Made in 1993, Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould
is one of those films which received critical acclaim and awards
when it appeared, but has always remained something of a supplement
to the miles of footage actually made with Glenn Gould himself.
There are elements of documentary narrative in the film, and
there are chances you may already have come across the talking
head anecdotes contributed by people like Yehudi Menuhin, Gould’s
friend Margaret Pascu and his cousin Jessie Grieg, as well as
characters such as his housekeeper and piano tuner. These elements
provide valuable living links to the man himself.
While François Girard doesn’t go in for the flights
of fancy Ken Russell revelled in with his films about classical
musicians, there is a great deal of poetry and lyricism in the
way he handles line and movement. He enjoys the quasi-abstractness
of screens filled with snow, water, fog. He makes cunning use
of darkness, but is also a fearless observer of facial expression.
Having brainwashed us early on into believing that Colm Feore
is Glenn Gould, we can relax and enjoyably absorb every
vignette. There is plenty of dramatic tension - suspense even,
as Gould appears for his final concert for instance, and his
famous piano is covered and wheeled away like a coffin - the
event forgotten in the place where it occurred, its resonances
and controversy spreading in invisible but insidious ways beyond.
These are all quietly stated moments. Solitude and the artist’s
compelling strangeness and brilliance are the overriding impressions.
There are one or two odd moments, but it’s probably only
irritable old classical music reviewers who are likely to be
picky about this one. The musicians playing Gould’s FugalString
Quartet Op. 1 apparently do a wonderful job from memory,
but the balance and spot-miked first violin gives a disjointed
feel to the performance at some points of the performance, especially
given there are no microphones in sight. For the rest there’s
a section with spheres moving about which could be lost without
too many tears being shed. Minor clunks are few and far between
however and fortunately don’t last too long, though you
do sense and are aware of the clever writing or directing which
uses the inside of the piano to animate a live performance or
Gould’s responses to recordings already made, which sensibly
avoiding attempts to put the actor behind a piano but which
you sense could only be taken so far before we all got wise
and stopped believing.
Colm Feore’s following of Gould speech mannerisms and
movement is certainly believable, and even nearly 20 years on
the film dates pretty well. There is of course a cornucopia
of Glenn Gould’s playing for the soundtrack, and while
the programme is relatively Bach-heavy there are other recordings
which include composers such as Hindemith and Schoenberg. The
only extras on the DVD are some ‘talent files’ of
the director and main actor, and the trailer. This is not the
kind of movie where we would expect loads of hilarious out-takes
or deleted scenes, but one feels a little more effort might
have been made. It is most certainly terrific to have this available
on DVD. All real Glenn Gould fans should have it, and no-one
interested in well-made and easily-digested cultural cinema
will find it a disappointment.
Dominy Clements
SONY CLASSICAL 
88691912129 [93:33]