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- As a pianist I remember more vividly than
many things from my youth hearing and seeing some of the great
pianists presented here in live concerts. When one talks of an
"unforgettable" concert by this or that artist, for me that has
always included the visual as well as the aural component. To
see clips of Horowitz, Rubinstein, and Cortot, for example, is
not merely to hear different approaches to the piano and its repertoire,
but one could almost speak of three different activities engaged
in by these men. Horowitz seems to crouch at the piano, as if
almost ready to pounce on it; Rubinstein sits quite straight,
almost aloof, while Cortot grimaces and sways about. And the musical
results always seem a direct outcome of the particular activity.
After attending a concert by this or that great pianist (whose
manner of playing was often totally different from my own) I would
often go home to the piano and try to imitate that artist, not
just his or her sound, but by adjusting the bench and virtually
my whole stance at the piano—what better way to learn, after
all, than by apprenticing oneself to a great master?
- So a composite video such as this one is
for me a veritable treasure trove, a true legacy of a large proportion
of the great piano playing of the 20th century—much
of which is still indebted to the 19th. The video available
for purchase is narrated by John Tusa, but the same program as
seen on PBS several months ago was narrated by John Rubinstein,
son of Arthur. I was told by the producers that since the film
involved many studios from many countries, the video exists with
various narrations in different languages. The small booklet enclosed
with the video has a text that follows to a large extent the line
of the film; it has been translated into English from an article
in French.
- Briefly, the pianists represented are:
Claudio Arrau, Wilhelm Backhaus, Alfred Cortot, György Cziffra,
Annie Fischer, Edwin Fischer, Glenn Gould, Myra Hess, Josef Hoffman,
Vladimir Horowitz, Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli, Benno Moiseiwitsch,
Ignaz Paderewski, Francis Planté (born in 1839, recorded
in 1928!), Sergei Rachmaninoff (who unfortunately is only heard
but not seen), Sviatoslav Richter, and Arthur Rubinstein (pictured).
There are also commentaries by a number of pianists, conductors
and managers, including Piotr Anderszewski, Daniel Barenboim,
and Colin Davis. Some of these are enormously sympathetic, such
as Anderszewski, or very insightful, such as Daniel Barenboim,
who describes each artist in a particularly characteristic way.
Cortot, for example, he describes as follows: "I think Cortot
looked for the opium in music. He looked for anything that was
extraordinary; he always looked for something, not sickly, but
something abnormal, totally removed from reality, and far from
anything that could be construed as smelling of normality."
- There are, to be sure, some disappointing
omissions—why, for example, do we get Backhaus but not Artur
Schnabel? Schnabel was certainly far more important as one of
the great pianistic forces of the century, whose influence is
still felt widely through his most important students. Likewise
one misses the two great Romanians Dinu Lipatti and Clara Haskil.
Hearing and seeing Clara Haskil twice in my youth was worth many
lessons indeed (and was a lot cheaper...). One can only suppose
that there were no film clips available of these artists. But
Rudolf Serkin certainly had film clips. In his later years we
watched him play at the White House for Ronald Reagan; one regrets
his omission as well.
- One aspect of film is the ability to show
hands up close, which is something even a live concert cannot
provide (save for those few
who might be sitting on the stage or in the first row). Most fascinating
for me have always been the hands of Horowitz (pictured), described
by Tamás Vásáry as "like watching a race
horse." Yet I believe Horowitz's hands were actually not very
good as raw material: one sees a pinky curl under, other fingers
flailing outward in a scale. Horowitz doubtless worked hard to
bend these hands to his will as a young man; perhaps that's just
what makes his playing so exciting—the reins  are
always taut. Hofmann had very small hands—in his later years
Steinway made him a piano with a narrower keyboard. Alicia de
Laroccha (another sad omission from the film) is also a pianist
who hasn't the best hands—these artists all trained their
hands with their keen ears and minds. (I have always contended
that pianists don't really play with their hands—the hands
are just the last extension of a whole system of piano-playing
parts.) The most perfect hands to be seen here are those of Michelangeli—we
are told by the narrator that Michelangeli was very concerned
with all visual aspects of his playing, so this makes perfect
sense. I doubt that most great pianists worry about how their
hands look (or perhaps according to some schools of piano playing
one should worry...).
- Highlights of the film, for me, include
Horowitz's performance of the Scriabin d# minor Étude (Opus
8, #12), Cziffra's Grand Galop Chromatique of Liszt, and
the lesson by Alfred Cortot on "Der Dichter Spricht"
from Schumann's Kinderscenen. Cortot speaks in French,
with subtitles at the bottom of the screen, but even for those
who don't understand French, the fantastic poetry of the expression
is revealed mostly through his
extraordinary voice. But there is much more of interest here,
some of it for me quite unexpected. I never heard Myra
Hess live, and have admired many of her recordings for years—her
"stance" at the piano is quite different from what I would have
thought, to me quite strange and even rather inappropriate for
what is coming out of the instrument. And of course we
see Glenn Gould—this is less of a surprise. Backhaus and
Edwin Fischer don't come out particularly well here, in my opinion,
but Paderewski (especially as it's from a film in which he appears
as an actor) is just wonderful.
- Among the more interesting commentaries,
Sir Colin Davis speaks of the solo pianistic activity as being
somewhat "narcissistic." Other musicians need partners, but pianists
sit by themselves finely tuning individual interpretations and
musical idiosyncrasies. I am not sure I go along with this notion;
I don't think that what we do is in any substantial way different
from the activity of anyone who creates by him- or herself—be
it a sculptor, a writer or a violin- or clock-maker. Perhaps it
is a kind of privilege some of us have, to be able to shut ourselves
off from the outside world and develop and refine our art. And
perhaps this is in some way what makes the best of us so fascinating
to others.
- The recorded sound quality, even in the
stereo hi-fi version of the video, is of course far from modern
standards and the film clips are almost all in black and white,
but they are perfectly adequate for the understanding and appreciation
of what these artists could do. A highly rewarding and entertaining
108' visit with pianistic giants of the past.
Malcolm
Bilson
Cornell
University
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