Sunday, BBC2, 10:00pm
Few films capture the stark terror of history as viscerally as Schindler's List (1993), Steven Spielberg’s monumental Holocaust drama. Yet, amid its relentless depiction of horror, it is John Williams’ heartrending score that brings a mournful depth to the film, drawing the audience into the abyss of human suffering and resilience. Led by the virtuoso violin of Itzhak Perlman, the film’s main theme evokes a sense of lament that transcends mere sound—it is a weeping violin that seems to speak for millions silenced by atrocity. Williams, known for his bold and sweeping scores, here adopts a restrained minimalism, perfectly suited to the gravity of the subject. Every note is a tear, every silence a scream.
Spielberg’s adaptation of Thomas Keneally’s Schindler’s Ark may take some historical liberties, particularly in its portrayal of Oskar Schindler as a deeply repentant savior figure. The film subtly mythologizes his transformation from opportunist to humanitarian in ways that are perhaps more Hollywood than history. In reality, Schindler’s motivations were likely more complex, tinged with moral ambiguity and self-interest. Still, Spielberg crafts a narrative arc that satisfies cinema’s need for redemption, while deftly avoiding the pitfalls of sentimentality, thanks largely to Williams’ score, which anchors the film’s emotional core in authenticity.
Schindler’s List is a rare film where image and sound work in perfect harmony to reflect history’s raw wounds. It is not just a portrayal of the Holocaust; it is a testament to the capacity of music to voice the unspeakable. When Perlman’s violin cries, it doesn’t just underscore the tragedy—it immortalizes it, turning historical sorrow into a timeless elegy. This is cinema at its most profound, where the marriage of history, sound, and storytelling reveals the true weight of the past.
- Tom Hanson