Yaron Zilberman’s intelligent and moving exploration of work, loss, ageing and professional rivalry centres on four privileged upper west side musicians. It’s the best movie Woody Allen hasn’t made for 20 years.
It’s also likely to be the best piece of ensemble acting this you’ll see this year, although admittedly none of the actors plays an instrument with any credibility.
As well as directing, Zilberman also wrote the script, which is neatly organised around Beethoven’s Opus 131 String Quartet in C-sharp minor, setting the structural and emotional tone of the work. But knowledge of music isn’t essential for enjoyment of the film.
When Peter (Christopher Walken), the paternalistic founding member of the Fugue string quartet announces his retirement from the group due to early stage Parkinson’s the future of the quartet is jeopardised, unbalancing each of the characters who struggle to re-establish harmony both in their personal as well as their professional lives.
Husband and wife team second violinist Robert (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and viola player Juliette (Catherine Keener) teeter on the brink of marital disaster. Tired of, almost literally, playing second fiddle, Henry tells his wife, ‘I don’t want to play second violin exclusively anymore’ but she fails to back his bid for leadership and he rightly asserts that she doesn’t think he’s good enough to lead the quartet. ‘But this isn’t about you, it’s about the quartet’ she responds. And it’s clear that professional loyalties have trumped those of the marriage bed and the relationship is ruptured.
Lead violinist Daniel (Mark Ivanir) in the meantime is more interested in perfecting his music than offering scraps of affection or encouragement to his
much younger girlfriend who is also his student and just happens to be Robert and Juliette’s daughter. Competition to lead the quartet is fierce, so that when Daniel’s relationship with Robert’s daughter is revealed the future of the quartet seems doomed.
But A Late Quartet is about more than professional rivalries. It’s also a film that looks at loss and ageing (there is a touching scene where Peter’s doctor played by Madhur Jaffrey, attempts to calm his fears about his prognosis) , about the fear of losing one’s gifts and the sacrifices that are made in our lives to achieve perfection in our chosen crafts.
This is a film that unites musical and visual beauty. The story takes place during a bitter New York winter, snow is thick on the ground, and the cold exterior shots are balanced by the interior lives of the characters solidly reflected in their domestic environments – Peter in his warmly panelled sitting room, Alex in a bohemian mess and Robert ousted to blank walled hotel room (although one is tempted to ask how on earth does the student Alex afford such a feast of an apartment).
There are few films about the slog of the musician (although there are plenty of films though about composers) but Zilberman manages to dissect both the possible ending of a 25 year musical relationship, and also manages to convey the sheer amount of work and discipline necessary to reach creative perfection. In that sense the film pours over its boundaries, to dissect how long time working relationships function and the selfish single-mindedness that dedication to a craft requires.
‘What are we supposed to do, stop or struggle? Continually adjust to one another right up to the end? Even if we are out of tune?’ Peter asks.
The quartet continuously run into one another, they are bound together, with the music serving as a useful and beautiful reminder of that connection.
But as the film ends as the quartet comes together for Peter’s final performance and the quartet is ambiguously poised, just as the music is, to go forward.
Susan