Until such time as
music is composed by machines and performed
by robots, any real engagement with
it must include a human element. Composing
is part of the human impulse to create,
and to express feelings and ideas. This
remarkable film, first in the important
new Allegro Films series, is about that
human impulse, and how it’s reflected
in the music of Jean Sibelius. It’s
not merely a film with music, but a
work of art in itself.
Like a symphony, it
starts with a reference to the ending.
There’s a shot of an oven blazing, and
a score going up in flames. The two
films are an attempt to understand how
the artistic spirit compelled Sibelius
to create, and why, perhaps, he was
ultimately thwarted. Then we move back
to Sibelius’s last moment of public
glory, when he came out of seclusion
in 1939, to conduct his Andante Festivo
via shortwave broadcast to the United
States. The intensity of this performance
reflects the darker side of his success.
Sibelius knew what the world expected
of him, and it placed him under even
greater pressure to excel. Ashkenazy
conducts a rousing Finlandia,
the short piece that became so popular
it took on a life of its own and connected
Sibelius inextricably with Finnish nationalism.
His worldwide popularity conceivably
gained such sympathy for Finland that
it contributed to international support
for the country against the Russians
and ensured its independence after decades
of war. No composer has carried such
a non-musical responsibility.
Nonetheless, Sibelius
was able to retain his integrity as
a composer. The film is particularly
good at describing his development as
symphonist, beyond the early context
of Finnish folklore. Extracts from each
symphony are played, with a brief description
about how Sibelius’s technique and ideas
advanced. But what made Sibelius a composer
in the first place? His childhood dream
was to play the violin. Towards the
end of his life, he confided in his
diary "I dreamed I was twelve years
old again, and a virtuoso". Yet
by the age of 10 he’d already composed
a piece called "waterdrops"
for violin and cello. What fleshes out
the narrative, besides the excellent
performances, is the quality of the
visual images. It helps that Finland
in winter is a landscape of mysterious
beauty. We see scenes which at first
seem like abstract studies in black
and white: then we realize that they
depict forests, rivers, clouds. In one
powerful image, a 1930s car drives out
of the forest, its lights preceding
it ominously. There are panoramic shots
of the lakes of Karelia, dotted with
islands and swathed in mist. Horizons
melt into sea, the sky laden with frozen
fog. Sometimes the images are close-ups
of water, completely formless and yet
evocative. It’s easy to understand why
such landscapes inspired profound feelings
in the composer. Naturally gregarious
and fond of alcohol, he was distracted
by city life. At critical times in his
life, he would return to the wild silences
of the countryside to recharge. As a
red sun glowers in a grey sky above
Koli, Sibelius’s words ring out: "as
always when stillness speaks there are
dreadful undertones".
Because film can express
unspoken ideas, through opaque images,
it is particularly sensitive about intangibles,
such as Sibelius’s crises of confidence.
It mentions obvious causes of anxiety
such as debts and alcoholism, but hints
at something more complex. It was the
very fertility of his imagination that
propelled him towards new ideas. The
greater his aims, though, the greater
his self-criticism. Earlier works like
Kullervo were suppressed, and
the Violin Concerto did not achieve
quite the heights he had hoped. His
hopes for the Eighth Symphony were high.
"It is going to be wonderful …
what I am doing in this symphony only
a few people in the worlds can know".
Although it reached the printers, Sibelius
withdrew it: it ended up in the bonfire
in the oven at Ainola. The artist in
Sibelius knew he was capable of great
things, but also led him to destroy
what he felt did not express them sufficiently.
Like a poem, this film
speaks obliquely through subtle, indirect
images. It is breathtakingly atmospheric,
capturing the spirit of Sibelius’s music
and motivations by implication rather
than direct comment. For me, the most
haunting image is of Elisabeth Söderström,
singing the song, "Since then I
have questioned no further". In
a strikingly spare and dignified way,
Sibelius sets Runeberg’s understated
lines
"Why is Spring
so quickly over, why must summer flee
so soon?
Thus I used to wonder often, and my
mind could find no answer …..
Since then I have questioned no further,
while my heart fills with sorrow
At the passing of beauty, at the fickleness
of fortune".
It expresses so much,
beyond the mere words. At the very end
of the two films, it is played again,
wordlessly, on solo piano.
This is a true collector’s
item, a poetic and imaginative essay
on Sibelius and on the nature of artistic
creation. Obviously, not all the composer’s
greatest works are performed. Rather,
the value of this film is that it can
stimulate deeper contemplation when
listening to full performances, and
to enhance our appreciation of what
it is that makes music so human. An
added bonus is that, like everything
else in this beautifully crafted series,
the producers have taken care to get
Finnish pronunciation perfect – what
a joy it is to hear!
Anne Ozorio
See Anno Ozorio's
interview
with Christopher Nupen
A
Film in Two Parts: The Early Years [52:31];
Maturity and Silence [50:34] 
ALLEGRO
FILMS 05CN [103:05] 
