It
was a legendarily disastrous canceled concert, almost like a classical Frye
Festival. The promoter was indeed ruined when Dovidl Rapaport failed to arrive
for his much-anticipated concert debut. Unfortunately, that was Martin Simmonds’
father. For years, Simmonds searches for the man who was like a brother to him,
hoping to find the closure he needs. It might not be fully satisfying, but at
least he will have some answers when he finally tracks down the mysterious
Rapaport in Francois Girard’s The Song of Names, which opens Christmas
Day in New York.
Shortly
before Hitler and Stalin invaded Poland, Simmonds’ father Gilbert took young violin virtuoso Dovidl Rapaport into their
home, promising to nurture his career from the presumed safety of London. Even
though young Martin was jealous of Rapaport’s prodigious talents, he too took
pride in protecting his surrogate brother. However, the uncertainty of his
family’s fate back in Poland tormented Rapaport, causing anxiety that often
manifested itself in boorish and anti-social ways. Nevertheless, his talent
only grew. By the time he reached his early twenties, he recorded an album that
electrified the critics. Everything was fine at the rehearsal and sound-checks,
but when it was time for the uninsured concert to start, Rapaport was a
no-show.
That
betrayal of his family continues to haunt Simmonds for decades. Obsessively, he
tracks leads that take him back to Communist era Poland, but to no avail. His
wife Helen worries about the financial and emotional strain, but she still
mostly accepts his quest for the truth.
It
makes sense Girard, who helmed Thirty-Two Short Films About Glenn Gould,
would be interested in bringing music critic Norman Lebrecht’s novel to the big
screen, because Rapaport’s artistic temperament is not completely dissimilar
from Gould’s. Yet, Martin Simmonds is undeniably the film’s protagonist and the
primary character everyone will identify with.
Tim
Roth is terrific as Simmonds, humanizing his neuroses and making his obsessive
behavior sympathetic rather than creepy. He also has some really smart and
appealing chemistry with Catherine McCormack playing his wife, even though her
character is somewhat thinly sketched. In contrast, Clive Owen emphasizes all
of grown-up Rapaport’s rough edges and standoffishness. Frankly, he does some
nice work, but he really helps tilt the film towards Roth’s Simmonds.
Given
the themes screenwriter Jeffrey Caine’s adaptation addresses, the big
revelation probably will not be all that surprising, but that is really not the
point of the film. Instead, it clearly depicts the power of music to heal. Much
like Giraud’s Red Violin, Song of Names also vividly illustrates
the poisonous impact of toxic 20th Century ideologies on art and
humanity. Although there are no scenes set inside the concentration camps
during the war, Song of Names was the first feature film to receive
permission to film on-site at the Treblinka memorial. It also shows the half-dead
shell of one of Rapaport’s former violinist rivals after decades imprisonment
and dubious “treatment” in a Soviet-era sanitarium.
The
is a very classy production, thanks to David Franco’s warmly elegant
cinematography and the evocatively tragic music composed by Howard Shore. The
big emotional crescendo is somewhat predictable, but the human messiness of the
characters and their situations is considerably more important. Recommended for
fans of decade-spanning period dramas, The Song of Names opens Christmas
Day in New York, at the Angelika Film Center.
