JANUARY 16 • 2020 | 35

Arts&Life

movies

Violinist’s

Saga

Song of Names melds
Holocaust, mystery and music.

MICHAEL FOX SPECIAL TO THE JN
T

here’
s a profound question at the core
of The Song of Names. What is the
responsibility of a Holocaust survivor
— or any Jew, for that matter — to those who
died and to their memories?
That aching existential and practical
dilemma acquires a different meaning, and
arguably becomes more relevant, as the gen-
eration that endured the war, the camps and
the aftermath passes away.
Unfortunately, The Song of Names obscures
the powerful contemporary ramifications.
Opting for restrained storytelling instead
of piercing inquiry, and artful mise-en-
scène (visual and audio aspects) over raw
emotion, the film looks great and sounds
great, but misses the emotional bull’
s eye.
The English-language film, directed
by Canadian François Girard, will open
Friday at the Maple Theater in Bloomfield
Township.
The Song of Names is based on classical
music maven Norman Lebrecht’
s award-win-
ning 2003 book, a novel that reverberates
with the genocide of Poland’
s Jews. The saga
begins in London in 1951, when the violin
prodigy Dovidl Rapoport (Luke Doyle), a
young man at the time, fails to show up for
his major concert debut and, compounding
his offense, vanishes without a trace.
Dovidl’
s shocking behavior is a personal
betrayal, as well, for the concert was pro-
duced and financed by Gilbert Simmonds.
A dozen or so years earlier, Simmonds, an
English non-Jew, had generously and ten-
derly taken the musically brilliant Polish
Jewish boy into his home until the rest of the

Rapoports could leave Poland.
That day never came, and Dovidl grew
up alongside Gilbert’
s son, Martin. The duo
became close friends over the years.
Martin inherited his father’
s love of classi-
cal music — and then the mystery of Dovidl’
s
disappearance.
The film interweaves Martin’
s search for
Dovidl in the 1980s (after he encounters a
fresh lead at a showcase for young talent)
with their joint adolescence leading up to the
night of the concert that never took place.
Interestingly, The Song of Names initially
foregrounds the competitiveness required
(of parents as well as performers) to succeed,
rather than the art, grace and talent we asso-
ciate with the best classical musicians. Dovidl
possesses the pride, cockiness and ability to
thrive in that environment; Martin, on the
other hand, doesn’
t have that killer instinct,
and he must learn to accommodate the
young genius who is thrust into his life.
Martin in midlife (Tim Roth) is a com-
fortably married, slightly depressed figure
whose life consists of nurturing and serving
far more talented individuals than himself. A
starker portrait of his malaise, and a stronger
sense of still-lingering resentment, would
have given Martin more edge and greater
force.
When Martin finally tracks down Dovidl
— I’
m sorry if that’
s a spoiler, but when
co-star Clive Owen doesn’
t appear in the
first half of the film, it’s obvious whom
he is portraying — the former’s reaction
is unexpected. On one hand, that’s a good
thing, but we should feel something deeper

than mere shock — namely, the pain of
betrayal.
Girard, director of the music-infused art-
house dramas 32 Short Films About Glenn
Gould in 1993 and The Red Violin in 1998,
does his best work here with the scenes
depicting the young Dovidl’
s conflicted rela-
tionship with Judaism once he realizes he
must accept his parents and siblings’
deaths
at Treblinka.
Lebrecht’
s idea that an original piece of
music could recall and memorialize the
names of the dead when played — and
would honor their souls at any time and for
all time as a variation on the Kaddish — is
pretty brilliant. It also lends itself to expres-
sion on film, which is the marriage of sound
and image, and Howard Shore’
s score is
excellent.
For the viewer who didn’
t lose relatives in
the Holocaust, and perhaps hasn’
t wrestled
with the conundrum of an almighty God
who could allow the Holocaust to happen,
and for whom 6 million is an inconceiv-
able number, The Song of Names makes the
ephemeral tangible for a fleeting moment or
two.
That may be sufficient reward, even as
one rues that the movie is too mannered
and restrained. Too polite, in other words, to
yank us out of our complacency.
Rather than taking us on another sojourn
into the past, The Song of Names should have
provoked and challenged us to contemplate
how we remember those murdered in the
Holocaust. It is Dovidl’
s burden and our
responsibility.

From The Song of
Names, violin prodigy
Dovidl (Luke Doyle)

© SABRINA LANTOS. COURTESY SONY PICTURES CLASSICS.