Night Waltz: The Music of Paul Bowles

A conversation at a bar tonight made me think of this film. It stemmed from the question of favorite books. One of mine has always been The Sheltering Sky, a book that, almost in a sad way, becomes more relevant with each passing day. I read it again recently and, more than ever, it seemed as if Bowles wrote it all in a burst, yesterday.

Anyway, I'd like to see this film again for a lot of reasons. When I first saw in 2000 I remember thinking how amazing it was that this man who wrote one of my favorite books had this entire other calling as a composer. I just remember really liking this film because it captured one of my favorite writers during his last days.

There's a part at the end when a young boy comes and sings to Bowles while he is resting. There's a comfort in that scene, a joy that seems to sum up all that is good about being alive. Bowles is frail and weak, but, as he closes his eyes and smiles it's clear that, right then, he's more alive than most of us ever allow ourselves to be.

This 77-minute-long film has selections of Paul Bowles' music interspersed with interviews done shortly before his death. A few pieces of the music were played with the black-and-white old footage of city scenes of New York, and some others were accompanied by speeded-up rolls from a stationary camera shooting the changes of light and shade in a stairwell and other indoor space. The best match to Bowles' modern instrumental music came from the latter category, where abstract visual patterns were created to pair with the music, often by taking long shots of events that took place in their natural environments, such as the rain streaking down a window pane.

The charm of the film comes through directly from the writer-composer himself. At the age of 88, his straightforward and sometimes playful answers at interviews revealed a defiant and young spirit inside a frail and weakened body. When the interviewer lit a cigarette and offered it to him, saying that it was kif, Bowles said, "There's no nicotine in it? Good, I can't touch nicotine."

When asked if he regretted not having written any major piece of music such as a symphony, Bowles expressed his full acceptance of what he was able to achieve with the means at his disposal. A memorable sentence appeared: "It involves evolving a style from your limitations."

Gems like this were thrown out by Bowles effortlessly, glistening through the short documentary. He related that he had never talked to or played with any child of his age until he went to school at seven. There was not a hint of complaint about these restrictions set by his parents; instead, he said that was how he came to "appreciate the solitude".

The movie ends with a sweet Moroccan tune, sung by a handsome young man sitting sideways right next to Paul Bowles, accompanied by the youth's right hand tapping a rhythm on his own lower chest. Listening to the song that was sung softly into his right ear, Bowles lowered his eyelids with soothed expression.

This last scene demonstrated the elegant touch with which this movie was made. No narration felt stiff or impersonal. No images overpowered the musical pieces. When Paul Bowles talked to the camera with no interviewer in view, he looked at ease and sounded relaxed. When questions were posed to him, he showed an alertness of mind that belied a physical condition that needed assistance for daily activities. We saw his wrinkles and his bodily fraility; we also saw his defiance and his serenity toward the end of his life.