Submitted by Claire

Soul Sisters

Anand Tucker's Hilary And Jackie is a thoughtful, moving portrait of cellist Jacqueline du Pré as an afflicted genius.

Review by Kim Morgan

The English cellist Jacqueline du Pré was one of the most glamorous figures in classical music. Lovely, blonde and extremely sexual in her playing style, the celebrated musician was an iconic woman of the 1960s who became major fodder for the media.

Du Pré performed worldwide, married the famous pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim and made millions swoon with her full-bodied bowing. She was an original and, like Canadian pianist and composer Glenn Gould, an oddball and soon-to-be recluse among the classical elite. But unlike Gould, du Pré did not choose to leave performing; she left because she had to.

At the height of her fame, and at the tender age of 28, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a debilitating disease that results in a partial or complete paralysis of the muscles accompanied by involuntary, jerking tremors of the body.

In 1987, du Pré died at the age of 42. Though her musical life is certainly fascinating enough for a feature film, Hilary and Jackie, concerns not only her genius but her personal life, as well -- in particular her relationship with her sister, Hilary.

Directed by Anand Tucker and adapted from Hilary du Pré's wonderful book, A Genius in the Family, Hilary and Jackie is a powerful film that goes beyond the usual paint-by-numbers "disease of the week" approach in chronicling the life of an afflicted artist. Like Robert Altman's Vincent and Theo (about the brothers Van Gogh), Tucker's picture explores the rivalry and love between two siblings and connects it to the wonderment of genius and the debilitation of madness.

The film begins with the sisters as children. Hilary (Rachel Griffiths), a few years older than her sister, is a flautist and is considered the more talented of the two. Jackie (Emily Watson), the more mischievous sister, is always in the shadow of Hilary. But in a Baby Jane-like twist, it is Jackie who will become the more famous. Through hard work and studious practice, Jackie rises to her sister's level and is soon joining her in special appearances with orchestras and competitions.

As Jackie's fame rises, Hilary's resentment grows, and soon after her teen years, she gives up the flute entirely, settling down to a married life with Kiffer Finzi (David Morrissey). As the movie reveals, the sisters always remain soul mates, even when dealing with rough patches and compromising moments along the way.

Before learning that she has MS, Jackie spirals into a mania and depression that leaves her dependent on Hilary for stability. Living with Hilary and Kiffer, Jackie is an extremely troubled young woman who, ironically, envies the normalcy of Hilary's life. Concerned with her sister's happiness, Hilary tries everything to ease Jackie's troubles. In an act of immensely charitable sisterhood, Hilary even allows Jackie to carry on a sexual relationship with Kiffer, whom Jackie always loved.

This sounds like fodder for a contrived, hysterical sob fest, but director Anand Tucker maintains a complex, entertaining and dignified story throughout the picture. A first-time feature for Tucker, whose previous work has been in documentaries, Hilary and Jackie gives the director the chance to use some interesting techniques. Going beyond the one-note narrative structure of most bio-pics (childhood, adulthood, death), Tucker employs a two-persona point of view and divides the film into three acts. Childhood is told straight and without a narrative; adulthood and death are told first from Hilary's perspective, then retold from Jackie's.

Tucker's two-toned Rashomon method makes for a richer portrait and occasionally an almost dream-like reminiscence. It shows that memory is all about perspective. When Jackie sends her dirty clothes home for her mother to wash, it seems selfish from Hilary's viewpoint. But when the incident is reviewed through Jackie's eyes, we learn that the world-weary girl was lonely and just wanted to smell home. In a remarkably sweet moment, Jackie buries her face in the clothes, inhaling the fragrant fix for her homesickness.

The two actresses give remarkable performances and, matching the film's rhythm and mood, are both distinctly under- and over-stated. As Hilary, Griffiths is stolid but not prudish, warm-hearted but not immune to jealousy. As Jackie, Watson is superb. Much like Daniel Day Lewis in My Left Foot, she lives and breathes her character, never once slipping into the easy trap of over-acting the invalid. She is flirtatious, anarchic, fussy, dramatic and absolutely luminous. She also adopts du Pré's movements, playing and sensual style, which makes the re-creation of Jackie's signature piece -- Edward Elgar's elegiac Cello Concerto in E Minor -- all the more moving.

A surprisingly good picture that is worthwhile for Watson's performance alone, Hilary and Jackie is a lovely, lyrical portrait that cleverly tells two sides to the story.

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