Denis Dutton on David Helfgott
www.denisdutton.com
With the musical reputation          of David Helfgott now in tatters, the question persists how an incompetent,          mentally disordered pianist has found himself touring to sold-out halls,          promoted in the expensive souvenir program as �one of the world�s leading          pianists.�� Why don�t his champions snap out of the delusion that his          recitals are supreme musical events?� Is it despite or because of the          most scathing reviews dumped on any pianist in recent memory that Helfgott          continues to get rapturous, standing ovations?�
The Helfgott entourage, of          course, has been asking for it.�Their repeated descriptions of Helfgott          as a �genius,� as �the �90s version of Horowitz and Rubinstein,� in the words of an official of his recording company, have rubbed knowledgeable          piano aficionados the wrong way. The excusing of his loud grunts and mutterings          during performances by comparisons with the great Glenn Gould (who was          normally silent in recitals) are merely offensive, as are comparisons          with Horowitz�s neuroses or de Pachmann�s eccentric behavior: all of these          artists were men whose technical and artistic accomplishments are beyond          serious question.
The controversy in the United          States and Britain duplicates patterns established by Helfgott�s appearances          in New Zealand, where he began his 1997 world tour. Perhaps his handlers          were hoping for a gentle start, working up toward the concert halls and          critics north of the equator.�But even though people in this green and          pleasant land are polite to a fault, Helfgott�s five recitals generated          more acrimony and hurt feelings than any musical episode in years.
New Zealand critics and seasoned          listeners dismissed his performances as inaccurate, eccentric, self-indulgent,          and amateurish.�There were repeated references to circus and freak shows,          and assertions that without the movie no one would take Helfgott seriously          as a concert musician.�Given Helfgott�s overt displays of mental peculiarity,          his playing put one observer in mind of Dr. Johnson�s analogy of the dog          that walked on its hind legs: �it is not done well; but you are surprised          to find it done at all.�� Another had the uneasy feeling that he was not          so much listening to a piano recital as eavesdropping on someone�s therapy          session.
To judge by the indignation          and outrage these criticisms provoked, you�d have thought someone had          accused the Queen Mother of shoplifting or ridiculed the Special Olympics.          Among the dozens of concert goers complaining about frank newspaper reviews,          one woman wrote, �This wasn�t just a piano recital, it was a chance to          touch the world of an extraordinary human being, and everyone with a heart          will have been enriched by the experience.��Another stated that never          had she been �so moved and enjoyed a recital so much.��One person decried          the inaccuracy and prejudice a critic displayed: �the only thing the reviewer          got right,� he said �was to notice that Helfgott was not a very good pianist.��
Ah, yes.�That any purely musical          evaluation of Helfgott �missed the point� was an accusation repeatedly          heard.� An academic defender of a Helfgott performance wrote that the          concert �was part of a wonderful and deeply moving story of music and          the human spirit. The story was brilliantly portrayed in a film which          most of the audience had seen, but the story was also true, and now the          audience were part of it.��
It was evident that Helfgott�s          New Zealand audiences were made up largely of Shine fans who had          never before attended a classical piano recital.� They applauded between          movements of the Beethoven�s Waldstein, and even during the Chopin          F minor Ballade, in which they were abetted by Helfgott himself.�New          Zealand audiences consistently mistook the soft cascade of chords which          precedes the stormy finale of the Ballade for its end.�As cheers          and clapping began, Helfgott sprang to his feet and bow to what then became          general applause.�Bows completed, he shot back to the piano and played          the last bars of the Ballade, then stood for another, even more          excited round.� The same routine has continued elsewhere on his tour.
David Helfgott
When I saw him in New Zealand,          Helfgott played with suggestions of what once might have been a fluent          natural technique. Although he frequently dropped notes, he mercifully          hit very few �clangers.��His tone was pleasant, within a restricted dynamic          range that was never very loud nor soft (in light of which, Elizabeth          Silsbury�s report on his 1986 Adelaide recital is surprising). Absent,          however, was any sense of an organizing musical intelligence.� In the          slow Chopin �tude opus 10 no. 3, he would lavish close, obsessive          attention in some phrase or detail, only to seem vacantly distracted in          the next bar.� The return of the main theme at the end was played with          no apparent regard for its first statement; it was as though a new pianist          had shown up in the hall to complete the piece. If, as Goethe claimed,          architecture is frozen music, David Helfgott is the musician who finally          proves the converse: that music can also be melted architecture  a structureless rubble of notes.�
The Ballade rambled          senselessly, accompanied, as with everything else, by Helfgott�s continuous          chatter and atonal singing.� One especially intrusive squeal was followed          by a wink in the style of Victor Borge.� The audience�s laughter and approval          wasn�t so much a knowing response to a comedian, as the indulgence of          a child showing off.
The Waldstein was a          collection of fragments, alternating slow swoons over the keyboard with          frenetic passage work. The shallow fingering produced a smooth, blurred          legato which nearly masked the fact that whole handfuls of notes failed          to sound.� The dropped notes, however, were less of a defect than the          complete lack of dramatic tension.� It was Beethoven on Prozac, but to          the crowd it merited a standing ovation and demands for encores.������          �
There is no doubt that many Shine fans are enormously taken by the movie�s melodramatic tale          of abuse and breakdown, therapy and slow recovery, with final redemption          by the love of a good woman. The cult of burning genius is represented          most mawkishly in the scenes where John Gielgud exhorts his young student          to conquer the Rachmaninoff Third before it conquers him.� It�s the sheerest          Hollywood drivel: musical art as a torch of genius passed on from a great          teacher to his pupil.�
As for opinions that Helfgott�s          dubbed-in piano playing in the movie is �brilliant,� when I finally got          around to seeing the film, I averted my eyes from the screen to assess          its actually pianistic, as opposed to cinematic, qualities. Sure enough,          it was the very same choppy, technically marginal, formless playing I�d          heard from Helfgott in the concert hall, except that there were fewer          actual mistakes.� The only piano passage in the movie that struck me as          adequate (an unexpectedly smooth and coherent excerpt from Beethoven�s Appassionata which Helfgott performs once he�s on the comeback          trail) turned out, on close reading of the credits, to be the only significant          part dubbed by a pianist other than David Helfgott.
Anyway, what should I have          expected?�The movie did what movies do: it created a fantasy.� In truth,          it would require a literal miracle for any pianist to take a decade�s          holiday from serious practice, undergo electric shock treatment, and who          knows what medications, and come out the other end still a virtuoso. David          Helfgott was and still is mentally disturbed.� Whatever its etiology,          his disease is not something explained by life with an unpleasant father.�          This is a view shared by Helfgott�s sister, Margaret, who has objected          to the �derogatory and insulting� portrayal of their father in the film.�As          for their mother, who now lives in Israel, she said after the film was          released that Shine �haunts me day and night. . .I feel an evil          has been done.��
It is hard not to sympathize          with Mrs. Helfgott. On her and her daughter�s testimony, Peter Helfgott          never struck his son.�Indeed, according to a family acquaintance, the          refusal to allow the fourteen-year-old David to travel to New York to          study was not the act of oppression and abuse seen in Shine, but          instead the first time anyone had ever uttered a decisive �no� to a rather          spoiled teenager.�Although none of David�s letters were burned by Peter          Helfgott, they remain a source of contention: Gillian Helfgott�s lawyer          has written David�s sister demanding that she surrender them, claiming          that David has signed over to Gillian the copyright of the letters.�Given          all this, it should hardly come as a surprise to learn that David Helfgott�s          capacities as a pianist are as fancifully portrayed in the film as other          features of his life.
The result of Shine�s          complex crossing of musical art with dramatic fiction has been, since          the real David Helfgott began his 1997 tour, deep and bitter controversy.�Lovers          of the tradition of piano artistry from Rachmaninoff and Josef Hofmann          through to Gould and Martha Argerich are fundamentally right to find Helfgott�s          incoherent, grunting performances a travesty of piano art.�But how then          do we account for the feelings of his fans?�They leave his concerts inspired          by a deep sense of human communication. For many, quality of piano playing          is not the issue, rather the triumph of someone who has been hauled back          from the abyss.�Still, I don�t think celebrity and victimhood alone can          account for the intensity of their emotions.
Writing of Helfgott�s Boston          debut in the New York Times, Anthony Tommasini (6 March 1997) remarked          that �it is hard to imagine that listeners whose first experience of Beethoven�s          colossal Waldstein Sonata was Helfgott�s sketchy, monodynamic performance,          went away with any idea of this music�s boldness and feisty vitality.��          It may be hard to imagine, but not impossible.�Doubtless there were many          thousands of music listeners in the nineteenth century who only knew the Waldstein through amateur renditions even less adequate that Helfgott�s.�I�d          be reluctant to say that none of them knew about the boldness and vitality          of the music.
Even a flaccid, inaccurate          performance of the Waldstein is a presentation of one of the summits          of piano music. If a naive audience finds in the experience of the Waldstein that new musical vistas are being opened before it, perhaps it is right.          The same can be said for Chopin, even badly played.� If many of the people          in Helfgott�s audience are listening intently for the spark of genius,          who can blame them for being a little confused?�Their only mistake is          to imagine it�s the particular talent of David Helfgott that is achieving          some miracle of human expression and musical pleasure.� There are geniuses          at work in Helfgott�s recitals, but they are our old friends Chopin, Liszt,          and Beethoven  minds whose musical ideas will always outlive marketing          hype.
Helfgott�s CD of the Rachmaninoff          Third nicely bears out the point.�I�ve carefully studied this lamentable          performance, which I had to buy, since the Radio New Zealand�s classical          music network refuses to air it on the ground that the playing is below          their minimum broadcast standard.� Let me confess straightaway to a teenage          crush on the D Minor Concerto which I�ve never completely overcome, though          I have today a more realistic appreciation of the old girl than when I          was in high school.�She�s a bit of a tart, I admit: none of the class          of the Emperor or the depth of the Brahms B-flat, but I�m a sucker          for her still.�Through the years I�ve kept up with new versions, commercial          recordings by pianists famous and unknown, as well as live and pirated          recordings. These stretch from the first commercial 78-rpm set (Horowitz          with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Albert Coates, 1930) followed          by Rachmaninoff�s own stupendous 1939-40 performance, through an odd early          reading by, of all people, Walter Gieseking, as well as an unremarkable          late-�40s recording by Helfgott�s teacher, Cyril Smith, with the City          of Birmingham Orchestra conducted by George Weldon.�Later readings include          pianists of the stature of Gilels, Janis, Cliburn, Cherkassky, Ashkenazy,          Argerich, and� Kissin.�It must be close to a certainty that Helfgott�s          effort  which has sold more copies than any other version in history  would stand as the most awful commercial recording of the Rachmaninoff          Third ever released.
At the same time, it would          be wrong not to acknowledge that even in such a technically defective          and musically confused version as David Helfgott�s, my old flame reveals          her charms  and her dramatic powers overshadow his pianistic weaknesses.�          �Worst� is, after all, a comparative judgment; Helfgott does play most          of the notes at reasonable tempos (in fact, so many tempos that the conductor          is quite flummoxed).� If Helfgott�s were the only version of the Rachmaninoff          Third I knew, I�d not only tolerate the bad playing, I�m certain I�d treasure          it for the music alone.� Presumably, there are at this moment thousands          of neophyte music lovers, owners of Helfgott�s CD, who are in precisely          this position.�
I dearly hope that more than a few of these fans move on to better things,          that in years to come names like Andsnes, Schiff, Hamelin, and Pletnev          will be familiar to them.� Maybe by then, they�ll remember the Helfgott          episode as some of us look back on the Pastoral Symphony sequence          from Fantasia. It was kitsch, to be sure, but it could also be          a young person�s first glimpse of Mount Beethoven.
But perhaps the poor quality of David Helfgotts pianism misses the          point altogether. Stan Godlovitch wrote recently in this journal, The          Helfgott affair exemplifies a new form of massively extended aesthetic          object in which performance spills out over the confines of sculpted sound          and encompasses the totality of opportunity offered by taking as one aesthetic          unit a number of varied elements drawn from film, from sound recordings,          from live display, and also  let us never forget  from the          meta-aesthetic shadows following these displays in the form of promotion,          advertising, radio, television and radio interviews, and other thematically          related phenomena.
If so, then the total entity          that constitutes David Helfgott seen as a large-scale cinematic/musical/media          aesthetic event has been abruptly altered by the appearance of some new          information. A new player, so to speak, has crashed the scene.
Part of the meaning of the          larger Helfgott-event in Godlovitchs sense is that the film of David          Helfgotts life, Shine, was to be treated as a true-life story,          a docudrama. The films writer, Jan Sardi, says in his introduction          to the screenplay that it remains faithful to the essence of the          biographical facts, and Shine was heavily advertised as a true story and accepted as such by its audiences. However,          the whole issue of truth in relation to Shine needs a serious rethink.          About the time the Shine Tour began, I noticed at the Jerusalem          Post Internet site an an interview (February 23, 1997) with Helfgotts          older sister, Margaret. It was disturbing reading for anyone who accepted Shine as a true story. Now Margaret Helfgott has published Out          of Tune: David Helfgott and the Myth of Shine (Warner, $24.00), her          incensed account of the Helfgott familys life and her brothers          career. This book, co-written with journalist Tom Gross, reveals a campaign          of disinformation mounted by Shine and its publicists.
In order that the dramatic          salvation David Helfgott be effected in Shine  beginning          with the implausibly polite and attentive crowd in a wine bar and culminating          with the love of his new wife, the astrologer, Gillian  he had to          be portrayed as down-and-out and friendless. According to Margaret Helfgott,          this part of the film was pluperfectly false. David and his family exchanged          affectionate letters through the whole time of his stay in London, letters          which were rather treasured than burned by anyone. When it began to become          clear that David was losing his grip, his father urged him to return to          Australia. On his arrival home in August, 1970, he was welcomed by his          whole family. Although in and out of mental hospitals, he continued to          perform privately and in public.
He met and married his first          wife, Claire Papp, in 1971, not long after he was released from his stay          in hospital. He was at the time obsessed by this woman, a widow with four          children who was herself a survivor of the Dachau concentration camp.          His relationship with her so raised his spirits that he won the State          Final of the ABC Concerto and Vocal Competition playing Rachmaninoffs Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. She helped him to continue with          public performances, and like the rest of his family, including his father,          visited him regularly when his condition declined and he was committed          again to a mental hospital in 1974. Released in 1975, he was out of love,          and so moved in not with his wife and her children, but went back to his          father. It was his father who was caring for him at home when Peter Helfgott          died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1975. There never existed an estrangement          between them as portrayed in Shine. Peter Helfgott loved his son          and David grieved at his funeral. The tragedy for Peter Helfgott was not          that his talented son left home, but rather that David was slowly succumbing          to the same genetically caused mental derangement that afflicted both          Peters aunt in Poland and his own sister, Hannah, who died in 1989          in a Melbourne mental institution.
In a manner perfectly suited to the Im-fine-but-my-parents-ruined-me            zeitgeist of late-century America, Shines love-salvation            of David Helfgott casts the father as cruel ogre, and idealized second-wife            Gillian as the unique, first love of his life. The films director,            Scott Hicks, summed it up in the Los Angeles Times: David            Helfgott owes his very life to his wife and her dedication to his well-being            these past 13 years.... It is she who saved him and placed him            in the position, as Hicks put it, where he will never again find            himself abandoned on the floor of some halfway house.