I generally read him as a snot who thinks he's the centre of the universe. But not a caricature of one--he's still basically likeable at the beginning, and it's rather clever of the Archer's to've contrived the business of his music being stolen, as it puts the audience on his side.
Yes. He starts out as a completely believable and sympathetic music student—I love the introductory scene with him and his friends hanging over the balcony, snacking before the show starts, and otherwise annoying the daylights out of the ballet geeks in the next seats over, because it's so casually real. "It's the students!" We never see either of Julian's friends again, but from those five-ten minutes, they have entire characters and histories. They don't have the money for a ballet every night, it's not their religion, they're here to support their professor, of whom they are all clearly favorites, and clearly Julian most of all. And he doesn't flatten out, but the slightly forward self-assurance of the best student in the class—he fires off that letter to Lermontov; he calls an orchestra rehearsal just to hear his own stolen music played as he wrote it—turns into, or is revealed as, the kind of thoughtless arrogance that helps cost his wife her life. And unlike Lermontov, I'm not sure Julian will ever really understand what happened.
but I've always found that I have to choose between relationship and art, I can never have both at the same time. They both demand my full attention, or I feel dizzy.
Within the film, though, there's no evidence that the choice really is as absolute and schematic as both Lermontov and Julian present. For them, it's not a matter of time and attention, it's that Victoria has to choose now where she will put her heart for the rest of her life. But secondary characters like Grischa or the set designer Ratov or the rest of the corps de ballet are delighted with the affair between their principal ballerina and their composer-conductor—they would happily see them married and assume the company will continue to run as usual afterward, and I don't think we're meant to view them as second-class artists because of it. Of course, I'm treating all of this in non-fantastic terms. What matters is that Victoria put on the red shoes: and there's only one way to take them off.
He is great. Moira Shearer tells a few amusing stories about Massine in the commentary, which, as you may have guessed by now, is something I consider well worth listening to.
I almost never listen to commentaries or watch deleted scenes. Which I will admit is a little inconsistent, since I find story notes fascinating.
no subject
Yes. He starts out as a completely believable and sympathetic music student—I love the introductory scene with him and his friends hanging over the balcony, snacking before the show starts, and otherwise annoying the daylights out of the ballet geeks in the next seats over, because it's so casually real. "It's the students!" We never see either of Julian's friends again, but from those five-ten minutes, they have entire characters and histories. They don't have the money for a ballet every night, it's not their religion, they're here to support their professor, of whom they are all clearly favorites, and clearly Julian most of all. And he doesn't flatten out, but the slightly forward self-assurance of the best student in the class—he fires off that letter to Lermontov; he calls an orchestra rehearsal just to hear his own stolen music played as he wrote it—turns into, or is revealed as, the kind of thoughtless arrogance that helps cost his wife her life. And unlike Lermontov, I'm not sure Julian will ever really understand what happened.
but I've always found that I have to choose between relationship and art, I can never have both at the same time. They both demand my full attention, or I feel dizzy.
Within the film, though, there's no evidence that the choice really is as absolute and schematic as both Lermontov and Julian present. For them, it's not a matter of time and attention, it's that Victoria has to choose now where she will put her heart for the rest of her life. But secondary characters like Grischa or the set designer Ratov or the rest of the corps de ballet are delighted with the affair between their principal ballerina and their composer-conductor—they would happily see them married and assume the company will continue to run as usual afterward, and I don't think we're meant to view them as second-class artists because of it. Of course, I'm treating all of this in non-fantastic terms. What matters is that Victoria put on the red shoes: and there's only one way to take them off.
He is great. Moira Shearer tells a few amusing stories about Massine in the commentary, which, as you may have guessed by now, is something I consider well worth listening to.
I almost never listen to commentaries or watch deleted scenes. Which I will admit is a little inconsistent, since I find story notes fascinating.