Bob Ross movie, documentary offer true-life takes

Owen Wilson suited to play Bob Ross in 'Paint'

Kirk Boxleitner | Apr 20, 20230

Courtesy photo count

Owen Wilson earns some laughs as Bob Ross stand-in Carl Nargle in the parody film "Paint."

I had intended to see "Renfield" last weekend, with Nicolas Cage and Nicholas Hoult, but since it's not screening at a theater near me yet, I decided to take advantage of this "happy little accident" by seeing "Paint" instead, starring Owen Wilson as fictional pastoral painter Carl Nargle, who is very obviously based on legendary real-life artist Bob Ross, who died in 1995.

More than a quarter-century after his death from cancer, it's a testament to Bob Ross' artistic legacy and his aesthetic that he continues not only to appear in parodies such as "Paint," but has also been the subject of documentaries such as 2021's "Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed," which I watched on Netflix immediately after I came home from seeing "Paint" in the theater.

His afro and gentle demeanor are easy targets for satire, but what makes Ross amusing and appealing is the whole outlook those signifiers represent.

Like the real-life Ross, Wilson's Nargle hosts his own long-running show on public television devoted to painting idyllic landscapes.

And while the film that follows takes Nargle to task for having fallen into complacency and entitlement, the opening sequence of "Paint" takes care to show us how Nargle's skillful and soothing process of creating each painting manages to enchant TV viewers ranging from retirement home residents to hungover dive bar patrons.

Likewise, while Ross' "The Joy of Painting" alternated between being broadcast from Virginia and Indiana, Nargle's PBS show is recorded in Burlington, Vermont, because as anyone who's lived in New England can attest, it is the homeland of American public broadcasting culture.

Which is important for this film, because while "Paint" suffers from many repetitive, overstated and cringeworthy gags, it is never better than when it knowingly pokes fun of the idiosyncrasies specific to urbane rustics by choice, who savor their out-of-the-way cabins in the pristine countryside, while listening religiously to NPR.

I laughed at the moment when Carl, feeling threatened by the arrival of Burlington PBS' new painting show host Ambrosia - a delightfully effusive Ciara Renée, whose character soon shocks viewers with canvases of imaginative subjects, including UFOs gushing blood - quietly and briefly inquires about Ambrosia's presence, and as soon as he leaves the room, the station staffers remark how Carl has never been so vocally angry before, even though he never raises his voice above a hushed whisper.

While Carl is a caricature, with his hand-painted van that doubles as a shag-carpeted make-out shack-on-wheels, he's also a cautionary example for far too many sensitive, artistic white guys out there, especially as we crest the hill of middle age, because it's increasingly tempting to stop trying, and stop evolving, the more you're congratulated for your talents, or your ostensible allyship.

Just as Wilson is ideally suited to play up the specific absurdities of Nargle, so too is he legitimately resonant in conveying the character's desire to reconnect to the passions that once animated his art.

"Paint" is not a great film, but with everything I've mentioned, plus a portrait of a dinosaur on an Etch A Sketch (also by Ambrosia), it's worth catching, at either a theater near you, or whenever it premieres on streaming.

Netflix's "Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed" is the far superior film, in no small part due to exploring the nuance and depth of real-life character that was beneath that famous afro.

Although the documentary covers Ross' background as a master sergeant in the U.S. Air Force, through which he encountered natural vistas while serving in Alaska, it neglects to include Ross' subsequent interview quotes about how having to yell orders at young airmen made him decide he wouldn't raise his voice again after he left the military.

What shines through the documentary are Ross' deep-rooted desires to create a better world and make people feel better about themselves, in both cases through teaching painting.

According to those closest to Ross, he likely had at least two extramarital affairs, but even they agree he was no philanderer, if only because he channeled so much of his seductive energy into platonically courting his viewers, as his son and surviving friends point out how the liquid "Bob Ross voice" audiences heard on "The Joy of Painting" had been carefully developed, just as Ross repeatedly and deliberately spoke of applying paint strokes as one would "caresses."

Women who worked with Ross conceded he was "a flirt," but his love of people seems to have been inspired by a genuinely held belief that everyone has the capacity for self-improvement, if they apply themselves and receive the emotional support they need and deserve from others.

Even Ross' adult son Steve, now an older man than his father when he died, attributed their temporary falling out to his dad's proud belief that Steve would surpass him as a painter.

Before Bob Ross made the afro his signature hairstyle, he sported an Elvis Presley-style pompadour during his stint in the service, which almost surely got him in trouble with his chain of command, but which seems sadly fitting in retrospect, because much like Presley, Ross saw his name and brand acquired by business partners who, to judge from the Netflix documentary, are somehow even less well-liked than Col. Tom Parker.

The documentary details how Ross' original business partners, Annette and Walt Kowalski, went from running his financial affairs to obtaining sole ownership of Ross' company, estate, merchandising and likeness after his death, in spite of Ross' will stating his intent to cut the Kowalskis out and leave everything to his son Steve and half-brother Jimmie Cox.

We're told the Kowalskis' control over the Ross name kept Steve from following his father onto TV, but both Steve and Bob's surviving artistic partners now teach in-person painting classes, and the film's final moments interview students who have used Bob and Steve Ross' art lessons to cope with traumas ranging from suicidal depression to miscarried pregnancies.

Whatever legal or moral injustices it chronicles, "Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed" is a documentary that leaves you feeling even fonder of its subject than before you began watching.