Out of Tune (13 page)

Composition/Analysis. Mr. Bryan Kelly: “A calmer approach wanted in work, a very hectic year.”

Undoubtedly, David did give some brilliant performances in London. Among these was his rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano
Concerto in D Minor in July 1969, for which he was awarded the Dannreuther Prize for best performance of a piano concerto
at the Royal College of Music for that year. However, the way it is depicted in
Shine
—as a dramatic scene in which David collapses on stage while playing, causing him to suffer a mental breakdown and then to
return directly to Perth—is entirely fictional.

Firstly, David had already played the piece in public several times before, for example, in Perth and Melbourne in 1964. Secondly,
David did not collapse. Thirdly, he stayed in London for another year after this performance, giving several other concerts,
among them Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto again, on March 24, 1970, at the Duke’s Hall at the Royal Academy of Music
in Marylebone Road. Fourthly, the onset of his illness was slow, both predating and postdating this concert, and his condition
was almost certainly connected with a history of chronic mental illness in the Helfgott family. And fifthly, he did not blame
his “daddy.”

In the published film script (scene 131) the end of the Rachmaninoff scene reads:

DAVID
sweats, hyperventilating.

DAVID
(mumbling):
“Did my best, Daddy …”

… David begins to fall backward—in slow motion, in silence until his head hits the stage. His spectacles fly off. Eyes wide
open, he stares at bright swirling lights. Silence
.

Cut to overhead lights in:

[Scene 132] Interior Hospital ward. Day time …

While Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto is undoubtedly a technically and physically demanding piece, the film’s attitude
to it is quite ridiculous. In scene 98 David’s music tutor Cecil Parkes says to David: “No one’s ever been mad enough to attempt
the Rach 3,” and David replies: “Am I mad enough, Professor? Am I?”

The character of Cecil Parkes was played by the eminent British actor Sir John Gielgud at the age of 91. The figure upon whom
Parkes was loosely based is David’s music tutor at the Royal College, Cyril Smith. Smith was famous for having the use of
only his right hand after suffering a stroke that paralyzed his left. He had become David’s tutor as a result of being an
acquaintance of Professor Callaway in Perth. Smith was a highly distinguished man. He had been professor of pianoforte at
the Royal College since as long ago as 1934, and was acclaimed as a fine interpreter of Rachmaninoff. Sergei Rachmaninoff
himself—whom Smith had met on many occasions—said before his death in 1943, that Smith had given the best performance by any
Englishman of his Third Piano Concerto.

Smith had risen to stardom from a humble background. He was born the son of a bricklayer, and grew up in a working-class part
of Middlesburough, an industrial city in the far north of England known for its shipbuilding. He was a brilliant musician
and himself attended the Royal College. But at the age of forty-six, during a concert tour of Russia, disaster struck: he
suffered a stroke and lost the use of his left hand. He had been asked by Walter Legge of EMI to record Rachmaninoff’s concertos
and was in the process of preparing for this when the tragedy prevented it. With remarkable fortitude, he rehabilitated himself,
rebuilt his life, and embarked on a new career. He now played three hands on two pianos with his wife Phyllis Sellick, with
whom he had previously formed a conventional two-piano team. This experience is recounted in his moving and inspirational
autobiography,
Duet for Three Hands.

Professor Immelman, who, like David, was one of Smith’s pupils, told me: “Cyril Smith was a rather shy but also a passionate
man and a great teacher. He had a sharp and penetrating mind and brought to his teaching the experience he had gained on the
concert platform. He considered instrumental mastery to be vital for any aspiring pianist. But it was only a means to an end,
the springboard from which a performance can take off. The firmer the technical base, the greater the flights of true musical
imagination can be. From the moment one entered his teaching room all that mattered was the quality of one’s playing. He was
relentless in his pursuit of productive practicing procedures no matter how unusual or extreme. Those of us who had the privilege
to study with him (and we knew ourselves to be privileged) acquired skills of objective analysis that could be applied to
all areas of the repertoire even many years later.”

Immelman added that “John Gielgud’s portrayal of a woolly minded exponent of what I call ‘Fjords in Norway’ school of piano
teaching and the endless ego-tripping could not be further removed from the truth. Far from being a doddery man, Cyril was
very sharp.”

Smith died in 1974, but in April 1997, his widow, Phyllis Sellick, herself a concert pianist of great ability, phoned me from
London after reading an interview with me about
Shine
in a British newspaper. When I mentioned to her that I was considering writing a book, she strongly encouraged me to include
what she had to say:

“David did not break down or collapse when playing Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto as depicted in the film. I was at that
performance, and it was a wonderful rendition by David … During the four years that David was Cyril’s pupil, we became friendly
and saw him on many occasions outside his lessons. He never once said anything about his father being violent to him. Quite
the contrary. They seemed to be very close. David told Cyril and me that he got along very well with his father and that his
father had been writing him lots of lovely letters whilst he was in London.”

She also complained about the way her husband’s character had been portrayed in general throughout
Shine
. “Cyril would never have said things like ‘Don’t you just love those big fat chords’ to describe Rachmaninoff’s music; or
‘the piano is a monster; tame it or it’ll swallow you whole!’ That’s just ridiculous,” Phyllis Sellick told me.

David’s forty-minute performance of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto was undoubtedly one of the highlights of his time
in England. Mr. J. R. Stainer, registrar of the college, who was present, wrote afterward: “I have not heard a bigger ovation
since I have been at the college.” And Professor Immelman told a leading British arts television program,
The South Bank Show,
that when David was rehearsing for the Third Piano Concerto, people often dropped into the concert hall to listen. “They
knew it was special, but that performance in late July 1969 exceeded everyone’s expectations. I find it particularly unfortunate
that the memory of this glorious occasion was degraded by the film suggesting, without any justification, that David had suffered
a blackout. Nothing like that occurred.”

Immelman told me, no doubt exaggerating a little: “For anyone connected with the Royal College in the late sixties, David’s
performance of the Rachmaninoff Third Piano Concerto has become a point of reference almost along the lines of ‘Do you remember
where you were when you heard that Kennedy had been shot?’ It was one of those rare occasions when everything came together.
Of course David had all the virtuoso qualities required for this challenging work but he also had the gift for playing gentle,
expressive passages with a freshness and freedom that rendered them pure, almost innocent, so far removed from the tricky
self-indulgent approach often encountered. The excellent integration with the orchestra achieved on this occasion also reflected
the care and attention to detail that David and Smith had lavished on the score.”

Immelman also remembers that “he did do something rather unusual after the Rachmaninoff concert. He was driven back to his
modest one-room apartment by an elated Cyril Smith and Phyllis Sellick and as soon as he got home he threw some clothes into
a bag and set off for the launderette!”

Throughout 1969 and 1970 David’s behavior became more and more unbalanced and his moods swung up and down erratically. Professor
Immelman said: “David’s behavior was often unusual, a trifle eccentric. Not many of us realized at the time that he was suffering
mental problems, but with hindsight one recognizes that there were already signs of chemical imbalance. I certainly do not
recall him ever saying anything negative about his father or mentioning his father in this respect.”

David’s condition worsened to such an extent that in October 1969 he checked into a psychiatric hospital for the first time.
He told us in a letter that he was seeking psychiatric treatment, but knowing how distraught Dad would be at the news, he
didn’t admit at the time that he was actually confined to a hospital. It was all very traumatic for a young boy who had been
the subject of so much attention and praise and upon whom so many expectations had been placed only a few years earlier.

D
avid’s last few months in London were not all bad. Having been discharged from the psychiatric hospital shortly before Christmas,
he was soon at the piano again, continuing to practice and perform. He gave another performance of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano
Concerto on March 24, 1970, at the Duke’s Hall of the Royal Academy of Music (a separate institution from the Royal College).
This time around, however, David’s playing was far poorer. Cyril Smith is reported to have said after the concert: “I did
not teach him to play like that.” Roberta Dodds, a Royal College staff member, added that the performance had been “histrionic.”

A month later, on April 24, David gave a much better performance. As part of a charity concert, he played Liszt’s Piano Concerto
No. 1 in E-flat before 8,000 people at the Royal Albert Hall, one of England’s largest classical music concert venues. Critics
were eager to praise him once more. One wrote: “David Helfgott completely identified himself with this romantic music, his
fabulous technique in the louder passages being equalled by the exquisite poetry of the more lyrical places.”

But over the next three months David’s condition took a rapid turn for the worse. By the summer he was writing to us of his
longing to come home and be with his family again. He began sending letters to the people who had been responsible for organizing
his trip to London in the hope that they would provide the financial means for his return.

On July 5, 1970, he wrote to Mrs. Luber-Smith about his “psycho-trouble,” explaining how terrible it was and that it wasn’t
his fault. While the letter was reasonably chatty, and expressed the hope that one day he would get better, he also told her
that he could not endure another chilly winter in London without a place to live, and he really wanted to come back to Australia.

Four days later, on July 9, David wrote a far more distraught letter, this time to Professor Callaway. He said that he was
simply not able to survive in London any longer. He told Callaway that he had no food, no money, no job, and no accommodation.
He pleaded with him to arrange his fare home. On the next day, July 10, no doubt worried that the letter would take too long
to arrive, David sent Professor Callaway a cable—this time begging him to be allowed to return to Perth.

On July 13, Professor Callaway’s secretary, Lorna Trist, wrote back to David to say that their office had only received his
cable that morning and that Callaway was overseas in Moscow and would not get David’s message until he returned to Perth the
following weekend. Trist let David know that she had immediately passed his frantic message to Mr. Walton, the secretary of
the Music Council, who was that very day sending him a banker’s draft to help him with his living expenses.

But clearly this wasn’t enough for the overwrought David. On July 18, he again wrote to Callaway, asking to come home as soon
as possible.

Professor Callaway replied on August 6 and has kindly granted his copyright permission to reprint the letter.

DEPARTMENT OF MUSIC

August 6th, 1970.

Mr. David Helfgott,

6/8 Evelyn Gardens,

LONDON. S.W.7. England.

Dear David,

I am sorry I have not written before this but, as you are aware, I have been overseas. Unfortunately I did not get to London
this time, so missed seeing you. I am aware that you are now keen to come home and I expect that Mr. Walton of the Music Council
will be making the necessary arrangements. You will appreciate that the financial aspect of things is not my concern but rather
that of the Music Council. When your plans are made and you know when you will be arriving in Perth do let me know, as I will
be keen to do anything I can to help get you established in Australia. There will be difficulties of course, but all artists
have to face up to such problems and I only hope that appropriate opportunities will be forthcoming in your home country.

I was very pleased to hear of all your successes at the Royal College of Music and I know how proud Mr. Cyril Smith and Sir
Keith Falkner have been of all your achievements.