A Song to Remember

It must have taken courage to cast Cornel Wilde as the frail composer and Merle Oberon as George Sand, but in the Hollywood of 1940s all of the studios were busy churning out inaccurate biographies of musical greats. (Biggest miscasting was Cary Grant as Cole Porter in "Night and Day").

So, it was no surprise when Columbia cast Cornel Wilde, handsome, debonair and athletic, as the composer and proceeded to create a script that had little to do with Chopin's actual life. But they can be forgiven. Film buffs who love serious music will have no qualms with the superb piano work by Jose Iturbi. Wilde does an excellent job of fingering as though he is doing the actual playing--perhaps the reason he won an Oscar nomination.

Handsomely photographed in fine technicolor, it's certainly pleasing to look at and easy to listen to. The only major flaw is Paul Muni, whose acting style here is so grotesquely hammy it belongs to the silent period of film acting. He's given too much footage.

Movie buffs will certainly enjoy this one for the pleasure of seeing Cornel Wilde in his star-making role and Merle Oberon at the peak of her beauty. If it's accuracy you insist on, stay away. It takes all the artistic liberties imaginable--and then some!

Although this film, as many a musical bio before and after it, twists and breaks historical fact –-e.g. Professor Elsner (Paul Muni) portrayed as a father-figure in Chopin's life never went to Paris with his pupil nor was he rejected as the film implies— the story does manage to capture the spirit of the age. Cornel Wilde with his boyish good lucks is well cast as the tormented young Polish composer who died at thirty-nine, and there are two exceptionally strong performances: Merle Oberon has a wonderful moment or two with Muni as she displays a thoroughly convincing steely edge as Chopin's lover and surrogate mother; and the old maestro himself, Muni, is simply superb in the old-fashioned scenery-chewing manner of a great film star who knows exactly how to steal every scene he is in, and does. The film was directed by long-time Columbia Pictures staffer, the Hungarian-born Charles Vidor ("Gilda") who managed to surround himself with a number of other expatriates from the homeland --story by Ernst Marischka; Cornel Wilde as Chopin and Stephen Bekassy as Lizst; and lush musical arrangements by Miklos Rozsa and Eugene Zador. Vidor's professionalism here is greatly aided by the unusually tasteful, rarely garish Technicolor cinematography by Italian-born Tony Gaudio, famous for his gritty black-and-white photography at Warner Bros. Here Gaudio has a chance to show what wonders he could do with the more elegant settings the usually tight-fisted Harry Cohn constructed on the Gower Street lot.

Although a biography about any composer is a rare gift, even if it's largely fictionalized, this film suffers from some of the most exaggerated over-acting caught on film by an actor.. and that is Paul Muni as Prof. Joseph Elsner. His character is almost embarrassing. It seems as though he was directed to play it to be "comic relief" to Cornel Wilde's "Chopin", which is beautifully performed ... but he comes off more as a buffoon and a caricature than a believable person.

The film is saved by Wilde, Nina Foch, Merle Oberon, and a fantastic performance by Stephen Bekassy as Franz Lizst. The piano playing by Jose Iturbi is superb, as expected. The stunning costumes and magnificent set designs, not to mention the cinematography executed in glorious Technicolor make it fun to watch, but what had the potential to be a masterpiece is cut short by the direction and Muni's performance, which seems to be more suited to the Vaudeville stage than to the big screen.

"A Song to Remember" is one of many bios and biopics based on the lives and careers of great composers. It is a superficial and inaccurate account of Frederic Chopin, executed with rich production values, colorful performances, and fine piano renderings on the soundtrack.

What makes filmmakers constantly churn out these gross fabrications on composers? Probably because with all the emotional and dramatic power of their music, these creative artists surely must have lived very exciting lives.

In truth, the dramatic power and emotional expressiveness undoubtedly took place in their studios, where all the action and revelation raged within their heads, through their fingers, and onto score paper.

Theirs was a world of technical concentration, dedication and execution. It was about problems of form, balance, themes, voicings, instrumentation and the like -- in other words, matters concerning the elements of music.

Not much there in the way of dramatic subject material. Yet screenplay writers, producers and directors go on concocting characters that never existed, situations that never took place, and scenes that impose 'modern' views upon 'classic' events.

Thus we have Lizst ("Song Without End") Mozart ("Amadeus") Beethoven ("Immortal Beloved") Schumann and Brahms ("Song of Love") Kern ("Til the Clouds Roll By") Rodgers and Hart ("Words and Music") and countless others being given The Treatment. Is it truly a song without end?

In "A Song to Remember" we are required to suspend our historical knowledge and go with the flow of romantic melodrama, as the life and career of the Chopin is brazenly exploited for dramatic purposes. Thus we can thrill to the the pianism of Jose Iturbi, revel in the beauty and grace of Merle Oberon, enjoy the young and debonair Cornell Wilde, and devour the rococo posturings of Paul Muni. Were only life really as dramatically pat as this.

Legally filmmakers have no worries over such exploitation. The subjects and families are all conveniently deceased, and it's fair game without risk of lawsuits or infringment cases. Further, the music is, for the most part, in public domain, cancelling out copyright costs.

Therefore we simply place a mental inscription over the portal to these fanciful journeys: "Abandon Your Senses, All Ye Who Enter Here."

A Song to Remember looks bad now not because it is 54 years old but because it is bad and, notwithstanding its blockbuster reputation, it was bad in 1945. The story is a falsification of Fredric Chopin's life. The miscasting of muscular Cornel Wilde as the consumptive composer is a travesty. And the over-acting of Paul Muni, uncontrolled by the director, is an insult to the intelligence and good taste of the spectator; besides, too much footage is dedicated to him. The magic is, of course, the music, the way Jose Iturbi plays it, and the magnificent color and art direction. But the writing, the direction and the acting are all abominable.