A single individual creating art is a beautiful process, but there is something even more remarkable about a group of creative collaborators coming together to share their gifts and produce something extraordinary. Music in particular has been an art form that has allowed for some of the most fruitful collaborations between artists, going back to the very inception of our understanding of the rhythms and melodies that captivated our souls from the start. Anyone who has never experienced the feeling of sitting in a concert hall and listening to an orchestra, whereby two or three dozen musicians, each one armed with a different instrument, gather on stage and play their part in a grander work – and like with any collaboration, the group can only be as strong as its weakest link. This is the premise that kickstarts A Late Quartet, a quiet and meditative drama written and directed by Yaron Zilberman, who tells the story of a classical music quartet that is about to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary as a collective, only to be met with the shocking news that their de facto leader has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and while he is still capable of performing for a short while, he insists that their upcoming season will be his last with the quartet, an announcement that throws the group into disarray, since they are suddenly forced to not only confront this enormous change but also now have the opportunity to work through their personal and professional quandaries that have been concealed under the guise of putting the music ahead of all their crises. A heartfelt and deeply sorrowful drama that captures a deep sense of lingering melancholy that can only be expressed through the wordless compositions we hear throughout the film, A Late Quartet is a poignant examination of the human condition, particularly how we react to major changes, both for better or worse.

A Late Quartet makes it clear quite early on that it is structured like a classical composition, specifically Mozart’s Opus 131, which all of the characters at some point or another acknowledge was written as a single cohesive work that needs to be played all at once, in harmony to evoke some deeper meaning that simmered within the composer’s mind as he was writing it. The process of creation and collaboration are vital themes embedded at the heart of the film, and while none of the characters are composers themselves (at least not in the capacity that we get to know them through these brief fragments of their daily lives), so they are not creating anything new, but rather taking the work of others and finding their interpretation, asserting meaning onto something written centuries ago, but yet still resonates with them. Art is catharsis, and we find that the characters in this film are constantly in a state of questioning their humanity through the work they are doing. Their quandary is simple: do they perform to live, or live to perform? Music allows these people the space to filter through their emotional and psychological crises, facing challenges in a roundabout way by using their craft as a distraction – but once that is no longer a viable option, they can no longer avoid verbalising what has simmered within them for years. The film investigates not only the challenges that come when an artistic collective has to confront the possibility that their collaborations may not be fruitful going forward, but it also looks at what happens when one’s method of distracting oneself from everyday life begins to erode, leading to the realization that you have to face these problems directly – whether domestic strife, psychological issues or the mere feeling of inadequacy and mediocrity that many artistically-inclined individuals seem to experience quite often. It’s a complex film with strong ideas, and the simplicity of the story allows these ideas to gradually become more integral to the overall identity of the film.

A film like A  Late Quartet is always going to be supremely reliant on the actors to bring the story to life – without strong performances, this film would falter almost immediately, and we soon discover that many vitally important elements could only be realized by a strong interpretation on the part of the actor. To his credit, the director assembles quite an impressive cast to play the titular quartet – Philip Seymour Hoffman plays the congenial Robert, who claims to be content with his position as second violin, but secretly wishes that he could be given the chance at the coveted first violin, believing that he has more than earned the ability to lead the orchestra, which leads to a lot of contention with Daniel, played by Mark Ivanir, who takes a relatively unlikable character and infuses him with a sense of complexity. Catherine Keener is the incredibly conflicted Juliette, who believes that their quartet is a singular entity and that a single member leaving with irrevocably change the fabric of their collective and cause it to fall apart. Christopher Walken is the anchor of both the quartet and the film as a whole – considering he made his career playing eccentric, off-the-wall characters, it is always a delight to find Walken taking on a more subdued role, and as the emotional heart and soul of A Late Quartet, he is delivering some of his finest work. Subtle, complex and genuinely moving, he reminds us of his immeasurable gifts and crafts a truly extraordinary character that defines the film. Hoffman and Keener are right behind him in terms of the might of their performances, as they capture some fascinating character-based details in their interpretations of their respective character. It is only Ivanir who is something of a weak link, since despite having a fascinating and complex character, he feels the least developed of the four, but even he has impactful moments. All the performances in this film are solid and incredibly moving, and pay sufficient tribute to the kinds of people represented in the story.

Considering the abundance of ideas that intersect throughout the film, it is clear that A Late Quartet needed to find the right approach to develop the majority of its themes, or else face the risk of becoming an overwrought jumble at best. Zilberman was not a neophyte, but he was also not someone with much name recognition or an abundance of experience, meaning that he needed to work twice as hard to establish his voice throughout this film – arguably, this film is one of the rare examples of an actor-driven film, since we’ve already emphasized how much the film draws on its cast to tell this story – but in the smaller and more intricate moments, we find that the film employs a very simple approach in how it handles the emotional heart of the story. At the core, A Late Quartet is a film about loss, and how we confront the changes that come about in the aftermath of losing someone we love, here represented in the potential disbanding of a quartet that has become something of a family, and when their maestro has to retire, ending his collaboration with his fellow musicians, it is akin to a patriarch dying – and while the family will likely remain cohesive in some way, the changes are noticeable and nothing will ever be the same, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that this new chapter won’t bring new opportunities to those who are left behind. The emotions that drive this film may sometimes be challenging to embrace, especially since all of the characters are deeply flawed individuals who are left adrift after a series of sudden realizations – but the director ensures that everything comes across as deeply authentic and meaningful, and when given the option to aim for the low-hanging fruit, which would essentially allow this film to become an overwrought melodrama, Zilberman chooses a more sophisticated approach, one that may be decidedly more difficult to decode at first, but which proves to be a far more fruitful endeavour.

There are moments where A  Late Quartet may feel impenetrable and inaccessible – the concept of a psychological drama set within the elite circles of the Upper West Side, who spend their days waxing poetic about their existential angst without any sense of self-awareness is not particularly appealing in theory, and it can feel like the film is attempting to be a lot smarter than it is, which can lead to some dissonance between the intentions and how the audience receives it. However, these fears are proven to be meaningless, since despite the very prestigious nature of the world in which these characters exist, the film tells a universal story, one that touches on themes of compassion, individuality and identity, as well as resonant ideas like interpersonal connections and domestic challenges that play into our daily lives in much the same way that we see with these characters. The gorgeous musical sequences are counterbalanced by the tense scenes in which we are given a glimpse into the lives of these people, who may produce extraordinary music on stage but lead complex, vibrant existences behind the scenes, the two existing in tandem as Zilberman constructs this film and makes it such a quiet, complex examination of the human condition, and how we consistently find ourselves questioning our abilities and skills, despite having evidence that shows that we are on the right track. There are numerous layers to this film, and it’s likely every viewer will find something different to hold onto since multiple salient points are being made throughout. More than anything else, A  Late Quartet proves to be an extraordinary showcase for its actors, who bring this story to life and imbue it with such elegance and sophistication – and it all coalesces in this moving, a compelling tribute to the art of creation, and the importance of self-reflection alongside our creative pursuits since one cannot exist without the other.