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             Paganini’s Daemon – A Most Enduring 
              Legend 
              A film by Christopher Nupen.  
                
              With Gidon Kremer, John Williams, Chorus of Radiotelevisione della 
              Svizzera Italiana, and the Orchestra della Svizzera Italiana/Lawrence 
              Foster  
              Format 16:9, Stereo, Subtitles D, E, F, I, J  
                
              ALLEGRO FILMS A2CND    
              [79:00]    
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                  Sufficient documentary evidence exists for Paganini to become 
                  the subject of numerous biographies. Some are skimpy, whilst 
                  others are bulked out with lithographic portraits, programmes, 
                  bills of account, letters and all the impedimenta of an itinerant, 
                  indeed ultimately superstar instrumentalist’s life. Some of 
                  these are transferable to the medium of a documentary portrait 
                  on film. In fact Christopher Nupen makes good use of the ‘lithographic’ 
                  aspect of his subject, providing us with numerous portraits, 
                  and pictures of a man who died before he could be captured by 
                  photograph. Indeed the famous faked picture of him could almost 
                  serve as an emblem of Nupen’s search for the ‘legend’ of Paganini 
                  – though fortunately Nupen doesn’t perpetuate it in his film. 
                   
                   
                  The thread that runs through the 79 minute programme – which 
                  includes a bonus segment devoted to Gidon Kremer discussing 
                  and playing Paganini, taken from another DVD – is both biographical 
                  and musical. A near-chronological survey is accompanied by filmed 
                  extracts of a significant number of Paganini’s music. Kremer 
                  is the interpreter with the Orchestra della Svizzera Italiana 
                  directed by an unseen Lawrence Foster. His effacement is doubtless 
                  deliberate, because for music in the earlier portion of the 
                  footage Kremer’s face too is never seen, only his athletic, 
                  spindly fingers on the fingerboard. The compositions for violin 
                  and guitar, amongst Paganini’s most directly affecting – he 
                  began as a guitarist – feature John Williams, but we only see 
                  his fingers as well. This concentration on mechanics, on the 
                  digital, is surely a deliberate ploy not to personalise these 
                  scenes; to preserve a degree of association between viewer and 
                  the subject via a preservation of Paganinian mystique. If you 
                  look at John Williams, you no longer see Paganini. Whether you’d 
                  actually prefer to see Williams; whether indeed it’s perfectly 
                  possible to see Williams and also ‘see’ Paganini is a question 
                  to which Nupen has presumably answered in the negative. I think 
                  you can. I think it’s actually a bit weird not to see Williams 
                  and Kremer playing their instruments.  
                   
                  Numerous quotations from contemporaries and listeners illuminate 
                  the programme; Liszt (a huge fan), Schumann (likewise), Goethe 
                  (bullish, anti), and many others who range from idolaters to 
                  criers of ‘charlatan’. We learn that he kept his audiences waiting 
                  – perhaps the first in a long line of musical headline acts 
                  so to do - and probably deliberately broke strings as he played 
                  to demonstrate increasingly dazzling feats, not least when he 
                  was reduced to just the one. But for all his love of money, 
                  and status, and women, all of which were characteristically 
                  excessive, he also loved his son, Achille, and these passages 
                  are some of the most affecting in his whole biography; such 
                  as the time when the boy interpreted his father’s syphilis-ravaged 
                  voice for the listening Berlioz – to whom Paganini then gave 
                  the vast sum of 20,000 Francs.  
                   
                  Paganini was the first executant superstar. He doubled ticket 
                  prices for his London tour – and then suffered when the English 
                  public stayed away. But he still made at least £10,000 in London 
                  in one season alone. His income was astronomical. His conceit 
                  was fabulous. His manner was ostentatious and offhand. The more 
                  prestigious the milieu the more the cock crowed, and the more 
                  often he was forced to flit. He was an accumulator and a bolter. 
                  He performed, took his winnings, committed indiscretions, and 
                  was forced to leave. His existence was gilded but provisional, 
                  and when the end came, via financial near-disaster in Paris, 
                  and physical decline, he had long since ceased to play his beloved 
                  violin, and his vocal chords had become useless. To confirm 
                  the provisionalness not only of his life but of his mortal remains, 
                  every so often his body was dug up and moved. Finally, as the 
                  twentieth century dawned, his corpse finally came to rest. Indeed 
                  as he was finally re-buried, in 1892, new giants, very different 
                  ones, had risen; Sarasate the brilliant, Joachim the dour.  
                   
                  Naturally the traditional arc of such a life is mirrored here. 
                  Birth into poverty, relentless practice, a semi-tyrannical father, 
                  an escape into luxury, and the comforts of debauchery, followed 
                  by over-ambition, poor judgement, crippling court-cases, physical 
                  disintegration, and death. But with Paganini everything was 
                  taken to excess. This documentary presents this quality as his 
                  ‘daemon’, possibly correctly. It’s a handsome film, doubtless 
                  partial, but well worth watching.  
                   
                  Jonathan Woolf  
                   
                 
             
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