Discussing 1971’s The Music Lovers with writer John Baxter, director Ken Russell suggested, among other things, that “music and facts don’t mix”. They don’t always line up here, but this film does stand up as a worthy successor to the BBC’s Delius: Song of Summer and Dance of the Seven Veils, the latter deemed so offensive by the Strauss estate that it remained unseen for 50 years.
There’s plenty to offend in Russell’s lurid, starrily cast Tchaikovsky biopic but its assertive audacity worked for me. Discovering the composer’s Piano Concerto No. 1 upon leaving the Merchant Navy in the early 1950s was a pivotal moment for Russell ("I not only discovered the magic of Tchaikovsky that memorable day but also began my voyage of discovery into the magical world of classical music in general”) and many of the film’s most memorable scenes are wordless, Russell and screenwriter Melvyn Bragg letting Tchaikovsky’s “utterly fantastic” music speak instead. Take the brilliantly choreographed Shrovetide fair sequence, Russell’s camera ducking and diving, introducing us to several key characters and hinting at the violence and cruelty beneath the glitter.
Casting Richard Chamberlain (pictured below), an actor best known for the long-running US medical drama Dr. Kildare, was a gamble, but he’s a convincing, impulsive Tchaikovsky.
Crucially, Chamberlain was also a talented pianist who looks as if he’s actually playing even when he’s being dubbed by Rafael Orozco. Witness Russell’s recreation of the B flat minor concerto’s first performance, the sweat dripping from Chamberlain’s brow. After which, Max Adrian’s Anton Rubenstein tears the work to shreds, suggesting to Tchaikovsky that he rewrite the concerto and do something about his iffy personal life if he wants to build a successful career.
Russell successfully pitched the film as telling the story “of a nymphomaniac who falls for a homosexual”, and two strong women come to dominate his life. Izabella Telezynska’s rich patron Madame von Meck is content to worship the composer from afar while the earthy, sensuous Nina Miliukova (superbly played by a young Glenda Jackson) pursues him as a potential husband. The pair’s first meeting is electrifying, despite the attempts of Tchaikovsky’s former suitor Count Chiluvsky (Christopher Gable) to warn him off.
That the couple’s honeymoon is a disaster is no surprise, and a claustrophobic scene on the St Petersburg to Moscow sleeper train is excruciating to watch. Nina’s patience can’t last; after a lot of smashed crockery and shouting, Tchaikovsky abandons his bride to live rent-free courtesy of his benefactor. The musical excerpts (courtesy of Andre Previn and the LSO) are deployed with such flair, notably when Madame von Meck first glimpses the 4th Symphony’s manuscript or during a fraught exchange between her and Chiluvsky.
Visual flourishes become more outlandish, culminating in an insane accompaniment to the 1812 Overture that includes Folies Bergère chorus girls, phallic cannons and a Benny Hill-style chase. Poor Nina’s sorry fate is depicted with graphic cruelty, and the buildup to Tchaikovsky’s death is almost played as parody. A large supporting cast includes a sterling turn from Kenneth Colley as the composer’s sardonic brother Modest and there’s a brief appearance from Withnail and I’s Bruce Robinson.
The BFI’s extras are excellent, especially an interview with Russell’s son Alexander Verney-Elliott recalling his turn as one of Meck’s children in a pivotal scene, and Matthew Melia’s booklet essay makes a convincing case for The Music Lovers’s status as an overlooked masterpiece.
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