God bless the French. This film, a very quiet, poised and specific tale of musical apprenticeship, was a massive hit in France. The obscure “early music” soundtrack was #1 on the French charts, topping out the then still-relevant Michael Jackson.
The story is simple; an emotionally wounded “viol” player with monklike devotion appears to live just for his art. Really it is because it is through music that he communes with his dead wife. What’s so wonderful is that Tous les Matins du Monde only hints at the Ghost Whisperer-type crap that you could see the American remake becoming. Furthermore, when the young stud student comes you think you see the fleshy, soap opera love triangle coming down broadway. And while there is romance, it doesn’t quite go where you expect.
The bulk of the shots in this film look like oil paintings of the period. The music is terrific. It is a remarkable piece of work. I like it more reflecting on it a day later, too.
