100 Movies Every Catholic Should See #96: The Pianist (2002)

Directed by Roman Polanski. Starring Adrien Brody.

The tragic events of the Holocaust are no stranger to the big screen. Acts of heroism, self-sacrifice, and survival abound in this particularly dark chapter of human history. Such subject matter has lent itself to some incredibly poignant films, from Steven Spielberg’s lauded Schindler’s List to our recently featured Life is Beautiful. Pulling off an effective Holocaust film takes a certain level of restraint and delicacy, as it is easy to fall into the trap of leaning too heavily into melodrama and cinematic flourishes. These are true stories about real people. Many films try to fashion their characters into something larger than life for the sake of emotional resonance and narrative thrust, often getting caught up in the large-scale political events at hand. Roman Polanski’s 2002 biographical film The Pianist recounts the events of the Holocaust entirely through the perspective of one man, Polish pianist Władysław Szpilman, grounding the story in a deeply personal, lived-in experience while reflecting elements of Polanski’s own childhood in the Warsaw ghetto.

Many will be familiar with Roman Polanski through the controversy surrounding the particularly heinous acts he committed with a minor in the 1970s, along with the numerous other allegations of abuse associated with his name. A promising directorial career, including the universally acclaimed 1974 hit Chinatown, faltered as he faced criminal charges, ultimately rendering him a fugitive from the U.S. justice system. After several uneven decades of output, he decided to return to his roots and incorporate his own experiences of the Holocaust, including the loss of his mother in a concentration camp, into The Pianist—a film whose protagonist shares many common experiences with Polanski. As deeply flawed and in need of God’s mercy as Polanski was, he was able to channel the pain and tragedy of his Holocaust upbringing into a beautiful piece of art that ultimately speaks to the goodness of humanity and the transcendent power of art. One of the dichotomies of art involves the scenario of fallen, sinful men creating works that are truly beautiful and uplifting, a clear sign of the greater power of God’s grace at work. In his essay, The Responsibility of the Artist, Jacques Maritain speaks to this apparent contradiction between the state of the artist and the art itself, using Aquinas as his guide:

Art is concerned with the good of the work, not with the good of man...If a craftsman contrives a good piece of woodwork or jewelry, the fact of his being spiteful or debauched is immaterial, just as it is immaterial for a geometer to be a jealous or wicked man, if his demonstrations provide us with geometrical truth.¹

What, then, makes The Pianist such a powerful testament to the universal goodness of man and the transcendent power that beautiful art has in elevating man to something higher, even in the most appalling circumstances? It is through the simple lived experience of one man and his ability to never give into hatred nor despair, to see the good in others and find solace in the beauty and transcendence of his art amidst a world that has become ugly. Władysław Szpilman was a renowned Jewish pianist before the war, living with his parents and siblings and playing for Radio Warsaw. After the Nazis took control of the city, conditions rapidly deteriorated for the Jewish population, leading to their eventual placement in the infamous Warsaw ghetto. The film presents a realistic picture of the abuse Jews faced on a daily basis from their Nazi captors, maintaining a sober realism without relishing in the more graphic elements for mere shock value. The gravity of the situation is conveyed not through excessive on-screen violence but through the psychological toll it takes on Szpilman and his family. We see Szpilman’s mother sobbing over the abuse his father took to the streets, the anger of Szpilman’s brother at the injustice they are enduring, and the scarcity of food at their dinner table.

Great historical films convey the experience of events through the eyes of their characters. Using multiple storylines and too many wide-angle shots purely for cinematic embellishment often diminishes emotional resonance and a sense of realism. For the nearly three-hour runtime, Polanski almost exclusively stays with Szpilman, allowing events to unfold from his perspective and resisting the urge to jump to other parts of the city to show the war unfolding. The ill-fated Warsaw Uprising of 1944 is seen entirely through the window of the flat Szpilman was hiding in at the time. We hear explosions and shouts in the distance and see people running and shooting in the streets just as Szpilman does. We learn about the war’s progression through the snippets of conversation Szpilman has and the newspaper clippings he is able to read. In short, we experience the events as he does, allowing us to be fully immersed in his experience.

Further reinforcement of The Pianist’s sense of authenticity includes a subtle color palette and limited usage of non-diegetic scoring. Historical films often fall into the trap of utilizing an excessively muted color grade in order to overtly convey that the events onscreen are in a world not our own. Think of any recent Netflix film, and you’ll get the idea. It signals to the audience that they are watching a movie, which is a dramatized representation of some far off events. While The Pianist is certainly a dramatization, Polanski’s restrained approach allows the viewer to more fully immerse themselves in the events at hand. In the few moments when fellow Polish Holocaust survivor Wojciech Kilar’s score takes center stage, it echoes the mournful strains of a Jewish melody on clarinet, creating the impression that the music is being played on screen.

It is through music, however, that Szpilman is able to retain a sense of humanity amidst the barbarism and bloodshed that surrounds him. His God-given gift of musicianship is perhaps the key to his survival. As a concert pianist, he was able to transcend the boundaries of class and his diminished status as a Jew, developing friendships with more fortunate citizens of Warsaw and earning the admiration of his fellow Polish countrymen at large. In trying times, music often plays a vital role in preserving a sense of patriotic national identity and fostering a spirit of resistance when feats of arms are futile. One may recall the scene in Casablanca where La Marseillaise is proudly sung, drowning out the clamor of Nazi anthems in the bar. As we will see, it is through the kindness of others who have been touched by Szpilman’s playing that he is able to find a safe haven. His fellow countrymen generously donated food, allowing him to survive long months cooped up in hiding. However, it is in the most dire moments, near the end of the war, that music plays a vital role. In one heartbreaking scene, where a starving Szpilman is reduced to an almost rat-like quality—crawling through rubble and cavernous holes left by constant shelling and desperately scrounging for food—he hears the soft strains of a piano, coming from one of the less damaged houses. Immediately, his posture transforms from that of an animal crawling on all fours to that of a human, as he feels something awaken within him, beckoning him to remember his humanity and the art he once loved. This culminates in an encounter with a German officer who, upon learning of Szpilman’s former profession as a pianist, invites him to play for him. Music not only helped Szpilman regain his dignity but also allowed the German officer to look beyond the starving man and share in the beauty of something far greater than either of them. This officer was a man by the name of Wilm Hosenfeld, a devout Catholic who spent much of the war helping Jews. His story deserves wider recognition.

Rather than resorting to a sense of despair and nihilism, Polanski opts to tell a story that is hopeful and redemptive. In a film about the brutal atrocities of the Holocaust, one can’t help but notice the many acts of kindness that allowed Szpilman to survive. One such example involves an old musician friend, Dorota, and her husband, who risk everything to hide Szpilman in their apartment. They are not Jewish, and furthermore, she is pregnant. She tells Szpilman that her baby is due on Christmas, a subtle nod to the hope of the Nativity. These risky acts, along with many others, allow Szpilman to make it through some of the most harrowing days of the war. At its heart, The Pianist is not about the superhuman acts of one man escaping through his own power. Rather, it shows us that being receptive to the goodwill of others—even in the bleakest of days—is what will bring us through. This rings particularly true in the Christian life. God works in mysterious ways, often through simple acts of kindness, teaching us not to put stock in our own power but rather to have faith in Him.

Truly, if such a poignant, beautiful film can come to us through the hands of such a flawed soul, then all things are indeed possible with God. The Pianist is a powerful film for its subtlety and commitment to portraying the authentically lived human experience—an experience that is reliant not on its own power but on the kindness of others and the transcendent gift of music. This is one that the Catholic viewer will not want to miss.

1. https://www3.nd.edu/~maritain/jmc/etext/resart1.htm