The Piano

Jane Campion has had her fair share of duds that didn’t connect with audiences or critics, like The Portrait of a Lady, Holy Smoke!, and In the Cut, but has since been responsible for films that not only brought attention to her homeland of New Zealand, but have been incredibly well received within the critical and film festival circuit, with movies like Sweetie and An Angel at My Table being awarded prizes such as the Grand Jury Prize or Independent Spirit Award, and her last feature, the 2021 psychological western, The Power of the Dog, getting her an Oscar for Best Director (making her the third woman to ever receive that honour). Arguably her first massive success which propelled her into mainstream awareness was her 1993 historical romance, The Piano, which took on the bold task of trying to provide for all moviegoers despite containing an artistic spirit, and yet it somehow managed to succeed.

In the mid-1800s, a Scottish woman with elective mutism named Ada (played by Holly Hunter) is placed into an arranged marriage with a settler named Alisdair (played by Sam Neill) and is forced to relocate to colonial New Zealand along with her young daughter, Flora (played by Anna Paquin). After arriving, Ada doesn’t hide her lack of interest in Alisdair and solely dedicates her attention to her personally handcrafted piano, and despite Alisdair being unwilling to move it from the beachside due to its weight, Ada refuses to leave it be and continues to play with wistful vigor when given the chance to leave their new homestead. This catches the eye of George Baines (played by Harvey Keitel), a sailor who adopted Māori customers, who buys the piano off Alisdair in exchange for land he sought after as well as private piano lessons from Ada herself, purely for the reason that he has grown infatuated with her. Despite initially hesitancy, Ada reciprocates the attraction and grows closer with Baines, which will only lead to disaster once Alisdair learns the truth.

Winning 3 Academy Awards, 3 BAFTAs, 11 Australian Film Institute Awards, and the Palme d’Or for Best Director (making Campion the first female director to win) amongst many other accolades, The Piano was highly regarded by every corner of the film industry, adored by critics for its evocative themes and dream-like imagery, enjoyed by members of the Academy which led to it being given Best Actress, Supporting Actress and Original Screenplay, and despite feeling like a niche arthouse flick, was popular with casuals and earned $140 million at the box office on a budget of $7 million (making it one of the highest grossing New Zealand films ever released). While mainly enticing for its visual, performances and directing rather than its script, this movie has an allure despite not featuring a lot on the surface.

While many claimed early on that the film had a lot of similarities to Jane Mander’s 1920 book, The Story of a New Zealand River, there wasn’t any apparent correlation during its creation, with Campion citing novels like Wuthering Heights and The African Queen as major inspirations, and the comparisons are clear when watching. Despite the movie outwardly coming across as a pretty normal period drama with a hint of a romantic edge, the mental and psychological realms this film explores prevents a standard delivery and results in a very atmospheric and lustful picture that wears its emotions on its sleeves and lets the environment and themes dictate how the picture is perceived. There’s an slight problem with this mindset, that being the script (written by Campion) doesn’t necessarily fulfill its duty, as despite the premise being quite good and constructed in a fashion that intriguingly unveils a fairly upfront string of events at a methodical speed which never results in boredom, the dialogue is almost hilariously blunt and to-the-point, solely being used to dictate events and situations rather than to create character, banter, or anything that feels remotely like normal human speech. This should be a massive hurdle, and yet The Piano decides to mirror its main character, and expresses through actions, mannerism and outside components rather than words, and is far more interesting because of it.

While the dialogue isn’t very effective at sucking people in, the vibe and overall aesthetic is very perplexing, and a lot of this is due to Campion’s directing. While it’s hard to say that it’s an outstanding job or that every facet is pulled off perfectly (The Power of the Dog is probably her best display of directing), the film is weaved in a sense that even its lesser qualities don’t detract from the experience, which is bizarrely gripping and very unforgettable. With a pensive mood that makes everything bleak and lacking warmth and compassion, the movie combines a slow, contemplative airiness with a sense of repressed desire and bombastic musical accompaniment (both in and out of the movie’s reality) to produce an experience that correctly balances both a mainstream-friendly and arthouse-friendly presentation. No scene feels wasted or lacking relevance, most of the characters don’t feel delved into, yet are performed with such silent conviction that they hold your attention, the visuals portray this marshy locale with such unaltered beauty, the music screams with such passion and veracity that it becomes a character in its own, and while the ending is a little confused, the overall themes surrounding love, power, and letting your voice be heard (even when you literally don’t have one) is always present. It’s a great showcase of Campion and the kind of filmmaker she is when given the tools to produce something distinct.

While the filmmaking is very well managed and arguably elevates what could’ve been a plodding fare, the actors are pivotal to making these characters feel real and memorable even when the script and direction doesn’t back them up. While Campion does a great job breathing life into the setting and music, the way these characters are portrayed isn’t very straightforward, with most of them not being very direct with their intentions and feeling very mysterious and not outwardly communicative. This can result in some characters feeling weaker than others, and this is the truest for the male characters, with both Sam Neill and Harvey Keitel failing to adapt to the specific form of conveyance and feeling pretty flat and even unlikeable as leads. Neill has the benefit of playing a character with ill intent who is made worse by his limited screentime (even though Neill’s natural screen magnetism at least allows for a few memorable scenes), whereas Keitel feels wrong at every angle, feeling poorly cast as this sullen mariner who frees Ada from the clutches of a controlling relationship. His preference for playing steely harden criminals in thrillers and crime flicks makes this supposed sensitive portrayal feel inauthentic, his line deliveries are never good, and his characters feel largely creepy with how he fawns over the lead (actively holding her piano hostage to pleasure himself while she plays) and yet the movie expects the audience to sympathize with him, it’s a very awkwardly handled character.

Holly Hunter is known for having such a distinct voice and accent, so it’s pretty striking seeing how play a mute character and have to convey life and personality through expression and movements alone, and she does a really good job at it. While keeping a very stoic face throughout the whole picture (even in moments where you’d imagine a reaction should be expected), the manner in which she carries herself is extremely engaging, floating around like a spirit who’s only purpose is to get lost in her music and becomes agitated when kept from it. Her jittery movements that feel like a broken animatronic (shown beautifully in one of the film’s most striking image after she loses some fingers), her restrictive attire that makes her feel very doll-like while also contributing to that ancient spectral comparison, and Hunter’s punchy movements, sign language and limited sound expression are enough to make her a lead that might not be multilayered, but is unknowing enough to be enticing. Anna Paquin was at the time the youngest person ever to win an Oscar for her performance as Flora, and she does a good job coming across as mature without feeling precocious, and is fittingly the most vocal person in the film who loudly proclaims her desires in a way that’s befitting of a child who has to act as an interpreter for her mother.

The setting feels like it would be miserable to live in and wouldn’t even lead to that much pleasing imagery, but thanks to Campion and cinematographer, Stuart Dryburgh, they both heighten the unpleasant and uncomfortable aspects of this new environment to further beat the characters into submission, but also twist that viewpoint and provide some glorious wide shots that emphasis the very natural sense of the region through lush mountains and clear beach sides, while still exposing and isolating the characters in a location that’s largely foreign to them. Sometimes the editing by Veronika Jenet can be too abrupt and feel awkwardly placed (especially when the musical tracks overlay), but otherwise, you can see the vision for making this location the main setting.

It’s constantly raining and occupied by a strong blue haze which furthers the morose vibe, the wetlands are soggy, full of mud that’ll make you sink, and even the pathways are shoddy planks of wood that trail you through a woodland of broken twigs and foliage, it’s a perfect environment for this kind of narrative and is shown off subtly but brilliantly. What’s also brilliant is the musical score by Michael Nyman, as (fittingly matching the title) the piano melody that constantly pops up in the background is so prominent and conveys so much emotion that it feels even more important that most of the dialogue. It doesn’t offer a lot of range in terms of what the emotions are meant to represent (it’s pretty clear what she’s feeling when playing a tune), but the almost onslaught of notes makes the music enjoyably overwhelming and makes for a unique viewing experience when the piece occupies pretty crucial moments.

The Piano ironically doesn’t feel like a movie that should work for everybody but given how it was received by critics and audiences, it seemingly did work on all fronts, and that honestly feels appropriate. It’s true that the movie does have some arthouse qualities that keep it from feeling properly mainstream, yet through the performances, visuals, and even direction and scripting, it feels like it offers enough for them to get into and may even allow them a gateway into the field. While the scripting feels more useful than beneficial to the story, the strong direction, engrossing visuals, incredible music and atmosphere, and pretty gripping performances (mainly from Hunter and Paquin), help prop this film up as one that feels worthy of all its accolades. Much like a piano piece, very upfront and not very diverse in its sound, but will have you hooked on every note.