Note: The following is a condensed version of my Amazon.com review, to fit the word limit:
In terms of raw ability and potential, Jacqueline du Pré was arguably the greatest cello talent in modern history. At her height in the 1960s, concerts with her and Barenboim would make the world forget (for a while) Rostropovich and Casals. For listeners of classical music who kept up with her releases and watched her performances, she seemed to be an embodiment of talent -- dynamic, joyous, ethereally gifted, tragically cut short by multiple sclerosis. To those of us who kept Jacqueline's recordings in our psyches, her death was agonizing particularly for the sense of loss -- for what *could have been* (the breadth of her repertoire having been severely limited by MS).
This loathsome and abominable film, based on the controversial memoir by du Pré's siblings ("A Genius in the Family"), viciously insults and debases Jacqueline's memory. The errors of omission and commission are too many to name here, but the portrayal of Jacqueline in this film has been condemned by her friends and colleagues (including Rostropovich) as a vicious travesty of her character. Everything about this movie is -- as a previous reviewer stated -- iniquitous, gross and vulgar. Nothing here reminds one of the sensitive, joyous, brilliant musician that is seen in video reels and recalled by her acquaintances. Instead, the depiction is based on an exclusive (but loose) focus on a very dubious memoir, focusing on the gratuitous and doubtful details of her sex life and relationship with her sister, Hilary (who obviously has a chip on her shoulder and happens to be the author of the memoir upon which this is based). Clare Finzi, Hilary's daughter, wrote and contested the film account of events as a "gross misinterpretation, which I cannot let go unchallenged".
To add insult to injury, the director doesn't even care about accuracy, stating that "it (truth) doesn't exist" due to divergent viewpoints. (One wonders what he would have made of Holocaust denial.) It's the height of hubris and irresponsibility to popularize sensationalist claims against a person's character without any concern for truth or respect for their memory. A New York Times critic posed the question of whether the film was a "travesty or painful truth", which is not the primary issue at all. W. K. Clifford famously said that if we cannot ascertain the grounds for a belief, we have no business in believing it. I would add that we have even less business in popularizing heterodox and unsubstantiated beliefs to a mass audience -- qualifying this posthumous attack on Jacqueline du Pré's character as a vicious and appalling act.
Taken at face value then, this film is worthless, totally worthless. The response may be that biopics have no obligations to factual accuracy -- that this is the exclusive province of documentaries or books. But a film can be both fictional and offensive (for e.g. denying the Holocaust or defaming war veterans). Those who admired Jacqueline du Pré and studied her life and work do not take this film seriously as fact. Nevertheless they will watch it with a sinking feeling, until they can't bear to have their recollections maimed any further by emetic (and completely fictional) scenes that have nothing to do with the cellist they adored. There were several times during the viewing in which I literally wanted to gouge my eyes out -- but even if I did so, the scenes would stay in my mind forever.
Then there are those who -- noting this -- will still enjoy the movie. In that case they don't care anything for the real-life Jacqueline du Pré at all (and probably wouldn't have even if they didn't see this movie, so that's no loss). But others would do better to peruse the biographies of her by Carol Easton, Elizabeth Wilson and, yes, the du Pré siblings (if you read between the lines). Or better yet, listen to her music and watch the documentaries of her which contain clips of her life and performances. These were directed by Christopher Nupen who, unlike Tucker, actually knew and cared about his subject matter.
Good biopics are done with a serious respect for the subject's memory, concern for truth, and historical substantiation. _Pollock_ is one of them, _My Left Foot_ is another. This one isn't. It would have made a decent _Forrest Gump_ or _Good Will Hunting_, if the director had the integrity to use fictional names and locations. Why on earth did they not just leave it at that and left Jacqueline du Pré's memory in peace? She did nothing to deserve such defacement, nothing at all.
In terms of raw ability and potential, Jacqueline du Pré was arguably the greatest cello talent in modern history. At her height in the 1960s, concerts with her and Barenboim would make the world forget (for a while) Rostropovich and Casals. For listeners of classical music who kept up with her releases and watched her performances, she seemed to be an embodiment of talent -- dynamic, joyous, ethereally gifted, tragically cut short by multiple sclerosis. To those of us who kept Jacqueline's recordings in our psyches, her death was agonizing particularly for the sense of loss -- for what *could have been* (the breadth of her repertoire having been severely limited by MS).
This loathsome and abominable film, based on the controversial memoir by du Pré's siblings ("A Genius in the Family"), viciously insults and debases Jacqueline's memory. The errors of omission and commission are too many to name here, but the portrayal of Jacqueline in this film has been condemned by her friends and colleagues (including Rostropovich) as a vicious travesty of her character. Everything about this movie is -- as a previous reviewer stated -- iniquitous, gross and vulgar. Nothing here reminds one of the sensitive, joyous, brilliant musician that is seen in video reels and recalled by her acquaintances. Instead, the depiction is based on an exclusive (but loose) focus on a very dubious memoir, focusing on the gratuitous and doubtful details of her sex life and relationship with her sister, Hilary (who obviously has a chip on her shoulder and happens to be the author of the memoir upon which this is based). Clare Finzi, Hilary's daughter, wrote and contested the film account of events as a "gross misinterpretation, which I cannot let go unchallenged".
To add insult to injury, the director doesn't even care about accuracy, stating that "it (truth) doesn't exist" due to divergent viewpoints. (One wonders what he would have made of Holocaust denial.) It's the height of hubris and irresponsibility to popularize sensationalist claims against a person's character without any concern for truth or respect for their memory. A New York Times critic posed the question of whether the film was a "travesty or painful truth", which is not the primary issue at all. W. K. Clifford famously said that if we cannot ascertain the grounds for a belief, we have no business in believing it. I would add that we have even less business in popularizing heterodox and unsubstantiated beliefs to a mass audience -- qualifying this posthumous attack on Jacqueline du Pré's character as a vicious and appalling act.
Taken at face value then, this film is worthless, totally worthless. The response may be that biopics have no obligations to factual accuracy -- that this is the exclusive province of documentaries or books. But a film can be both fictional and offensive (for e.g. denying the Holocaust or defaming war veterans). Those who admired Jacqueline du Pré and studied her life and work do not take this film seriously as fact. Nevertheless they will watch it with a sinking feeling, until they can't bear to have their recollections maimed any further by emetic (and completely fictional) scenes that have nothing to do with the cellist they adored. There were several times during the viewing in which I literally wanted to gouge my eyes out -- but even if I did so, the scenes would stay in my mind forever.
Then there are those who -- noting this -- will still enjoy the movie. In that case they don't care anything for the real-life Jacqueline du Pré at all (and probably wouldn't have even if they didn't see this movie, so that's no loss). But others would do better to peruse the biographies of her by Carol Easton, Elizabeth Wilson and, yes, the du Pré siblings (if you read between the lines). Or better yet, listen to her music and watch the documentaries of her which contain clips of her life and performances. These were directed by Christopher Nupen who, unlike Tucker, actually knew and cared about his subject matter.
Good biopics are done with a serious respect for the subject's memory, concern for truth, and historical substantiation. _Pollock_ is one of them, _My Left Foot_ is another. This one isn't. It would have made a decent _Forrest Gump_ or _Good Will Hunting_, if the director had the integrity to use fictional names and locations. Why on earth did they not just leave it at that and left Jacqueline du Pré's memory in peace? She did nothing to deserve such defacement, nothing at all.