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Reviewed by Lee Broughton
A Region 2 PAL disc; will not play on standard American machines.
Top-billed Jose Van Dam is, first and
foremost, a world renowned baritone. Judging by the evidence on display
here, he can act as well as sing, acquitting himself quite comfortably
in this appealing period drama. Sylvie Fennec had previously appeared
alongside another professional singer, Johnny Hallyday, when she starred in
Sergio Corbucci's hippy Spaghetti Western, Gli
Specialisti.
Synopsis:
The Opera world of early Twentieth
Century Europe is shocked when the singer Joachim Dallayrac (Jose Van
Dam) unexpectedly announces that he is to retire from the
stage. Rumours concerning his health are soon replaced
by speculation about his sanity when he sets up a singing school at a
country retreat that boasts just one pupil, the beautiful Sophie (Anne
Roussel). Dallayrac confounds his critics further by rescuing
and enrolling a rough and ready street singer-come-pickpocket, Jean (Philippe
Volter), during a rare visit to the city. Dallayrac and his
partner/pianist Estelle (Sylvie Fennec) push their two charges
hard, determined to forge them into world class performers.
Things go well initially, but romantic tensions between Dallayrac and
Sophie threaten to disrupt their progress. Sensing a chance to
finally win a decades old feud, Dallayrac's former
singing rival-turned-concert promoter, Prince Scotti (Patrick Bauchau),
deliberately brings matters to a head by publicly inviting Sophie and Jean
to take part in his renowned singing contest: Dallayrac isn't sure that the
pair are completely ready for such an event but turning down
Scotti's invitation would effectively end their careers before they have
even begun.
There is a particular type of feature that
only Europeans seem able to successfully produce. They're kind
of at the most accessible end of the art house scale in appearance
but boast a significant extra ingredient that is able to prompt
a degree of emotional involvement which, in turn, helps them to fully
realise their potential for popular appreciation. These films
feature suitably appropriate yet impeccable cinematography, seemingly
authentic period sets and costumes, great acting and characterization
and unusually emotive soundtrack music. All of which
magically combine to successfully bring to life seemingly
real people and events from other times and places. Emotionally
charged situations and encounters, epoch defining events, fantastic
friendships and intense love affairs, both often broken or strained by
betrayal or simple neglect but still fought and agonized
over many years later, etc, are all played out, often via flashbacks,
with a gentle hint of melancholia present. This vague but
noticeable melancholic evocation immediately suggests that events are
moving towards a sad or sentimental finale, further
enhancing the need for engagement and involvement with the film's
characters. At times these films are leisurely paced
affairs but, once you're attuned to their particularly engrossing
aesthetics, even the most mundane or drawn-out onscreen
activities remain captivating. I'm thinking of titles like Sergio
Leone's C'era una volta in America, Giuseppe
Tornatore's Nuovo Cinema Paradiso and Michael Radford's
Il Postino.
The Music Teacher belongs to the same exclusive club even though, by
comparison, it plays at a slightly less intense level. In
keeping with its predominantly French origins, this show isn't quite as
animated or as overtly sentimental as its predominantly Italian
counterparts but its production values and cinematography
are very much their equal. And, as with Il
Postino, the flashbacks are kept to an absolute minimum:
the drama is firmly rooted in a beautifully
realised past from the outset and Dallayrac chooses to exorcise
his personal demons by focusing on the future, as represented by his
young students, as opposed to raking
over the past. Dallayrac's personal history does,
however, govern much of what unfolds in this
tale and relevant parts of it are cleverly played out
for us when history appears to repeat itself through the
events that befall both Dallayrac and his pupils. A kind of Greek
chorus made up of observing Opera critics fills in other details
along the way. And while this film doesn't feature the requisite
Ennio Morricone or Luis Enriquez Bacalov soundtrack score, in some ways it
goes one better: the operatic and classical pieces featured here
are the very pieces that have influenced and coloured portions of
Morricone's and Bacalov's own output over the years.
There's little doubt that the amazing music of Gustav Mahler, Giuseppe Verdi,
Vincenzo Bellini, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Jacques Offenbach, Giacomo Puccini,
Franz Schubert and Robert Schumann adds much to the overall experience here.
As do the exhilarating vocal performances by Jose Van Dam and two unseen
singers (Dinah Bryant and Jerome Pruett). Anne Roussel, Philippe Volter
and Marc Schreiber do an excellent job of miming to Bryant and Pruett's
vocal performances. Sophie's stage debut is particularly good, with
Roussel managing to successfully emote the young singer's initial
feelings of nervousness, which are soon replaced by expressions of joyful
exuberance as she hits her stride mid-song. You simply don't have to be
an Opera or classical music buff to enjoy and be moved by the material
presented here.
So you've got a good idea of where the film's cinematography, soundtrack and
emotional ambience are at but a well acted, gentle and graceful tale
concerning a group of cosseted and privileged semi-aristocratic types,
who spend their days devoted to their music, still doesn't sound
particularly exciting? Well, there is a little more to it than that,
with no less than three subplots coming into play. The first plays like
a mystery. Just what is troubling Dallayrac? Why has he become so world
weary and why has he chosen to retire? Why does he wish to be forgotten
by his public, refusing newspaper interviews and continually rejecting
Francois's (Johan Leysen) requests for him to record a private performance
for release on vinyl (a theme that some distributors made use of to loosely
link The Music Teacher to Jean-Jacques Beineix's Diva)?
The second subplot is a guessing game involving a series of potentially
complicated love affairs. Are Dallayrac and the lovely Estelle in love
with each other? Estelle certainly loves Dallayrac and she intuitively
knows that Dallayrac and Sophie (who is, to all extents, a younger version
of Estelle) are bound to fall in love too but she still welcomes the
promising young singer into their new home. Does Dallayrac enrol Jean
because of the potential of his voice or because he secretly hopes that
Sophie will turn her romantic attentions to the younger man instead of
himself? But could Sophie ever love a person like Jean? Either way, the
introduction of Jean poses its own set of problems and challenges. He
professes to steal only when he's hungry but the uncertainty of whether he
will return Dallayrac's trust creates some effective tension and suspense.
Jean does have a good voice but he's simply not fit enough to project it
properly, so Dallayrac pushes him through some strenuous physical exercise
routines: the exercise sequences resulted in some distributors loosely linking
the film to Sylvester Stallone's Rocky and, strange as it may seem, the idea
is not quite as preposterous as it sounds. The film's only concession to the
era's poor, Jean sticks around because he despises the social circle that
gravitates around the Opera. And while winning Sophie's heart would be a
nice bonus, he primarily wants Dallayrac's teachings to put him in a position
where the full might of his disdain will eventually be felt by those who he
despises (an attitude also secretly held by Dallayrac?).
The third subplot could be lifted straight from a thriller. Seeking revenge for
an incident that occurred twenty years earlier, Prince Scotti concocts a scheme
intended to taint Dallayrac's reputation by questioning the talents of
his two pupils. If Sophie and Jean refuse to enter his competition they
are conceding defeat, and possibly forfeiting the right to receive another
such invite in the future. But if they do enter, Arcas (Marc Schreiber),
Scotti's own talented and ultra-confident protégé, will surely wipe the
floor with them. Patrick Bauchau had previously starred in a James Bond
film (John Glen's A View to a Kill) and his Prince Scotti
character here plays very much like a classic Bond villain. He owns a gothic
castle, complete with a sinister man-servant, and he governs Arcas as if he
owns him, using threats and intimidation to spur on his performances. And
while he plays the perfect host when he welcomes Sophie and Jean into his
magnificent home, when they're not present he reveals his true contempt
for the pair and their teacher. He goes on to employ underhand tricks in
an attempt to upset Sophie and Jean's performances while also attempting
to coerce them into revealing Dallayrac's superior teaching techniques. In
the end, it all comes down to Arcas and Jean, clad in macabre matching
masks and costumes that bring to mind The Phantom of the Opera,
fighting out a vocal duel live on stage. But, whatever the outcome of the duel, you don't
need me to tell you that a film like this is going to end in tears.
The aspect ratio presented on the DVD is in the region of 1.55:1. The main
titles suggest that the film was probably shot with an aspect ratio of 1.77:1
but the apparent zoom isn't particularly intrusive. The picture quality
itself is a bit of a mixed bag. While being generally free from scratches
and suchlike, some of the film's interior shots play just a little dark, and
consequently suffer from a touch of graininess, resulting in some of the more
deeper colours coming on just a little too strong. Presented in French and
featuring English language subtitles, the sound quality is excellent.
On a scale of Excellent, Good, Fair, and Poor,
The Music Teacher rates:
Movie: Excellent
Video: Very Good -
Sound: Excellent
Supplements: Four page booklet, Gerard Corbiau filmography, stills gallery, theatrical trailer
Packaging: Keep case
Reviewed: July 31, 2002
DVD Savant Text © Copyright 2007 Glenn Erickson
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