frequented photography locations, the documentary is much more about the photos and their purpose than it is a biography.
His work has now seen him travel internationally, doing commissions and campaigns for brands like Gucci and Le Bon Marché. But his main subject, and the subject of images he’s been both revered and resented for, is the white working class of Britain. His unflinching portrayal of everyday lives never comes across as patronising or mocking, and this is one of the messages that the documentary tries hardest to convey.
There seems to be a real sense of equality between Parr and his subjects. He appreciates eccentricities while perfectly capturing the balance of comedy and tragedy. A fold of stubbled skin over a priest’s dog collar, sunburnt bodies, the occasional seagull photobomb, all drenched in gaudy technicolour. You could hardly call his images flattering in a typical sense, but in shifting the focus from perceived beauty to the ‘exciting ordinary’ Parr creates an entirely new lens through which to view life.
His ability to blend into his surroundings, in what Grayson Perry refers to as his ‘camo’, establishes himself as a part of the people he is photographing. He doesn’t try to fit into the elitism of the photography industry, and despite the series of celebrity cameos in the documentary, he doesn’t seem to be a part of the ‘artistic bourgeoise’ or fill his work with ‘philosophical waffle’. Even his fashion campaigns, which he says ‘subverts’ fashion, are mostly done to fund his Martin Parr Foundation (which launched in 2014 and is based in Bristol’s Paintworks).
But if there’s any reason to watch I am Martin Parr, other than to discover more about an artistic icon, it’s because it’s genuinely, laugh-out-loud funny. In the same way that his photos are effortlessly humorous, Parr is a natural, understated comedian.
I am Martin Parr is, like his photos, a love-letter to Britain: specifically British leisure time. His fascination with Britain and British culture and British people is so warm and heartfelt, despite his own complicated relationship with the country (he’s adamantly anti-Brexit and spoke about his horror at the riots that broke out last year), his love for the country is palpable, both through the screen and through his lens.
Finishing with his Autoportraits, a series of self-portraits that aims to show the variety in photographic portraiture in all Parr’s kitschy, comedic glory, the documentary clocks in at just 66 minutes, and is a heart-warming reminder of the good that can be found through art.
I Am Martin Parr is at Watershed until 27 February
