The Piano
Watching Jane Campion’s “The Piano” for the first time in almost thirty years, and after having been riveted by “The Power of the Dog,” is like watching it anew. In 1994, I wasn’t prepared to really engage with films on an emotional and thematic level the way I am now. In a way, “The Piano” and “Power of the Dog” make perfect compliments to one another, as both films have a woman upended by societal gender roles, entering marriages they don’t really want, and being tormented by men whose views of masculinity hide insecurities that will ruin them. While in the latter film, Campion is exploring the archetypes of a genre, here, she is rooting her story in the experience of a woman whose capacity for love has been channeled into her playing the piano, and what happens when that is taken away from her. Even though “Power of the Dog” is adapted from a novel, it is as original as “The Piano” is, because Campion as a storyteller finds ways of exploring timeworn formulas in a fresh way that challenges the material. Its soundtrack probably also has a part to play in that.
Rewatching the film now, it’s truly baffling that Michael Nyman did not receive an Oscar nomination for his score for “The Piano.” I don’t know if I’d be prepared to give it the win over “Schindler’s List,” but the haunting melding of piano and an orchestral base is every bit as powerful as what Williams did for that film, and one of the great examples of a film’s score being invaluable to the storytelling. Music is such a fundamental part of “The Piano” that not acknowledging the score for this would be like not saying the score for “Jaws,” or “The Good the Bad and the Ugly,” or “Gone With the Wind” doesn’t matter. Nyman’s score gets at the passions of the story, as well as feels like a dirge towards unhappiness. Both make complete sense, given the direction of the story.
We begin on a beach. Ada (Holly Hunter) and Flora (Anna Paquin) are coming to New Zealand via boat, their possessions with them. That includes a homemade piano that Ada insisted bringing with her. They wait for Alisdair (Sam Neill), the man whom has been arranged to marry the mute Ada. He brings with him his friend, George (Harvey Keitel), and indigenous men to carry their possessions. They do not have enough to bring the piano, however, which is left on the beach. Later, he decides that she should sacrifice it for their marriage. When she gets George to take her to it, passions awaken that are not there with Alisdair.
The multiple levels of communication that Ada employs in the film are at the heart of “The Piano’s” story, whether you’re talking about a woman who wants to hold on to her individuality in a marriage; a mother whose bond with her daughter feels more like one built off of necessity than love; and a lover whose passions are stoked because one man worships what she has to offer. I love the contrast between George and Alisdair; Alisdair looks like a more tender person who would love to be in love, but as we discover- and Neill projects beautifully- he sees Ada as a piece of property, acquired in a transaction with her father, without much in the way of taking her feelings into account. Compare that to George, who seems more brutish, but still finds himself wanting to devote himself to her needs. Hearing her play inspires something in him, and yes, his demands for how she can “earn back” the piano can be seen as predatory, one can also see how he appreciates her for her, in a way Alisdair does not. Her being mute feels like something Alisdair wants to change, but George does not. Hunter and Paquin deservedly won Oscars for their performances, in part because the performances compliment one another. Hunter is a long way from the mother on the run in “Raising Arizona,” but that character and Ada both come from the same reservoir of strength and firebrand personality, and we feel that all the way through in this film. Paquin came out of the gate swinging as an actress, and as much as I love her Rogue in the first “X-Men,” it’s a shame that Hollywood has never really given her a role with quite this much meat to play again- Flora is a child who has to grow up because of her mother’s condition; even when she plays around, we feel as though she is out of sync with herself. One of the great talents Campion has is building unique characters, even out of archetypes we’re familiar with. This is one of those cases where a screenplay does feel 100% original, even if we feel some of the inspirations behind it.
“The Piano,” and Campion as a filmmaker, is someone whom I appreciate more now than I probably ever would have in the 1990s. This is a beautifully-mounted film- its cinematography gives us a sense of the dark cloud hanging over the story from every perspective, and its production design takes us into a world we’ve never seen before. And then, the music drives the film’s emotions home. Campion is a brilliant storyteller, and I’m glad that, now, I can truly appreciate her gifts in a way I was unable to then.
