I’ve just been to see Hilary and Jackie. Now comes the tricky part: what can I possibly write about it which hasn’t already been written? Ah, I know, the film. Recent media coverage has told us everything we might have wanted to know (and, according to cellist Julian Lloyd-Webber, a great deal that we shouldn’t want to know) about Jacqueline du Pré (Emily Watson) and her life, largely seen through the eyes of her (somewhat!) biased sister, Hilary (Rachel Griffiths). This, of course, can cloud one’s own view when seeing the film, so the best thing to do, to enjoy a wonderful 120 minutes or so at the cinema, is to cast aside all the biographical wrangling (forgetting that the film’s sub-title is ‘A True Story’) and just, well, enjoy a wonderful 120 minutes at the cinema!
Hilary and Jackie is a film about relationships (I had planned to make wise-cracks about America’s present and past First Ladies, but none of that seems appropriate now; this is serious stuff): Hilary’s relationship with her sister; Hilary’s relationship with her husband; Jackie’s relationship with Hilary’s husband (“You don’t mind, do you Hils?” “Of course not.” Hmm…); but, most importantly, Jackie’s relationship with her cello. It is a powerful love-hate relationship which continues to draw our attention long after interest in the ménage à trois has waned; it is the fundamental thread running through the emotional fabric of the film and, no matter what critics of Hilary and Jackie say, we won’t forget that Jacqueline du Pré was a cellist (I’m not qualified to add superlatives, though she sounded fantastic to me!). Even a biased account cannot hide that fact. The cello is as much a part of Jackie as any of her limbs might be and she carries this weight around as if it were a small child – she also locks it out of doors in the snow when it makes too much noise and treats it like a spurned lover, running off and leaving it in the taxi. Jackie is told that she’d “be nothing without that cello to prop you up”; seemingly, she wants to fall down (and anybody who has seen Breaking The Waves knows just how well Watson can fall). Despite their ups and downs, there is, nevertheless, a touching sense of forgiveness and understanding: “I’m sorry I treated you so badly, I should’ve known you’d never let me down” – yes, this is cello-talk!
One of the film’s great strengths is its ability to leave lasting impressions; thus the beach scene with which Hilary and Jackie begins is inserted at different points throughout the film and gives an echo-like quality to the action, bringing us back to the whisper, “It’s all right…everything’s going to be all right”.
As the film progresses, Jackie’s “over-emphatic bodily movements” prove just as “unnerving” as they did to the music judges in childhood; later, the connections are, of course, sexual and, more disturbingly, related to her struggle with MS. Such things are there to haunt us, as is the recollection of what Jackie is told when receiving a prized cello: “It will give you the world, Jackie, but you must give it yourself”. Hilary and Jackie will give you a lot, but you must buy a ticket (and you’ll feel proud to support an Oxford Film Company production too)!
Hilary and Jackie is a film about relationships (I had planned to make wise-cracks about America’s present and past First Ladies, but none of that seems appropriate now; this is serious stuff): Hilary’s relationship with her sister; Hilary’s relationship with her husband; Jackie’s relationship with Hilary’s husband (“You don’t mind, do you Hils?” “Of course not.” Hmm…); but, most importantly, Jackie’s relationship with her cello. It is a powerful love-hate relationship which continues to draw our attention long after interest in the ménage à trois has waned; it is the fundamental thread running through the emotional fabric of the film and, no matter what critics of Hilary and Jackie say, we won’t forget that Jacqueline du Pré was a cellist (I’m not qualified to add superlatives, though she sounded fantastic to me!). Even a biased account cannot hide that fact. The cello is as much a part of Jackie as any of her limbs might be and she carries this weight around as if it were a small child – she also locks it out of doors in the snow when it makes too much noise and treats it like a spurned lover, running off and leaving it in the taxi. Jackie is told that she’d “be nothing without that cello to prop you up”; seemingly, she wants to fall down (and anybody who has seen Breaking The Waves knows just how well Watson can fall). Despite their ups and downs, there is, nevertheless, a touching sense of forgiveness and understanding: “I’m sorry I treated you so badly, I should’ve known you’d never let me down” – yes, this is cello-talk!
One of the film’s great strengths is its ability to leave lasting impressions; thus the beach scene with which Hilary and Jackie begins is inserted at different points throughout the film and gives an echo-like quality to the action, bringing us back to the whisper, “It’s all right…everything’s going to be all right”.
As the film progresses, Jackie’s “over-emphatic bodily movements” prove just as “unnerving” as they did to the music judges in childhood; later, the connections are, of course, sexual and, more disturbingly, related to her struggle with MS. Such things are there to haunt us, as is the recollection of what Jackie is told when receiving a prized cello: “It will give you the world, Jackie, but you must give it yourself”. Hilary and Jackie will give you a lot, but you must buy a ticket (and you’ll feel proud to support an Oxford Film Company production too)!