And the award for best picture goes to...

Rating: 8/10 (13 October 2003)

... Chicago. Oh dear. What a travesty. 2003 continued the trend for the politics to rule the Academy Awards, giving the most prestigious gong to the boring Chicago over this, possibly Polanski's last great masterpiece. Not that he won't make more films, but that this is his finest since Chinatown, a genuine return to form. And with the current stigma against him in the US, he had to seek out funding from four (count them) countries to ensure this worthy, important film got made.
It is the kind of story which has it all - heartbreak, loss, love, death, prejudice, malice, violence, hope, despair, humour and triumph. And that is because it is the story of a man, a real man. An acclaimed, well-known Polish pianist, Wladyslaw Szpilman is our guide to the ghettoisation and subsequent extermination of the Warsaw Jews in World War II, evading capture because of his connections, but watching his family go to die. He survives by joining the Jewish uprising, then hiding in apartments and then ruins in war-torn Warsaw, fleeing from conflict, an outsider watching the dehumanisation of his kin from the inside.
Comparisons between this and the earlier Schindler's List are obvious, particularly in the early evacuation scenes, but rather than one being better than the other, they are merely companion pieces, each approaching different aspects of similar material, shot through with restraint, respect and brilliance. However, while the facts of Schindler's life are open to question, this feels much more real. Szpilman's position is purposefully ambiguous - while he is a man stuck in a desperate situation, seemingly doomed if he does not act, he does not have the bravery others have to stand up and fight. Indeed, at times it seems he dismisses the brutality of others to pursue his own ends - such as when his brother is arrested - but this is merely because there is the sense that everyone is doomed, and if you stop to help someone less fortunate, you may forfeit your own life. His bravery comes instead from his sheer refusal to give up and become a number, another Jewish corpse. By the closing act of the film, you come to realise that he was a man who had respect and a career, even prominence, stripped of everything - his dignity, his clothes, his home, his family, even food - but finding a way to survive, until it blows over and he can once again play the piano. By the end, it seems that this is the only place where he succeeds as a person - he did not relate well to members of his family, he has no lover, he passes from person to person, in passing friendships. But when he plays the piano, people listen and he can express all those things that he otherwise could not in life.
This is by far the most handsome film Polanski has made, every shot filled with detail and beauty in one form or another. Sticking to his ideal of only putting the camera where best to view any given scene from, there is no visual baggage or fancy editing at work, simply old-fashioned, straightforward, immersive storytelling. By shooting from a detached point of view - many scenes looking down on action in the streets below, or through cracks in blasted windows and roofs - you not only get a sense of being a spectator to the events, but feel Szpilman's interaction or lack of in those events. This, along with the editing, gives the film a good sense of pace. The first hour goes by quite quickly, filled with anecdotal and historical information, as events in Warsaw go from bad to worse in a matter of days. Then as Szpilman becomes more alone, time begins to drag on, filling the emptiness of loneliness with readiness to move and hide if trouble comes calling. And then finally, the end is insight - the Russians are coming to free Warsaw from the Nazis - and you know it is just a matter of time until that release comes and normality returns. This is truly the work of an auteur, and it is testament to all involved that a film running at two and a half hours feels as though it could have been longer and you would not have minded.
All the actors acquit themselves well, but this is Adrien Brody's film. Delivering on the promise he showed in smaller roles in The Thin Red Line and then Summer of Sam, Brody does a wonderful job with Szpilman, conveying a range of emotions simply with his eyes. Special mention should also go to Emilia Fox stepping up from British TV and making a good job of it and Thomas Kretschmann, who, after all the horror of the film, makes a genuinely touching and human Nazi. His scenes with Brody are among the most affecting, though they share very sparse dialogue, conveying everything through silent actions. Top prize has to go to Kretschmann's face as Szpilman plays the Piano for the first time in nearly four years, followed by Brody's weeping relief, not only at having his life spared but at being able to play, for what he must have thought was for the last time in his life.
That Brody and Polanski won major awards for their work on this is highly deserved. That the rest of the crew were overlooked is shameful, particularly looking at the films that took their place. However, that is a minor note (no pun intended) and this is a major film (I'll stop now), well deserving of attention. It is thoroughly satisfying and thoroughly cinematic.