Two Pianos

Two Pianos amounts to a glimpse into a brief, tumultuous time in these two people’s lives, where they take a short look at what could have been and nearly combust at the sight of it. Desplechin’s ability to find the raw, human qualities in that experience––and to respect them enough to understand that they can stand on their own rather than be weighed down by narrative contrivance––makes his movie an ideal example of what a prestige film should be.

Maybe the center of the drama is the obsession — love? passion? — Mathias has with Claude, and their rendezvous plays out in a rather melodramatic way. But the music imposes its presence. Strangely enough, Claude does not seem interested in music or the pianist´s career. And the film limits itself to offering a compromise in this impossible love.

Looking for rational behavior, especially in a crucial flashback, is pointless. To the extent that Two Pianos coheres, it is in a way that might be described as musical.

It may be straight-up melodrama, from its lone, corny, over-explaining flashback to the cliched drunk tank our hero finds himself in to the grim hysteria of an ambulance ride. Desplechin’s film still strikes enough of the right notes to be entertaining.

I thought director Arnaud Desplechin did just enough here to tell that story without betraying the nature of Mathias’s character, as audiences will see.

Here, however, his bravura conducting of relatively conventional melodrama material doesn’t affect us as much as his best earlier works. In any case, it’s the actual music that often does the heavy lifting here – with selections from Chopin, Bartok and Bruch, not to mention Grégoire Hetzel’s score, spiralling saxophone capturing the vertiginous register of the whole affair.

Arnaud Desplechin’s film only flirts with questions about the sacrifices made for art.