![]() ![]() ![]() Having being married off by her father to a man she’s never met, she’s sceptical of their impending union, but stripped of the ability to talk, her sole vocalisation comes in playing her beloved piano, or being spoken for by her precocious young daughter (Anna Paquin). That is because of my piano,” she explains with an affectionate lilt. Her muteness is described as a “dark talent” by her father, but Ada sees herself differently. “Silence affects everyone in the end,” says Ada McGrath in the film’s opening monologue, reflecting on her upcoming marriage to Alisdair Stewart (Sam Neill) as she awaits his arrival. Some 25 years since its initial release, The Piano remains a remarkable and poignant meditation on female power disguised as a love story for the ages. As Ada McGrath falls for George Baines, I fell for Campion’s melancholy period drama – not so much for the romance between these two misfits, but for the film’s exquisite examination of womanhood and agency. On this first viewing of The Piano, the moment arrived as Harvey Keitel gently thumbed a hole in Holly Hunter’s tights. There’s a special sort of thrill that comes from being able to pinpoint the moment at which you fall in love with a film, particularly one that’s entrenched in the Film Canon. Jane Campion’s achingly beautiful Palme d’Or-winning masterpiece receives a rerelease to celebrate its 25th anniversary. ![]()
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