An insightful peek into the mind (and friendship) of an architect

"Let's look at it for a while, be irritated by it, then figure out what to do," says architect Frank Gehry, eyeing a bulbous-looking model made from silver cardboard and Scotch tape. He seems intrigued by the process, as are we — from these bits of paper and dabs of tape, a building will eventually rise. After another moment of looking at it, he decrees, "This has to get crankier."

Veteran feature director Sydney Pollack ("Tootsie," "Out of Africa") isn't known for documentary work, but he's ideal for the winning "Sketches of Frank Gehry." The two men are longtime friends, and parts of the film are just the two of them chatting on camera about the sort of things that two old friends talk about. They have an easy camaraderie, and the film picks up that laid-back vibe. Like its subject, "Sketches" doesn't follow the rules; it meanders agreeably, through some striking buildings and pleasant conversations, and by its end you feel as if you've met somebody.

Movie review

Showtimes and trailer

"Sketches of Frank Gehry," a documentary directed by Sydney Pollack. 82 minutes. Rated PG-13 for brief strong language. Metro.

Though we learn a bit about his past — his name was originally Frank Goldberg, and as a child he loved to build things with scraps of wood — the film doesn't explore Gehry's life as much as his love-it-or-hate-it, distinctive work, photographed (by five cinematographers, including Pollack himself) with the reverence of art.

The swooping angles of the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao shimmer in the sunlight like a treasure box; the smooth curves of the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles seem poised as if for flight. And Gehry's own home, an older house around which he built a new, freewheeling structure, seems like an avant-garde fairy tale. (Seattle's Experience Music Project is shown briefly, but not identified.)

A few talking heads face the camera and share opinions about Gehry's work, most notably artist Julian Schnabel, a hilarious self-caricature complete with robe, sunglasses and brandy. But the more compelling moments are when the film's subject speaks. Toward the end, Gehry talks about how he wishes he were a painter — about how he loves "that dangerous place" of a blank canvas, before the work is begun. In his vibrant 70s, Gehry is still exploring that place; and this film lets us go there with him, for just a few minutes.

Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com