[The Piano, originally released in 1993 to great acclaim, recently received a 4K restoration and is being screened at theaters this month for a limited time.]
__________
What does it mean to be a “good” person? How have social mores changed over time? When we evaluate historical figures, how often do we judge their behavior through the lens of modern values?
Until 1973, the Texas Penal Code stated that, “...homicide is justifiable when committed by the husband upon one taken in the act of adultery with the wife, provided that the killing takes place before the parties to the act have separated.” While “honor killings” are formally illegal in much of the world today, the enthusiasm of local law enforcement when it comes to prosecuting such crimes in parts of the Greater Middle East can be… muted.
Terrible, right? But food for thought during the final act of The Piano.
__________
When Ada (Holly Hunter) and her young daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) arrive on the shores of New Zealand in the mid-19th century, they are met by local Maori tribesmen who carry them from their boat the same way they haul the duo’s luggage. Cargo to be ferried.
These quasi-stevedores are in the employ of Alistair (Sam Neill), a Scottish settler who is meeting his betrothed for the first time. He’s well aware of her selective muteness; during earlier correspondence, he wrote to her, “God loves dumb creatures, so why not I?” But he can’t quite grasp Ada’s attachment to her piano, which was shipped halfway around the world. In his eyes, it’s wildly impractical for her new home.
Given the arduous climb via narrow, muddy paths through the jungle to their village, Alistair views hauling the piano as a logistical impossibility. And so it’s left in its crate on the beach, over the silent protestations of Ada.
Enter George (Harvey Keitel), a world-weary European ex-sailor who is not only the village translator, but has even taken up the local Maori customs and inked his face with blue tribal tattoos. Ada convinces George to accompany her back to the beach, where he’s able to pry loose part of the crate so that she can play. He’s captivated, both by the music and the player.
Soon, the piano winds its way through the jungle and ends up in George’s hut, after Ada’s husband trades it away for local acreage. George enlists Ada to come serve as his instructor; she can earn the piano back at a rate of one key per visit. However, he has no interest in learning. He merely wishes to observe. And if he offers additional keys for more “services,” will Ada acquiesce?
All the while, Alistair looms as a ticking time bomb. He’s been unable to foster any sort of connection with his mail-order bride. Even though his preoccupation with business has left him inattentive to Ada’s daily activities, it’s inevitable that he will eventually get wise. What happens then?
__________
New Zealander Jane Campion became the second woman to receive an Oscar nomination for Best Director via her work on The Piano (1), and delivers a masterful vibe of claustrophobia here. Ada is trapped. Trapped in a marriage, trapped in a secluded village, trapped between her dealings with George and her love for her music, and above all, trapped inside her own head as a mute (2).
As an audience, we’re inclined to think of George’s “requests” as rather squicky. What sort of honorable person would make these entreaties? And yet, Ada does have agency. She negotiates. She could always decline, and one never had the impression that George would threaten her in response. Just when it appears that he’s crossed one too many lines, he relents, full of remorse, and gives the piano to Ada as both an apology… and a symbol of love. And so Ada still returns to his hut, seeking nothing in return except attention.
Alistair is completely in the dark throughout this unusual courtship, and when he discovers the truth, his fury is shocking. But why would we expect anything less, given the time period and his upbringing? He’s taken this woman and her child into his home, and she spurns his generosity (in his eyes) while seeking the arms of another. Cue the meltdown and violence. He’d be a monster in the year 2026, but should we consider him one here?
Alistair needed a farmer’s wife, and he received a woman of culture — as such, he’s entirely unequipped to bond with Ada. Here is also where Ada’s muteness becomes a pivotal barrier. She and Alistair are unable to have heart-to-heart talks about relationship expectations and her passion for music (3). While Flora is capable of relaying simple requests, Ada could never use a young girl to convey feelings about complicated adult matters.
Ada didn’t seem to have much of a say when it came to her marriage proposal and trip to New Zealand, and neither does she have any input when she’s unceremoniously shipped back home with George, either. But her love for George is her first real sign of personal agency beyond her music.
Furthermore, she realizes that she can also decide whether to live or die.
On the voyage back, Ada orders her piano to be tossed overboard, just after she surreptitiously ties her foot to it. WHOOSH. Straight to the bottom of the sea. But then she changes her mind, barely managing to free herself and rejoin the boat. Cue a “happily ever after” ending.
Campion (who also wrote the screenplay) has stated “For freaking hell's sake, she should have stayed under there. It would be more real, wouldn't it, it would be better? I didn't have the nerve at the time. What if Ada just went down, she went down with her piano – that's it."
I’m with Campion. Now that’s taking charge, albeit in a macabre way!
__________
(1) She later won the award in 2022 for The Power of The Dog, another tremendous movie. Incidentally, the 1990s were a pivotal decade for female filmmakers, with Kathryn Bigelow (Point Break, Strange Days), Amy Heckerling (Clueless), Nora Ephron (Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail), and Penny Marshall (Big from 1988, Awakenings) all coming to prominence.
(2) Even the close quarters of the tiny huts heighten the sensation. Contrast Ada’s life (complete with restrictive Victorian attire) with that of Flora, who is literally the voice of her mother, and runs free with the other native children, much to the consternation of her stepfather.
Why did Ada stop talking as a young child? It’s unclear. But because of Ada’s muteness, a lot is placed on Paquin, and she’s brilliant in her debut, for which she garnered an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress at age 11. Many kudos also to Campion’s screenplay, which accomplished the all-too-rare feat of writing children as children and not precocious mini-adults. (Other notable genuine depictions of kids: The Florida Project and What Maisie Knew.)
(3) Since you’re reading this on the website of a radio station, here’s a pertinent question: We all have people in our lives who don’t particularly value music. Is it possible for us to properly convey our passion for music to this audience?