A powerful head-filling film that made my mouth go dry as I watched, hardly breathing. I read somewhere that the movie lacks urgency and panic (not a criticism, but a reference to the stoic nature of the main character), but to me each moment was packed with intensity. And that isn’t surprising, considering Szpilman Vladyslaw, the author of the book it is based on and Roman Polanski the director of the film, were both Holocaust survivors.
The Pianist begins with what happens to be one of my favorite Chopin nocturnes: Nocturne in C-sharp Minor. A tender, romantic beautiful piece. But bombs suddenly fall, piercing through the tranquility of the music and breaking the spell. The pianist plays on. Windows shatter, glass flies everywhere, something hits him on the head, drawing blood, smoke fills the room… and the pianist plays on.
This opening scene describes the character of Szpilman. Gentle, stoic, reassuring, peaceful, a young man whose heart, mind and soul are given over to music. But peace cannot last long as the Nazi noose tighten more and more paintfully around the Jewish people in Poland. First they’re not allowed in parks, then they’re not allowed on street benches, then they have to wear prominent armbands, they can’t keep more than a tiny amount of money and then they’re herded into a ghetto and walled in. Each day becomes a battle for survival as cruelty upon unbelievable cruelty is heaped on Poland’s Jews.
Szpilman and his entire family are stuffed into a train bound for one of the death camps. But someone pulls him out and saves him. Someone else said it would have been better if he hadn’t got off that train. For now begins a long, sick, tired, hungry fight for survival in a war-torn hate-ravaged city where any Jew spotted on the streets will be shot on sight.
Yes, it’s a story we’ve heard in so many movies and books. But when the story comes from those who’ve been to hell and back, you can’t but listen, watch and feel.
And what of the pianist? He plays on…