HILARY AND JACKIE - movie review for NYT
Movie Review
Hilary and Jackie (1998)
NYT Critics' Pick This movie has been designated a Critic's Pick by the film reviewers of The Times.
December 30, 1998
FILM REVIEW; Discordant Concerto, Played Upon Two Hearts
By STEPHEN HOLDEN
Published: December 30, 1998
Anand Tucker's double biography of the renowned cellist Jacqueline du Pre (Emily Watson) and her sister, Hilary (Rachel Griffiths), is one of the most insightful and wrenching portraits of the joys and tribulations of being a classical musician ever filmed. At the same time, this study of two gifted sisters who are so close they can literally read each other's minds is an astoundingly rich and subtle exploration of sibling rivalry and the volcanic collisions of love and resentment, competitiveness and mutual dependence that determine their lives.
Before she died of multiple sclerosis in 1987 at 42, Jacqueline du Pre achieved Olympian stature as one of the world's greatest musicians. Her signature piece, heard in fragments through much of the movie, was Elgar's Cello Concerto in E minor, and its churning autumnal romanticism sustains the mood of the film as much as any of the actors' performances.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is itself a kind of concerto in three movements. The opening section follows the sisters from youth to early adulthood, when Hilary's sudden marriage and Jacqueline's meteoric success abruptly separate the sisters for the first time. The film's second movement is the story of Hilary's marriage to a musician and gentleman farmer, Kiffer Finzi (David Morrissey). Their rustic idyll is rudely interrupted when Jacqueline, who has already wed the pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim in a much-publicized fairy-tale union, suddenly appears on their doorstop with an impossible demand. ''I want to sleep with Kiffer,'' she whispers urgently in Hilary's ear.
The third movement backtracks to pick up Jacqueline on the European tour on which she meets Mr. Barenboim. We follow the ''Arthur and Guinevere of music's Camelot,'' as the press dubbed them, on a joint tour that appears to be a feverishly romantic honeymoon of passion and musical collaboration. Then suddenly in 1973, Jacqueline, who has been suffering odd symptoms like cold hands, is diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. In short, devastating scenes, the film tracks her worsening condition, from tremors to incontinence to an inability to walk to her agonizing final spasms.
The family history covered by the movie would be harrowing if it weren't handled with such a light touch. The sisters' parents are portrayed as devoted, but they instill, as many stage parents do, a fierce competitive drive in their children that has disturbing consequences.
When the girls are still young, Hilary, a talented flutist, is the star of the family. The screenplay suggests that it was Jacqueline's sense of emotional deprivation and lack of parental approval that drove her to outdo her sister and supplant her as the favored child. But that victory comes too late to heal Jacqueline's profound insecurity, which is accompanied with an obsessive, fiery temperament and an imperious streak of cruelty. Jacqueline has to have her way or else.
Hilary's marriage is portrayed as a convenient escape route from an oppressive family and a musical career that fizzles after she is humiliated by her cold, contemptuous music teacher. As Hilary puts it to Jacqueline, the brash and protective Kiffer makes her ''feel special.'' In the bitterest words exchanged between the sisters, Jacqueline, who feels rejected and left out, replies brutally, ''The truth is you're not special.'' To which Hilary says, ''If you didn't have that cello to prop you up, you'd be nothing.''
Although tossed off in matter-of-fact tones, this exchange brings all the negative undercurrents of the relationship to the surface. Later, when Jacqueline impulsively walks out on a concert tour to surprise Hilary and Kiffer on their farm, it is to win yet another competition by proving she can be a better and happier ''ordinary'' person than Hilary.
''We've always shared everything,'' Jacqueline insists. But when Hilary balks at lending Jacqueline her husband, the cellist throws a psychotic fit. She simply will not be denied. And the scenes (done as home movies) in which Hilary masochistically observes Jacqueline replacing her as Kiffer's lover, pseudo-wife and the pseudo-mother of their two young children are excruciating because they're so believable. Since childhood, Hilary has been trained to bend to the will of her more talented and aggressive younger sister, whatever the cost in personal self-esteem.
The wonder of Frank Cottrell Boyce's screenplay and Ms. Watson's blazing performance is that Jacqueline doesn't emerge as a one-dimensional monster. Instead, she is painted as the unluckier of the two sisters, a desperately needy, voracious child with no sense of boundaries. She may be the star of her intimidating family and a genius to boot, but she is also its sacrificial lamb on the altar of parental ambition and pride.
Jacqueline's genuine passion for music is matched by an equally powerful loathing of it, which she takes out on her priceless cello, an anonymous gift presented to her after she wins a competition. When upset, Jacqueline declares she hates the cello. And as the pressures escalate, she begins having surreal conversations with the instrument, which in her mind is harassing her by making strange, pained noises. As multiple sclerosis robs Jacqueline of her ability to play, her sister's assertion that without the cello she would be nothing becomes horrifyingly true.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is as beautifully acted as it is directed, edited and written. Ms. Watson infuses Jacqueline with the same incendiary emotionality that she brought to the role of an obsessively devoted young wife in ''Breaking the Waves.'' Saucer-eyed, with a sly duck-bill smile, she radiates a wanton erotic willfulness that at moments borders on madness. Ms. Griffiths's long-suffering Hilary may not be as flashy a role, but her calm, quietly anguished performance is just as solid. You feel the intensity of their bond (both the joy and the anguish) every second they're together on the screen.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). It has sexual situations and profanity.
HILARY AND JACKIE
Directed by Anand Tucker; written by Frank Cottrell Boyce, based on the book ''A Genius in the Family'' by Hilary and Piers du Pre; director of photography, David Johnson; edited by Martin Walsh; music by Barrington Pheloung, with cello solos performed by Caroline Dale; production designer, Alice Normington; produced by Andy Paterson and Nicholas Kent; released by October Films. Running time: 121 minutes. This film is rated R.
WITH: Emily Watson (Jacqueline du Pre), Rachel Griffiths (Hilary du Pre), David Morrissey (Kiffer Finzi), James Frain (Daniel Barenboim), Charles Dance (Derek du Pre) and Celia Imrie (Iris du Pre).
Hilary and Jackie (1998)
NYT Critics' Pick This movie has been designated a Critic's Pick by the film reviewers of The Times.
December 30, 1998
FILM REVIEW; Discordant Concerto, Played Upon Two Hearts
By STEPHEN HOLDEN
Published: December 30, 1998
Anand Tucker's double biography of the renowned cellist Jacqueline du Pre (Emily Watson) and her sister, Hilary (Rachel Griffiths), is one of the most insightful and wrenching portraits of the joys and tribulations of being a classical musician ever filmed. At the same time, this study of two gifted sisters who are so close they can literally read each other's minds is an astoundingly rich and subtle exploration of sibling rivalry and the volcanic collisions of love and resentment, competitiveness and mutual dependence that determine their lives.
Before she died of multiple sclerosis in 1987 at 42, Jacqueline du Pre achieved Olympian stature as one of the world's greatest musicians. Her signature piece, heard in fragments through much of the movie, was Elgar's Cello Concerto in E minor, and its churning autumnal romanticism sustains the mood of the film as much as any of the actors' performances.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is itself a kind of concerto in three movements. The opening section follows the sisters from youth to early adulthood, when Hilary's sudden marriage and Jacqueline's meteoric success abruptly separate the sisters for the first time. The film's second movement is the story of Hilary's marriage to a musician and gentleman farmer, Kiffer Finzi (David Morrissey). Their rustic idyll is rudely interrupted when Jacqueline, who has already wed the pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim in a much-publicized fairy-tale union, suddenly appears on their doorstop with an impossible demand. ''I want to sleep with Kiffer,'' she whispers urgently in Hilary's ear.
The third movement backtracks to pick up Jacqueline on the European tour on which she meets Mr. Barenboim. We follow the ''Arthur and Guinevere of music's Camelot,'' as the press dubbed them, on a joint tour that appears to be a feverishly romantic honeymoon of passion and musical collaboration. Then suddenly in 1973, Jacqueline, who has been suffering odd symptoms like cold hands, is diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. In short, devastating scenes, the film tracks her worsening condition, from tremors to incontinence to an inability to walk to her agonizing final spasms.
The family history covered by the movie would be harrowing if it weren't handled with such a light touch. The sisters' parents are portrayed as devoted, but they instill, as many stage parents do, a fierce competitive drive in their children that has disturbing consequences.
When the girls are still young, Hilary, a talented flutist, is the star of the family. The screenplay suggests that it was Jacqueline's sense of emotional deprivation and lack of parental approval that drove her to outdo her sister and supplant her as the favored child. But that victory comes too late to heal Jacqueline's profound insecurity, which is accompanied with an obsessive, fiery temperament and an imperious streak of cruelty. Jacqueline has to have her way or else.
Hilary's marriage is portrayed as a convenient escape route from an oppressive family and a musical career that fizzles after she is humiliated by her cold, contemptuous music teacher. As Hilary puts it to Jacqueline, the brash and protective Kiffer makes her ''feel special.'' In the bitterest words exchanged between the sisters, Jacqueline, who feels rejected and left out, replies brutally, ''The truth is you're not special.'' To which Hilary says, ''If you didn't have that cello to prop you up, you'd be nothing.''
Although tossed off in matter-of-fact tones, this exchange brings all the negative undercurrents of the relationship to the surface. Later, when Jacqueline impulsively walks out on a concert tour to surprise Hilary and Kiffer on their farm, it is to win yet another competition by proving she can be a better and happier ''ordinary'' person than Hilary.
''We've always shared everything,'' Jacqueline insists. But when Hilary balks at lending Jacqueline her husband, the cellist throws a psychotic fit. She simply will not be denied. And the scenes (done as home movies) in which Hilary masochistically observes Jacqueline replacing her as Kiffer's lover, pseudo-wife and the pseudo-mother of their two young children are excruciating because they're so believable. Since childhood, Hilary has been trained to bend to the will of her more talented and aggressive younger sister, whatever the cost in personal self-esteem.
The wonder of Frank Cottrell Boyce's screenplay and Ms. Watson's blazing performance is that Jacqueline doesn't emerge as a one-dimensional monster. Instead, she is painted as the unluckier of the two sisters, a desperately needy, voracious child with no sense of boundaries. She may be the star of her intimidating family and a genius to boot, but she is also its sacrificial lamb on the altar of parental ambition and pride.
Jacqueline's genuine passion for music is matched by an equally powerful loathing of it, which she takes out on her priceless cello, an anonymous gift presented to her after she wins a competition. When upset, Jacqueline declares she hates the cello. And as the pressures escalate, she begins having surreal conversations with the instrument, which in her mind is harassing her by making strange, pained noises. As multiple sclerosis robs Jacqueline of her ability to play, her sister's assertion that without the cello she would be nothing becomes horrifyingly true.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is as beautifully acted as it is directed, edited and written. Ms. Watson infuses Jacqueline with the same incendiary emotionality that she brought to the role of an obsessively devoted young wife in ''Breaking the Waves.'' Saucer-eyed, with a sly duck-bill smile, she radiates a wanton erotic willfulness that at moments borders on madness. Ms. Griffiths's long-suffering Hilary may not be as flashy a role, but her calm, quietly anguished performance is just as solid. You feel the intensity of their bond (both the joy and the anguish) every second they're together on the screen.
''Hilary and Jackie'' is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). It has sexual situations and profanity.
HILARY AND JACKIE
Directed by Anand Tucker; written by Frank Cottrell Boyce, based on the book ''A Genius in the Family'' by Hilary and Piers du Pre; director of photography, David Johnson; edited by Martin Walsh; music by Barrington Pheloung, with cello solos performed by Caroline Dale; production designer, Alice Normington; produced by Andy Paterson and Nicholas Kent; released by October Films. Running time: 121 minutes. This film is rated R.
WITH: Emily Watson (Jacqueline du Pre), Rachel Griffiths (Hilary du Pre), David Morrissey (Kiffer Finzi), James Frain (Daniel Barenboim), Charles Dance (Derek du Pre) and Celia Imrie (Iris du Pre).
