'Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed' review: Mild portrait of a pop-culture punchline

WHAT IT’S ABOUT When the talk-show host Phil Donahue called Bob Ross "the most famous painter in the universe," he was exaggerating only slightly. Beginning in the mid-1980s, Ross hosted "The Joy of Painting," a PBS television show that beamed him into the homes of would-be artists all over the world. His gauzy landscapes weren’t exactly Picassos, but Ross himself, with his bluejeans and bulbous Afro, became almost as recognizable as Andy Warhol in his turtleneck and wig.

The secret to Ross’ appeal lay less in his paintings than in his aura. A warm presence with a mellifluous, almost sensuous voice, Ross strove to fill his viewers with confidence and self-worth. His mantra: There are no mistakes, just "happy accidents." The best analogy for Ross isn’t really another painter but another beloved PBS icon, the children’s television host Fred Rogers.

Ross died in 1995, but lives on as a pop-culture punchline (Ryan Reynolds gave him the Deadpool treatment) and in countless memes from Gen-Zers too young to remember him. Mostly, Ross lives on as a brand: His hair-enhaloed face is on paint brushes, palettes, coffee mugs, watches, even an official version of Monopoly. Ever wonder who reaps the profits? Joshua Rofé’s documentary for Netflix, "Bob Ross: Happy Accidents, Betrayal & Greed," answers the question.

MY SAY First of all, don’t fret: Despite its sensationalized title, this documentary isn’t about to tarnish another hero. It isn’t "Surviving R. Kelly" or the Michael Jackson expose "Leaving Neverland." Bombshell is a relative term here (the hair was permed?!) and Ross’ avuncular image remains intact.

Little details from his back story can be interesting. Born in 1942 to working-class parents in Florida, Ross enlisted in the Air Force at 18 and was stationed in Alaska, a place that inspired many a future painting. His interest in art began when he saw a PBS show, "The Magic of Oil Painting," hosted by Bill Alexander, an energetic German with his own art-supply company and a traveling tutoring business, which Ross joined.

Enter a mysterious but clearly shrewd entrepreneur named Annette Kowalski, who attended one of Ross’ classes. She and her husband, Walt, encouraged Ross to launch his own show. "The Joy of Painting" premiered on PBS in Muncie, Indiana, as a homegrown affair, with Ross’ son Steve making the first of many appearances as a guest-painter. Thanks to Ross’ soothing demeanor — and what one biographer calls his "liquid tranquilizer of a voice" — the little show snowballed into a worldwide hit.

There are allegations that Ross and Annette had an affair, but it’s really after Ross’ death — at 52, of lymphoma — that the ugliness begins. The Bob Ross name became the center of a legal battle between the Kowalskis, who declined to be interviewed for the film (and who deny the affair), and Steve, who even today seems devastated by his father’s death. Celebrity-estate stories tend to be tortuously complicated, but here’s the short version: The Kowalskis now appear to own just about anything related to Bob Ross, and Steve is said to receive no profits.

A more detailed rundown of the Ross saga appeared earlier this year in the Daily Beast under the headline "Sex, Deceit and Scandal," but this documentary adds value by mining Ross’ original show for subtle clues and moments of poignancy. "That’s why I paint," Ross says while dabbing brush to canvas. "I can create the kind of world that I want. And I can make this world as happy as I want it."

BOTTOM LINE Hipsters, take note: That Bob Ross t-shirt is more ironic than you think.