A Late Quartet (15.)
Directed by Yaron Zilberman.
Starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, Christopher Walken, Mark Ivanir and Imogen Poot. 105 mins.
The Fugue Quartet consists of four of the world’s leading musicians, played by three of Hollywood’s leading actor. The fourth is Mark Ivanir who plays the cold perfectionist lead violinist. Hoffman and Keener are the married couple who are second violinist and viola respectively while Walken is the cello player from the previous generation.
The question that keeps nagging at you is not what he is doing up there with the other three star names, but why any of them signed on for this staid little drama. The Fugue only plays the most challenging pieces, the ones which require their expert musicianship. Which makes you wonder why these expert actors would choose to apply their skills to these dull, over explicit lines and tired situations?
Perhaps humour is intended? Its structure often resembles mirthless farce as people fall out and realign behind each other’s back. There are certain moments of unintended humour, most notably the onstage seduction of Seymour Hoffman by an attractive young Spanish Flamenco dancer.
The discovery that Walken’s character is facing the onset of Parkinson’s and will be leaving the group is the prompt for the rest of the group to unleash all the resentments and discontent that have remained buried during their twenty-five years of success. The other three lash out at each other while Walken remains serenely on the sidelines.
Ultimately it is Walken that gives the film whatever quality he has. He’s just turned 70 but is there a more watchable, endearing screen presence around? He moves now like Clint Eastwood playing Frankenstein’s monster but with enormous grace and a benign glow. He has the least screen time of any of the main players (perhaps less even than Poot, who plays Hoffman and Keener’s daughter) but you hang in waiting to see him again.
He has an anecdote late on about meeting a great musician as a young man, and during it he actually persuaded me to, if not like the film, at least not dwell on its numerous flaws and just concentrate on the intermittent moments of pleasure it delivers.
.
Directed by Yaron Zilberman.
Starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, Christopher Walken, Mark Ivanir and Imogen Poot. 105 mins.
The Fugue Quartet consists of four of the world’s leading musicians, played by three of Hollywood’s leading actor. The fourth is Mark Ivanir who plays the cold perfectionist lead violinist. Hoffman and Keener are the married couple who are second violinist and viola respectively while Walken is the cello player from the previous generation.
The question that keeps nagging at you is not what he is doing up there with the other three star names, but why any of them signed on for this staid little drama. The Fugue only plays the most challenging pieces, the ones which require their expert musicianship. Which makes you wonder why these expert actors would choose to apply their skills to these dull, over explicit lines and tired situations?
Perhaps humour is intended? Its structure often resembles mirthless farce as people fall out and realign behind each other’s back. There are certain moments of unintended humour, most notably the onstage seduction of Seymour Hoffman by an attractive young Spanish Flamenco dancer.
The discovery that Walken’s character is facing the onset of Parkinson’s and will be leaving the group is the prompt for the rest of the group to unleash all the resentments and discontent that have remained buried during their twenty-five years of success. The other three lash out at each other while Walken remains serenely on the sidelines.
Ultimately it is Walken that gives the film whatever quality he has. He’s just turned 70 but is there a more watchable, endearing screen presence around? He moves now like Clint Eastwood playing Frankenstein’s monster but with enormous grace and a benign glow. He has the least screen time of any of the main players (perhaps less even than Poot, who plays Hoffman and Keener’s daughter) but you hang in waiting to see him again.
He has an anecdote late on about meeting a great musician as a young man, and during it he actually persuaded me to, if not like the film, at least not dwell on its numerous flaws and just concentrate on the intermittent moments of pleasure it delivers.
.
