Earlier this month, I wrote the following review for the Arizona Daily
Star (Tucson). Any comments welcome.
"Hilary and Jackie" is an enlightening, sometimes painful yet
ultimately hopeful film. The title refers to flutist Hilary du Pre
(Rachel Griffiths) and her younger sister Jacqueline (Emily Watson),
the cellist silenced by multiple sclerosis in 1972; she died 15 years
later.
Against the background of their stormy - and bizarre - relationship,
the film seems to hold nothing back as it recounts Jackie's artistic
development and its effect on others, particularly Hilary.
The film has three sections. The first, titled "Hilary and Jackie,"
re-enacts a sibling rivalry that results in Hilary gaining
"extraordinary" globe-trotting stardom and (in subsequent sections)
Jackie eschewing the flute for an "ordinary" marriage to Kiffer Finzi
(David Morrissey), and several children.
Ironically, this rift begins at a competition where both du Pre
children win first prizes. When Hilary accepts her prize, the audience
in attendance applauds conservatively; Jackie, by contrast, receives a
sustained standing ovation.
Hilary continues the flute through young adulthood, but Jackie gets
all the attention, from individual instruction with her "cello daddy"
teacher (Bill Paterson) to a Wigmore Hall recital at which someone
anonymously gives her a coveted Davidoff cello.
Hilary is seen tagging along with her mother as she shepherds Jackie
from lesson to lesson. She dutifully pastes newspaper clippings of
Jackie's concerts into scrapbooks; at one point, six scrapbooks have
been filled.
The film's two remaining sections tell the rest of the story from
different points of view, first Hilary's and then Jackie's.
That's a good thing, because the Jackie that emerges is a crazy,
self-centered and lonely soul who, however successful as a cellist,
longs for the ordinary life of her sister.
Even her marriage to pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim (James
Frain), however heady in the beginning, reinforces her groundlessness:
The two have no home, only a life on the road. Telling Jackie's
story from only one point of view might well have oversimplified or
trivialized it.
That said, the rift between Hilary and Jackie - which is eventually
healed in a moving scene at the end of the movie - is understandable.
And while what solidifies it shall remain for filmgoers to discover,
it'll probably become every sister's nightmare.
Before he directed "Hilary and Jackie," Anand Tucker made documentaries.
He's got a documentarian's knack for illustrating how Jackie's travels
uprooted her. Sometimes, for instance, the camera simply follows a
sticker-decorated cello case being wheeled through one airport after
another, while the letters on the departure marquees flap from one
city into another.
There are also some comical, even pathetic moments. Jackie becomes
overjoyed when dirty clothing she's sent home for cleaning arrives
back in a parcel. "This is what my home smells like," she tells a
Russian hotel clerk.
Ultimately, du Pre's greatness as a musician - her recording of
Elgar's Cello Concerto is among the best - isn't cheapened. Tucker
artfully weaves musical excerpts from several works into various
scenes, particularly those in which multiple sclerosis slowly ravages
du Pre's body.
The most memorable, perhaps, happens during a performance of Dvorak's
Cello Concerto, with Barenboim conducting. Du Pre's bowing goes into
slow motion, and incredibly beautiful music is replaced with stormy,
screeching sounds. When it's all over, Barenboim asks his wife to
rise for a bow, but she can't get up.
Both protagonists act effectively, particularly Watson as Jackie.
You'd never know, for instance, that she's not a cellist, so
realistic-looking is her playing. And her portrayal of the different
stages of multiple sclerosis also comes off believably.
Is this film accurate? Many people who knew du Pre argue that it is
not. That debate, however, should not obscure the film's honest,
sincere examination of more universal issues.
Ken Keuffel Jr.
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