For nearly four decades, Marina Abramović has been challenging, confronting and shocking the art world with her unique brand of performance art.

The Artist is Present follows the progress of the 2010 MoMA retrospective dedicated to the Serbian artist’s work. The documentary begins as Abramović puts the final touches to her exhibition, following the self-acclaimed ‘grandmother of performance art’ (she was 63 when the film was made) whilst she creates and performs her newest piece. The MoMA exhibition features pure performance art: with re-performances, photographs and videos of her seminal works – as well as one new addition to her oeuvre: the performance piece, ‘The Artist is Present’.

The film traces a move away from her previous, more theatrical style of performance; in ‘Rhythm 5’ (1974), she lay inside a five pointed star, set it on fire and subsequently passed out due to lack of oxygen, while in other pieces she cut a pentagram into her stomach and whipped herself. This move shows Abramović create ‘The Artist is Present’ as a piece which is quietly intense. Sitting at a wooden table, on a simple wooden chair, the artist invites members of the public to sit opposite her at the table, one by one, repeating this ritual daily for three months. Abramović then stares into the eyes of her visitors unflinchingly, creating what she calls “an energy dialogue” with the member of the audience.

The results are surprising – the film shows people moved to tears, raising their hands to their hearts; often Abramović herself is seen with glistening eyes. It is the longest duration solo work of her career, and the physical and emotional strain she suffers is clear throughout the film; she says that at first, the mere thought of performing the piece “made [her] nauseous.” Critic Arthur Danto observes that the piece represents an entirely new experience in the history of art – “for most masterpieces people stand in front of it for thirty seconds. Mona Lisa: thirty seconds. But people come and sit here all day” – indeed, a women sits in the seat for over three hours, to the anger of those waiting in line.

By the end of the documentary, director Matthew Akers has created an almost religious icon out of Abramović – her long dress is priest-like, and the audience seems to transform the museum into a place of worship, staring at the artist with extreme reverence. This idealisation is the main flaw in an otherwise inspiring film. The delirium and excitement of the crowds are seen – with some people sleeping on the pavement to get a chance to sit at the table – but only a glimpse of one of the most exciting questions raised by Abramović’s work is seen: is it art?

Akers celebrates the artist, and praises her genius for making people slow down in a busy world. However, he does not pause to question the deeper reasons behind her work. Interestingly, on the extras, footage is seen of people dismissing her piece, saying it was uncomfortable and unnecessary. However, all that makes the final cut are exclamations of life-changing art. No criticism is heard.

Despite this shortcoming, the film is still a hugely enlightening study of a sub-genre of art which is often dismissed, and goes a long way in establishing Abramović’s position as a ‘serious artist’. Throughout the film - as ex-lover and MoMA curator Klaus Biesenbach explains – “Marina is never not performing”: it is this charisma which make her dramatic ideas so palatable to the audience.