My
Criterion Blu-ray of
White Material had a freeze glitch earlier this week, preventing me from getting my full Isabelle Huppert fix during the week that I went to see
Greta at the theater, so I backed up 10 yards, punted, and pulled this one from my Blu-ray stack...
Erika Kohut, an esteemed piano professor and Schubert expert played by Isabelle Huppert, exudes an emotionless countenance while educating her students at the the Vienna Conservatory and presides over lessons with unyielding strictness, never hesitating to pierce the emotions of her virtuosos-in-training with cruel barbs. Her commanding facade of exactness and meticulous professionalism, however, belies her own inner wounds. Despite the fact that she is in her late forties, she lives with her intrusively doting mother, played by Annie Girardot, in an apartment, where the two of them even sleep in the same bedroom. Her sexual repression manifests itself in discreet ways as she visits seedy areas around the city, watches hardcore pornography, engages in voyeuristic behavior, and even practices self-mutilation.
Walter, a young engineering student and talented pianist played by Benoît Magimel, enters the scene, refusing to be intimidated by the older teacher's icy manner. When this handsome student begins to show an uncanny romantic interest in her, Erika's self-assured exterior begins to unravel into displays of sadomasochism and sociopathy.
I first became acquainted with the Austrian director, Michael Haneke, by way of his 2005 film,
Caché, a Hitchcock-inspired outing with a pivotal scene that elicited the most visibly shocked reaction that I have ever seen from a theater audience. From there, I jumped headfirst into several of his other works, including the haunting post-apocalyptic tale,
Time of the Wolf (2003), the visually spectacular black-and-white movie,
The White Ribbon (2009), and even the intensely disturbing 1997 feature,
Funny Games, and its 2007 American remake, which he also helmed.
Haneke's 2001 psychological thriller,
The Piano Teacher, which is based on a 1983 novel by Elfriede Jelinek, remains one of the most uncomfortable films that I have ever seen in my life, although my only other viewing was over a decade ago, and it is a striking representation of the director's talent for creating the cinematic equivalent of a roadkill from which a passerby cannot avert his or her eyes. This is not a viscerally graphic movie, save for one early moment of videotape footage in a private room of an adult shop, but the sheer escalating unpleasantness of character interactions yields a more repulsed reception. There is one act of malice in this film during a music rehearsal where no overt violence is shown on the screen, but its aftertaste lingers in my psyche long after bloody images from countless zombie movies and slasher films have passed from memory. Haneke's coldly effective approach pulls us through the fold by way of long static camera shots that proceed without the flourishes of music score manipulation or flashy cinematography to buffer us from what we are seeing.
Fortunately, a spectacular beauty perseveres amidst the unpleasantness. Years ago, when I was walking out of the theater after the conclusion of Haneke's
The White Ribbon, an elderly stranger who was exiting at the same time made eye contact with me, and said,
“That was pure cinematic art.” The same can be said of this movie. Huppert is entrancing in one of the bravest performances that this longtime moviegoer has seen, and her two primary co-stars match her every step of the way. I am also drawn to this film's unapologetically erudite focus on the piano lessons themselves, and I wish that I had more of a natural music aptitude that might help me sense parallels between the sounds and the story that may be hidden from my attention right now.
A good movie does not necessarily have to be one that makes the viewer feel good. In fact, some of the best films that I have seen in my life are ones that make me want to curl into a fetal position in the corner of my living room for a month.
The Piano Teacher is one such example, and, if you have never ventured into the world of Haneke, then it is a decently accessible entry point.
This
Criterion Blu-ray excels with pitch-perfect video and audio presentations. The Haneke interview, where the director is not quite as maddeningly ambiguous as he sometimes can be, is my favorite supplement, but I also enjoyed the select-scene Huppert commentaries and the Huppert interview.
All countries
Argentina
Austria
Belgium
Brazil
Bulgaria
Chile
China
Colombia
Cyprus
Czech Republic
Estonia
Denmark
Finland
Greece
Hong Kong
Hungary
Iceland
Indonesia
Ireland
Israel
India
Latvia
Lithuania
Malaysia
New Zealand
Norway
Philippines
Poland
Portugal
Romania
Russia
Singapore
South Africa
South Korea
Sweden
Switzerland
Taiwan
Thailand
Turkey
Ukraine
United Arab Emirates
June guesses
Linear Mode
