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.
