The Red Violin

(1999)

Directed by

Francois Girard

Review by Zach Saltz

Francois Girard’s The Red Violin follows the history of an instrument that passes through many hands until it reaches its inevitable fate – being placed at the bargain table at an auction.  But there is something different about this violin – not just the fact that it is exceptionally red or that it plays magnificently.  This violin appears to possess a quality that is quite distinguishable from other violins; it can easily assume the role of a labor of love for Niccolo Bussotti’s dead wife, or a teddy bear for young prodigy Kaspar Weiss, or even an instrument of sexual pleasure (no pun intended) for the libertine wunderkind Frederick Pope.  It has a life of its own, and even has the blood to prove its legitimacy as a living being.  The five tarot cards (recalling the five lines of a staff?), read to the violin’s muse before her untimely death, provide a foretelling and a sort of introduction to each stage of life our heroic violin is about to encounter.

There are numerous modes of music that are found in The Red Violin, most of which include either a violin solo or a small string ensemble.  The main theme, which resurfaces in the film quite frequently, is quite lyrical and complex in its polyphonic texture; it can be found at the very beginning of the film, when the viewer is first introduced to the violin’s “mother”, Anna Bussotti.  It begins with a low and lustrous tone, with a few instruments playing hauntingly dissonant tones; but the music soon reflects the rising action onscreen, and crescendos into a full orchestra playing behind a featured violin.  The solo pieces are played with delicate care, to show us the rapport we will have with the film’s characters.  There are also numerous counter-melodies in the film, which suggest that there are multiple stories and motives which must be presented in order to give context to the emotions and perceptions elicited by the thick story.  The main theme does not exactly restore itself cleverly in other instruments at surprising times, is in Ennio Morricone’s score to Once Upon A Time in America (1984) or Elmer Bernstein’s music in Far From Heaven (2002).  But the main theme (which is occasionally so complex that it’s difficult to recognize) still manages to carry over on to different sections of the film; for instance, when Vienna is shown at its full sunny glory, the theme is played sublimely, at an allegro tempo – suggesting the slight hurried nature of the burgeoning urban area.  The next major time the theme is heard, we have been transplanted half way around the world, to the Forbidden City, where the theme is slightly altered to reflect the isolationist asceticism found in the alleviation of beautiful Western music.  And when the theme is heard at the end of the movie, the violin’s fate has already been secured, and the slight variation on the theme – a subtle change to a more restrained, melodic temperance – reflects the finality of our violin hero’s fate, and the possibility of living out the rest of its long and revered life in the expert care of craftsman and restorer Charles Morritz.

The individual instrumentation is a testament to the events that play out onscreen before our eyes.  Young Kaspar Weiss’ piece is a sprightly, furiously-paced early baroque piece for solo violin that appears to recall Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee.”  It appears to be an exceptionally difficult piece to play, reinforcing the immense pressure that has been put on the young boy.  But it is also angelic and innocent too, showing the fallibility and susceptibility to flawed adult will.  Poussin’s use of the metronome is fascinating; created in 1812, it gives a nice timeline to the events of the film (beside’s Poussin’s wife’s passing reference to the French Revolution) and shows the evolution of music decorum.

Frederick Pope’s magnificent solo is also played at an exceptionally fast tempo, but rather than show his stress, the amazing tempo reinforces the bravado at which this character (who appears to be a possible indictment of certain bulbous-headed 19^th C. music prodigies) lavishes himself in.  The presto tempo also shows his obsessive love for his maiden, Victoria Byrd, and when the two lovers are separate and force to relegate their relationship to corresponding letters, the tempo of the violin music is reduced to a pastoral andante, suggesting that the passage of time is agonizingly slow. 

Almost no one is shown playing the red violin in the Communist China subplot; this is because the film wants to show us the complete disownment of Western ideas in Maoist times.  The music in the background has a kind of Eastern wayward gloom, with long, passionate notes that develop ever so slowly and carefully.  The one time the red violin is shown being played is when Xiang Pei plays a rapturous solo for her young son, who has never heard a violin in his life.  After she sadly tells her son not to inform his father, the background music begins in a high lament, and slowly crescendos back into the form of the main melody.

One curious feature of the film is that there are several integral scenes where no music is played whatsoever, accentuating the tension which the scene entails.  For example, in the scene proceeding young Anna Bussotti’s death, the film shows her grief-stricken husband, sitting solemnly at his work table, unable to conjure any sort of inspiration for his new instrument.  But once the inspiration arrives, it comes in the form of a brooding and soulfully lyrical violin solo that seems to project Bussotti’s own grief over his wife and newfound tender affection for the instrument he is about to christen with his wife’s own blood.  Another such scene is Cesca’s reading of the tarot cards – with any sort of music, especially the variety the film seems to employ, the effectiveness of the scene would be downplayed.  Without the sustained silence, the resolution built up by the silent tension would not be as fulfilling for the viewer.

I found the majority of The Red Violin to be contextually and musically appealing.  The movie does not appear to be about one person or story or even one violin – but about the broad spectrum of human emotion, most often typified by the melodic strains of the harmonious violin.  The film is an outlet to project the violin’s glorious luster and full range of tonal capabilities; and likewise, the bulk of characters and storylines present in the film suggest that there is much more behind the instrument than what initially meets the eye (or, in this case, the ear).  In the end, this is a plea to look deeper into the things we obligatorily place little or no value on.

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