The Piano Teacher (2001) - Review

After seeing The Piano Teacher, knowing what to make of it proves a mental challenge, which incidentally go's hand in hand with the films subject matter. It is about mentally challenged people. At the centre a piano teacher, Erika (Isabelle Huppert). A middle aged woman who has devoted her life to a talent, and subsequently seems to be psychologically flawed and void of some fundamental human values and abilities. Primarily the ability to understand and harness her own emotions, particularly her sexual urges, which seem to have built up, accumulated to a point of incomprehensibility. She also still shares a bed with her mother. I have often wondered that those who apply themselves wholly to a special gift or talent can somehow cause an imbalance within themselves through their constant search and struggle. Vincent van Gough and Michael Jackson are two examples that come to mind. Both immensely talented artist, but combined with a mixture of wrong circumstances have come through the thick of it just too badly bruised. And where they have excelled in their talent, lack some fundamental stability to be settled in more common practices. Erika is a partial victim of circumstance and genetics. An overbearing mother, and speculation of her father in a mental asylum, would be at the height of this. Personal identity, sexual psychosis, frustration and obsession are the key themes of the film. The camera follows Erika from the formal teaching of her piano lessons, to the explorations and indulgence of darker places and environments, physically as well as psychologically. When a new pupil Walter (Benoît Magimel), both handsome and cultured pursues her erotically, her chemical imbalance turns to overdrive, and Erika grasps the opportunity to unleash her suppression of urges burning within. The climax is a revelation of unsettling ambiguity and wonder which left me itching with clueless irritation, but with enough questions to conclude my own possible answers.

Hana-bi review

Written, directed and edited by, and starring Japanese Filmmaker Takeshi Kitano in the lead role, there is a feeling of doom for his character Hashi from the outset. An ex cop who's past and present problems are intertwined and will follow him on his route to an inevitable destruction. This emotionally moving, character study moves along at a steady pace to its bleak conclusion, which is heartbreakingly satisfying with a real sense of solace. Despite the excessive use of violence with no reason other than fury and loss of tolerance. For me the film restores an ability to see the glass half full perhaps, and demonstrates how beauty can be found within the most unsavoury of circumstances.

Hana-bi (Fireworks) washes over you with a colourful depth, which emphasises a powerful morality that bubbles beneath the surface of each of it's scenes. How far can a man be pushed? What are his limitations when all he holds dear has slowly perished. At what point does he shed all care of right and wrong, and live by his own laws? At what point does his own existence and outcome become secondary to him? These are the question Hana-bi raises. Whilst exploring a man's actions when the last dearest thing to him is under threat, with virtue of tolerance absent from his entire being.

Hana-bi has imagery as powerful as that of a silent film, and is only enhanced by colour and sound, which results in a feast for the senses. And despite the presence of basic dialogue speaks volumes in the moments without words. An on screen stare, a touch, a moment alone with a character, or most profoundly Hashi in the company of his dying wife. These are the most touching scenes of the film and they resonate loyalty and sentimentality throughout. The soundtrack is heartfelt and embodies the emotional content of the story, sweeping us to views of the the cityscape and the master shot closing in.