At one time I forced myself to learn about classical music. I bought records and tapes, and watched concerts and operas on PBS. I did not develop a love for it, although I deeply respect that much of it was composed more than a hundred years ago and was passed along without the aid of recording devices. I’d guess that I can identify about 20 pieces, which wouldn't get me very far on Name That Tune. I was completely unfamiliar with Beethoven’s Opus 131, the central composition in the film A Late Quartet (2012), which I watched last night courtesy of Netflix. It is the story of a four-member string quartet, together 25 years, thrown into turmoil when its cellist must consider retirement due to ill-health. The viewer gets to know the players almost as intimately as they know each other. They are revealed in both the present and in flashbacks. There is jealousy, envy and all sorts of other negatives that melt away when the group is performing. The principals are outstanding, as one would expect from the likes of Christopher Walken, Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Catherine Keener. I was unfamiliar with the fourth, Mark Ivanir, although he has been working steadily since the turn of the century. There are two particularly great moments, both led by Walken, when he tells a class he is teaching about his encounters with Pablo Casals, and when he puts down his cello for the last time and addresses the audience. I rarely let a film run through the entire credits. Since the composition in question was playing over them, I stayed with it out of respect. Of course, such a work raises the question of commitment to art. I ask myself if I’ve done enough, if I’ve made the sacrifices the characters have. Sure, I’ve lived alone all my adult life, but I’m almost certain that is due as much if not more to factors other than the pursuit of writing. A friend, Enrique, a talented guitarist, told me he used to fall asleep with the instrument strapped to him. For the first 20 years of my literary pursuit I worked daily but rarely more than three hours a night. Was that enough? I believe I’ve maxed my potential, whatever level that may be on the totem pole. In terms of books sales I’ve been a colossal failure. That’s always easy to determine, as numbers are finite. More importantly - have I failed as an artist? I cling to the hope that I haven’t, but that is really for others to determine. And now back to the movie. Kudos to director Yaron Zilberman, who co-wrote the screenplay with Seth Grossman, a serious work destined to be ignored by all but a handful of the public. The script was so authentic, and the actors mimicked musicianship perfectly - and it didn't appear any CGI tricks had been done. The only shortcoming was the deadly serious tone and almost complete lack of joy. Granted, these are serious people going through a difficult period, but would such wonderful artists always be so cheerless? On a scale of five, 3.7. It is rated 6.9 of ten at IMDb.
I sold one short of a quartet of books today. My thanks to the ladies and gentleman who bought.
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
No comments:
Post a Comment