Horowitz - Der letzte Romantiker

There could not have been a greater contrast between Arthur Rubinstein and Vladimir Horowitz in terms of personality and interpretation. Rubinstein was an extrovert and bon-vivant who had a love affair with the concert platform, witness his marathon series of ten recitals at Carnegie Hall in one season in his seventies whereas Horowitz was a neurotic recluse plagued with depression and uncertainty who gave up performing in public no less than five times in his career, the longest hiatus being twelve years. Many consider Rubinstein the finest all-round pianist of the two (when he practised) but Horowitz possessed probably the most phenomenal technique of his or any other age with a capacity for achieving thunderous sonority without ever banging which is unique is the annals of pianistic history and could also produce a glorious singing line. He made the last of his comebacks in 1985 having weened himself off the anti-depressants that were affecting his playing and chose to perform on camera in his East Side apartment. Rubinstein having passed away three years earlier it is only fitting that the film be called 'The Last Romantic'.

This is heaven on earth for his devotees as he seems to have found a new lease of life. Following his rendition of the notoriously challenging First Scherzo by Chopin, he beams and says 'Not bad for an old man', with which his wife, the indomitable Wanda, agrees. The relationship between Horowitz and the daughter of Toscanini was complex for although she was his harshest critic and thought by some, including Rubinstein, to have contributed to her husband's nervous breakdown in 1953, she never left his side and provided magnificent support. There is a revealing moment here where she listens to his rendition of a Schubert Impromtu whilst standing on the stairs so that she could concentrate on the music rather than be distracted by his personality.

A year later Horowitz at last returned to play in the Soviet Union and his last two recitals in Vienna and Hamburg are more about finesse than bravura. He recorded for Sony pieces he had never before put on disc and completed this four days before his death at home of a heart attack at the age of 85. His wife did not get rid of the chair from which he fell but made a point of sitting in it every day and shedding a tear.

When this film was shown at the BFI many years ago one could count those attending on the fingers of one hand so I am not in the least surprised, albeit saddened, that mine is the sole review.