Mystery, Melancholy - The Magnetism of "The Red Violin"

Francois Girard's The Red Violin (1998) is a film for all seasons, but I find myself especially drawn to its mystery and melancholy in fall and winter. The multilingual story opens in 17th century Italy, when master violin-maker Nicolo Bussotti (Carlo Cecchi) is at the zenith of his career and anticipating the day his young wife will deliver their first child. The young woman has strange premonitions about her pregnancy, however, and she seeks out a fortune-teller, embarking us on a journey with the red violin into future "worlds," from 18th century Austria, to Oxford in the 1800s, the Cultural Revolution in China, and finally, 20th century Montreal, Canada.

The poetic journey is both tragic and triumphant - a real gold-mine for music and cinema lovers on a quest for art that can meet the high aesthetic expectations of our intellect, and yet touch the deepest corners of the soul and emotions. Perhaps because winter is often the best time for introspection, the thoughtful, sometimes melancholy pace of The Red Violin draws me in moreso at this time of year. The twists are sometimes jolting, sometimes predictable. But during each viewing, I am always impressed with how well the story, cinematography, directing, acting, and overall feel of this film flow together, despite how very different each culture and story is from the next. The violin, ultimately, ties up all of the loose ends, its music transcending the ages and uniting each person with its magnetic force . . . who ends up with it finally is for you to find out . . .