The Concert (PG). Director: Radu Mihaileanu. Starring: Aleksei Guskov, Mélanie Laurent, Dmitri Nazarov, Valeriy Barinov. Running time: 119 minutes.
A trio down to one. Gypsy bluesman, guitar and a spotlight halo. Mind tuned to a numinous frequency. Fingers, impossibly nimble, driven by soul and muscle memory, weave melody amid the dappled tips of sunny seas. Rush it to foamy, gushing peaks. Drop it amid thundering, vigorous rolls. Then set it adrift once more, wet, bruised and quietly thrilled. The saga concludes in a cacophony of chords that leaves instrument, artist and audience ecstatic, reverent. It's music that transfixes; transcends.
I have witnessed this guitar solo of Australia's John Butler (of the Trio fame), 'Ocean', live, twice — most recently within the warm dark space of an Alice Springs evening: 'Ocean' in the middle of the desert. It's one of those performances that prove the transcendence of music; when the artist's skill, passion, and the audience's collective emotions are caught in a breathless swirl of sound and feeling.
It's the moment when God arrives, who or whatever it is you understand 'god' to be. As such it is music as religious experience; rock concert as church.
Whatever your musical poison, you've probably experienced something like this. The French film The Concert depends upon it.
It showcases Tchaikovsky's 'Violin Concerto' — a far cry from Butler's contemporary acoustic guitar solo, but equally magnificent. The film builds towards a performance of this ebullient concerto by a motley crew of musical Muscovites. Their conductor, Andreï Filipov (Guskov), intends to present them fraudulently as Russia's premier Bolshoi Orchestra for a one-off concert at Paris' prestigious Théâtre de Châtelet.
Andreï's attempt to pass off this ragtag and often boozy bunch as a distinguished and dignified orchestra is ripe with comedic potential. The film exploits this to occasionally irritating, slapstick effect. But centrally the film is interested in the human story of, particularly, Andreï.
The former conductor of the Bolshoi, Andreï was fired during the Communist era for refusing to expel Jewish musicians and has since worked as a cleaner. The hoped-for performance is less about recapturing fame than finally resolving past regrets. He is flanked in this endeavour by bearlike cellist Aleksander (Nazarov) and nostalgic KGB agent-turned-publicist Ivan (Barinov), each of whom played an untold role in that decades-old trauma.
Unknown to her, Andreï's featured soloist, celebrated French violinist Anne-Marie Jacquet (Laurent), is also at the centre of his quest