Moderato Cantabile

When we watch a movie or read a book we have certain expectations of form. Introduction of characters, plot progression and resolution are some of the conventions that allow us a privileged perspective on the story. Moderato Cantabile and ÒHiroshima mon amourÓ are filled with symbols rather than formal conventions, making it hard for the reader or viewer to achieve this vantage point. The absence of conventional handles in both of the works forces the viewer or reader to find new ways of connecting to the stories. Poetry, I believe, is this new interface. It is the poetic quality of the two works which enhances the experience of the reader or viewer while diminishing our conscious comprehension of the work.
Before we can call either work poetic we must first know what qualifies as poetry. Here are a few attempts at a general definition of a poem (from the American Heritage Dictionary): 1 ÒA composition designed to convey a vivid and imaginative sense of experience, characterized by the use of condensed language chosen for its sound and suggestive power as well as its meaning, and by the use of such literary techniques as structured meter, natural cadences, rhyme, or metaphor;Ó or 2, Òa composition in verse rather than in prose,Ó or 3, Òa literary composition written with an intensity or beauty of language;Ó or 4, Òa creation, object, or experience thought to embody the lyrical beauty or structural perfection characteristic of poetry.Ó
Even though Moderato Cantabile is written in standard prose it contains many elements of poetry. The novella breaks the conventions of the novel by omitting a standard conflict-resolution structure; there is a murder but we never find out the details of who was murdered and why. Instead we are given a series of recurring figures in both dialogue and scenario that suggest poetic metaphor. For instance, certain sounds such as the radio and the siren take on greater meaning because of their recursivity in the text.
The siren and the radio babble are figures for the passage of time and life in the story. We first hear both the siren and the radio one after the other. In chapter two during AnneÕs first visit to the bar, they are described thusly: Òa siren wailed, announcing the end of work for the Saturday shift. Immediately afterwards the radio started to blare unbearably.Ó This juxtaposition sets up the pattern that will continue for the rest of the story: Anne will visit the bar in the evenings, the siren will go off and the radio will continuously babble away the time. Anne and Chauvin donÕt take notice of the siren or the radio but the patronne and other customers do. For them time is flowing by as is life. They are described as unhappy and trying to kill time, waiting for death with the background noise called the radio -or time- sometimes shouting and other times whispering its passage.
The title of the novel, Moderato Cantabile, itself suggests a metaphoric sound for a gently flowing life. Anne shows her distaste for this Òmoderately melodiousÓ lifestyle in her condoning of her sonÕs rebellious attitude towards his piano lessons. After hearing her son play the Diabelli sonatina in the manner that the teacher had asked, moderato cantabile, Anne protests, ÒIt upsets me when he does as heÕs told like that.Ó It is the interruptions of this cadence, in the form of the murder and AnneÕs involvement with Chauvin, that interest Anne and the author.
The most poetic moments of the film occur in the beginning during the off-screen voice-over dialogue between the woman and man and in the flashback sequences of the woman's adolescent romance with the German soldier. In both cases the sound is different from the rest of the film.
The first poem of the film is constituted from the first few shots showing the couple in bed up until we see them laughing together. For the duration of the shots the soundtrack is very simple, containing only the lovers' voices and gentle background music. The lines spoken by the man and woman have an enchanting verse-like quality to them. They are repetitive and rhythmic: Òyou saw nothing in Hiroshima, nothingÓ, ÒI saw it all. Everything...Ó Alternating between the manÕs voice and the womanÕs voice, their effect is akin to that of verse which has specific rhyming patterns, i.e.., ABABA. Together, they write a poem with their voices.
The juxtapositions of gruesome images of bomb victims with the calm voices and the mild music are quite disturbing to the viewer. One stunning example occurs in the film footage of bomb victims. We see an eyeball-less eye socket being spread open with tweezers as the French woman observes how forgetting the war is similar to forgetting love. Instead of presenting us with a concrete, unified image: war = horrors, that can be accepted at face value, we are presented with an apparent oxymoron: war = love! In the former equation we are likely to accept its truth and dismiss it, whereas with the latter we need more proof before we can allow it any truth. It forces the viewer to ask him or herself why and how is the love between the man and woman related to the bombing of Hiroshima?
The end of this first part of the film concludes with the recitation of an actual poem. The French woman speaks uninterrupted to someone, perhaps the Japanese man, in a loving voice. We see a beautiful tracking shot through the streets of Hiroshima, down long covered galleries as her words mount joyously, almost ecstatically. This sexually evocative poem contains many contradictory constructions: ÒYou kill me. You are good for me... Devour me. Deform me to the point of ugliness. etc.Ó The result is a thought-provoking if not disturbing character revelation.
At the end of these poetic sequences, the film's soundtrack and dialogue return to the banalities of everyday life. The couple is shown laughing together in bed. The sounds of the outside world are heard: cars on the street, etc. The sudden break from the rhythm and beauty of the first part forces the viewer to notice this change from the extraordinary back to the conventional. Almost immediately after this return to the norm we are reminded that the woman is leaving the next day. The viewer is made aware of the film's own mortality.
A metaphor that we have seen in Moderato Cantabile, the sounds of life as the harbingers of death, is evoked in the film as well. At the end of the flashback sequence in the tea room, sounds represent the passage of time. During the flashback there is no sound; time is frozen. As soon as the man slaps her back into the present, the sounds of the city and the music from the jukebox return to remind us that time is slipping by.
The use of poetic form in the film and in the novel heightens the viewerÕs and the readerÕs sensitivity to delicate and difficult issues while not forcing them upon us: equating war and suffering to love; associating the passage of time and the onslaught of death with banal sights and sounds. Poetry can arouse vivid emotions with greater facility than prose in part because of its indirect approach. We must do the analyzing and introspection ourselves. It is through this power that the text and film demand and sustain a high-level of emotional involvement from both reader and viewer.