bnorthup
03-18-2003, 01:23 PM
The Pianist (R)
At the Myrna Loy
**** Four Stars
Compassion and conscience amidst brutality
By Brent Northup
The first two movements of “The Pianist” are routine, introducing us to the Holocaust in a gripping but almost overly familiar way. But the final movement, which takes place as the war winds down, is exquisite and makes the 148-minute film an unforgettable moral journey inside the horror of the Final Solution.
“The Pianist” is directed by Roman Polanski, the exiled American filmmaker who has lived in exile in Paris since 1977 when, after a party at Jack Nicholson’s house, he was charged with statutory rape. More than one critic has asked the obvious question: Does Polanski’s past taint the authenticity of “The Pianist?”
My answer is that the film can and should stand alone as a poignant, powerful drama but that, yes, Polanski’s own life casts a hypocritical shadow over the film’s moral judgments. But Polanski does know pain: his wife, Sharon Tate, was one of those massacred by the Manson family in 1969. Polanski himself lost his mother in the Holocaust, although he and his father survived thanks to the compassion and courage of Catholic families in the Polish countryside, recounts reviewer Fred Mazelis.
The story is based on the memoirs of Polish pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman, who was a well known and accomplished musician at the time of the September 1 invasion of Poland in 1939. The first half of the film documents the Nazi extermination of Polish Jews. Of the 400,000 Jews living in Warsaw it is estimated that fewer than 200 survived. The film provides chilling details: Jews are forced to wear armbands, to walk in the gutter rather than on sidewalks, and to move to a special section of Warsaw, the ghetto. We watch as the brick wall that imprisoned the Jews in the Warsaw ghetto is built.
Eventually, the Jews are transported in trains to death camps like Treblinka. But when the Szpilman’s family is loaded onto train cars, a guard recognizes the Szpilman and pulls him back – thus sparing the life of an artist. Szpilman tries to fight his way onboard the train, but fails to rejoin his family.
What follows is an odyssey of fear as Szpilman tries to survive in Warsaw, a Jew hiding for his life. He is befriended by the underground and hidden by compassionate rescuers. He is nursed to health by a doctor who risks his own life to treat Szpilman.
The power of “The Pianist” comes in its blend of horror and hope. The assassination of Jews, randomly and with no provocation, is painstakingly documented. We shiver at the cold brutality. But “The Pianist” also documents the courage of rescuers who came to the aid of Jews. And, finally, the film provides two provocative glimpses of the conscience of Nazi soldiers. First, Szpilman’s life is saved, for no reason other than his talent as an artist. Then, later, when a another German officer discovers his hiding place, Szpilman plays for Nazi – and his life is, again, spared.
It’s not at all clear why Szpilman was spared. An easy answer is that the Nazis wanted to exploit his talent or that they rationalized that one moment of compassion could compensate for the horror of the Holocaust.
But there is another possible more controversial interpretation: that there was goodness inside the cruel exteriors of the SS forces and that the souls of these executioners were tortured by what they were doing. Such a moral struggle does not in any way justify their actions, but it does complicate the moral drama that unfolded inside the hearts and heads of the Nazis.
By raising such questions about the Nazi soul, Polanski reminds us of the distinction that theologian Thomas Merton draws between the true and false selves. Merton suggests that the true, God-like self is at the core of all of us, and that sins are committed by our false self. Merton wrote that “Hell is alienation from the true self,” implying that no matter how far we fall, our pure, true self still lives within us.
Perhaps the Nazi soldiers’ acts of compassion were moments when their true selves reemerged to do battle with the sins of the false selves. That possibility makes “The Pianist” a moral concerto well worth hearing.
END
At the Myrna Loy
**** Four Stars
Compassion and conscience amidst brutality
By Brent Northup
The first two movements of “The Pianist” are routine, introducing us to the Holocaust in a gripping but almost overly familiar way. But the final movement, which takes place as the war winds down, is exquisite and makes the 148-minute film an unforgettable moral journey inside the horror of the Final Solution.
“The Pianist” is directed by Roman Polanski, the exiled American filmmaker who has lived in exile in Paris since 1977 when, after a party at Jack Nicholson’s house, he was charged with statutory rape. More than one critic has asked the obvious question: Does Polanski’s past taint the authenticity of “The Pianist?”
My answer is that the film can and should stand alone as a poignant, powerful drama but that, yes, Polanski’s own life casts a hypocritical shadow over the film’s moral judgments. But Polanski does know pain: his wife, Sharon Tate, was one of those massacred by the Manson family in 1969. Polanski himself lost his mother in the Holocaust, although he and his father survived thanks to the compassion and courage of Catholic families in the Polish countryside, recounts reviewer Fred Mazelis.
The story is based on the memoirs of Polish pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman, who was a well known and accomplished musician at the time of the September 1 invasion of Poland in 1939. The first half of the film documents the Nazi extermination of Polish Jews. Of the 400,000 Jews living in Warsaw it is estimated that fewer than 200 survived. The film provides chilling details: Jews are forced to wear armbands, to walk in the gutter rather than on sidewalks, and to move to a special section of Warsaw, the ghetto. We watch as the brick wall that imprisoned the Jews in the Warsaw ghetto is built.
Eventually, the Jews are transported in trains to death camps like Treblinka. But when the Szpilman’s family is loaded onto train cars, a guard recognizes the Szpilman and pulls him back – thus sparing the life of an artist. Szpilman tries to fight his way onboard the train, but fails to rejoin his family.
What follows is an odyssey of fear as Szpilman tries to survive in Warsaw, a Jew hiding for his life. He is befriended by the underground and hidden by compassionate rescuers. He is nursed to health by a doctor who risks his own life to treat Szpilman.
The power of “The Pianist” comes in its blend of horror and hope. The assassination of Jews, randomly and with no provocation, is painstakingly documented. We shiver at the cold brutality. But “The Pianist” also documents the courage of rescuers who came to the aid of Jews. And, finally, the film provides two provocative glimpses of the conscience of Nazi soldiers. First, Szpilman’s life is saved, for no reason other than his talent as an artist. Then, later, when a another German officer discovers his hiding place, Szpilman plays for Nazi – and his life is, again, spared.
It’s not at all clear why Szpilman was spared. An easy answer is that the Nazis wanted to exploit his talent or that they rationalized that one moment of compassion could compensate for the horror of the Holocaust.
But there is another possible more controversial interpretation: that there was goodness inside the cruel exteriors of the SS forces and that the souls of these executioners were tortured by what they were doing. Such a moral struggle does not in any way justify their actions, but it does complicate the moral drama that unfolded inside the hearts and heads of the Nazis.
By raising such questions about the Nazi soul, Polanski reminds us of the distinction that theologian Thomas Merton draws between the true and false selves. Merton suggests that the true, God-like self is at the core of all of us, and that sins are committed by our false self. Merton wrote that “Hell is alienation from the true self,” implying that no matter how far we fall, our pure, true self still lives within us.
Perhaps the Nazi soldiers’ acts of compassion were moments when their true selves reemerged to do battle with the sins of the false selves. That possibility makes “The Pianist” a moral concerto well worth hearing.
END