Cathedrals are, notoriously, not buildings that wrap up quickly. Some take centuries; others remain unfinished for many years. The artisans know that the gargoyle or apostle they lovingly carve may never be seen up close by most visitors. A cathedral is not something on which one embarks lightly.
That’s what makes the project at the center of the new documentary “Jimmy & the Demons” (in theaters) so interesting. The Jewish artist James Grashow was commissioned by a Catholic collector to create an artwork and decided to make “The Cathedral.” It’s a wood sculpture of Jesus holding a church on his back in a manner reminiscent of Atlas shouldering the globe. Around his feet, demons scamper and scowl. It’s beautiful and weird, and “Jimmy & the Demons” is, partly, a record of its creation.
But the film’s director, Cindy Meehl, is interested in more than just “The Cathedral.” Grashow has pulled off two remarkable feats: sustaining both a long career as a sculptor and woodcut artist, and a long marriage (more than 50 years) to Lesley Grashow, known as Guzzy. The film dips into his life story and their time together, interludes woven into footage of Jimmy at work. We learn about his whimsical large-scale cardboard sculptures (which have been displayed in many prominent venues, including the Museum of Modern Art) and his woodcut prints, including the memorable cover for Jethro Tull’s 1969 breakout album, “Stand Up.”
But “The Cathedral” is not really a biographical documentary; it’s a philosophical one. Grashow was always a playful artist with a love of fantastical creatures and imaginative worlds. But sculpting and creating this piece seems to have heightened Grashow’s thoughtfulness considerably, and he talks about it as if it was his life’s calling, one about which he feels both solemnity and worry. It’s his “grand finale,” he says, and “I just pray that I get to finish it.” But he asks the filmmakers not to tell Guzzy he feels that way — not yet.
So as he works on “The Cathedral” over several years, every intricate detail is freighted with meaning. The demons at Jesus’ feet tap into his darker side, contemplations of mortality and death that have haunted him since he was a boy. Meanwhile, he carves the Twelve Apostles unusually (one holds a teddy bear, because “why not?”) and some represent his personal life. One resembles his friend Rick, who loves to help people, and thus holds a hammer and a paintbrush; Rick himself later shows up to help Grashow.
At one point, Grashow notes that the word “Israel” means “he who wrestles with God,” and says that this has special meaning for him: “I’m wrestling all the time.” “The Cathedral” is an outgrowth of this struggle to find answers to all of his fears. This feels more and more urgent to him, especially when a retrospective is proposed. Time keeps moving faster, he says. Guzzy, eventually, senses the same, she tells the filmmakers — a “pervasive feeling that time is slipping away.”
Grashow wasn’t wrong. The film premiered at the Tribeca Festival last June, and Grashow died in September at 83 years old. But “The Cathedral” embodies everything that’s lovely about his work — its impishness, its openheartedness and its darkness, too — and “Jimmy & the Demons” captures all of that with a spirit that matches its subject.
Alissa Wilkinson is a Times movie critic. She’s been writing about movies since 2005.
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