“SILENCE AND MUSIC”

By Raymond Benson

Jane Campion’s 1993 masterpiece, The Piano, is a singular motion picture unlike any other, except for perhaps other pictures by Campion (her most recent, The Power of the Dog, manages to evoke much of the same mood and atmosphere, albeit within a totally different setting and context).

Campion was the second woman to be nominated for the Best Director Oscar for The Piano and the first to have the same title nominated for Best Picture. While she failed to win in these two categories, she did justly win for Best Original Screenplay. Holly Hunter won Best Actress, and little Anna Paquin, in her debut film appearance, won Best Supporting Actress, becoming the second-youngest performer ever to win an Oscar (she was nine and ten during the making of the film, and was eleven when she received the trophy). The Piano was also nominated for Cinematography (Stuart Dryburgh), Costume Design (Janet Patterson), and Editing (Veronika Jenet). Astonishingly, Michael Nyman’s heartbreakingly beautiful score, vitally important to the film in that the music is practically a character in the story, was not nominated. Nyman was nominated, however, for nearly every other film award and won several of them.

The Piano is not an ordinary movie. It is a perfect art-film, an extremely personal meditation on the role of women (and men) not only in 19th Century New Zealand, when the story takes place, but it is also a comment on contemporary dynamics between the sexes. Campion’s work might remind viewers of the films of Terrence Malick, in that the landscapes of location and Mother Nature are just as important as the inner “voices” of the characters in a tale that is more about atmosphere and feeling than it is “plot.” Campion, in an interview in a supplement on this new Criterion disk, says she looks for the broad vista with tiny figures placed within, like Lawrence of Arabia—so perhaps she has taken a cue from David Lean, too. The difference is that Jane Campion’s point of view and sensibility is decidedly feminine and provocatively feminist.

It’s the late 1800s. Ada (Hunter) is mute by choice (but she can hear and play the piano exquisitely) with a young daughter, Flora (Paquin), who was apparently born out of wedlock (interestingly, Flora’s name is never uttered in the picture). Flora acts as Ada’s mouthpiece as they use sign language to communicate, and then Flora interprets to other people. Ada’s father has sold her into a marriage to Alisdair (Sam Neill), a wilderness-man of sorts living in the New Zealand wild among the Māori people. Ada and Flora arrive by sea, complete with a piano in a crate, and they must wait on the expansive beach of dark sand for Alisdair and the Māori porters to fetch them the next day. Alisdair refuses to bring the piano, which he wasn’t expecting. This immediately causes a rift between Ada and Alisdair, for the piano is Ada’s heart and soul. Baines (Harvey Keitel) is a foreigner who has adopted the ways of the Māori, and he is immediately attracted to Ada. He arranges for the piano to be brought to his home and makes a deal with Alisdair for Ada to teach him how to play it. In private, Baines bargains with Ada, telling her that he’ll trade the piano back to her key-by-key if she will do “favors” for him. These requests become sexual in nature. At first Ada resists, but then she finds the man is much more appealing than her stern and unimaginative husband. How long can Ada and Baines hide their affair from Alisdair, especially when Flora and other Māori people are always around? Eventually, the situation explodes, and the violence that ensues will change the life of each principal character.

This is powerful, sensual stuff. The sex scenes between Hunter and Keitel were shocking when The Piano was first released in 1993, and they are still potent and moving. This reviewer can recall women saying about the film that they “never knew Harvey Keitel could be so sexy!” The Piano is a story of a woman’s journey from “silence,” in every sense of the word, to “music,” the awakening of sensuality and the escape from being controlled. Ada’s piano playing, through Michael Nyman’s pieces, express her thoughts and emotions when she is unable to convey them by voice. Hence, the piano itself becomes a symbol of Ada’s freedom. (It should be noted that Holly Hunter herself played the music in the movie.)

Both Holly Hunter and Anna Paquin deserved their Oscars. Hunter’s performance is remarkable, one of visceral intelligence and passion. Many viewers raised eyebrows when young Paquin won the award, but in retrospect, it is clear that her accomplishment is truly extraordinary. As someone who had never acted professionally, Paquin’s command of character, mood, and presence is nothing short of a miracle.

The Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray (also available in 4K Ultra) is a package worthy of its content. The film itself is a new, restored 4K digital transfer, supervised and approved by Campion and DP Dryburgh. It looks marvelous. There is an informative audio commentary by Campion and producer Jan Chapman, and the picture comes with a new English subtitle translation for the deaf and hearing impaired (and for the Māori dialogue).

Supplements abound. There are new and/or recent interviews with Campion, Hunter, production designer Andrew McAlpine, Māori advisor Waihoroi Shortland; vintage interviews with Nyman and costumer Patterson; a new conversation between Campion and producer Chapman; a vintage featurette “Inside The Piano”; Campion’s 2006 short film The Water Diary (starring Campion’s daughter, Alice Englert); and the theatrical trailer. The booklet comes with an essay by critic Carmen Gray.

The Piano is easily one of the great cinematic achievements of the last thirty years. For fans of Jane Campion, the main cast members, New Zealand beauty, exceptional music scores, and art house drama of the highest quality. Enthusiastically recommended.

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