Les Musiciens

“I started making music to free myself from the yoke of language,” says Charlie Beaumont (Frédéric Pierrot), a composer in Les Musiciens (The Musicians), Grégory Magne’s new film about an unlikely quartet. After his last feature, Perfumes (2019), the French writer-director once again explores a curiously specific and particular world of creative masters at their craft. Following her late and very wealthy father’s wishes, Astrid (Valérie Donzelli) spends millions to acquire the last of four sought-after instruments crafted by Antonio Stradivari (1644-1737). She then hires four classical instrumentalists to play them for an unprecedented recording. Personalities and egos clash, while practical concerns threaten to derail the expensive production. But it’s music that brings them together, and music that helps them find a way to collaborate. 

Set in the week leading up to the recording, the story structure reminded me of an Ocean’s movie, involving a team assembly sequence followed by a series of challenges to overcome before the Big Show. Astrid enlists a crew, three of whom were selected by her father before his death: Peter, a renowned violinist, played by Russian composer Daniel Garlitsky; the cellist Lise (Marie Vialle), with whom Peter has a history; and George, an arrogant concertmaster (Mathieu Spinosi). There’s also Apolline, a social media-savvy violinist (Emma Ravier) who’s not classically trained. Astrid picked Apolline for her raw talent and online popularity, hoping her influence could help spread the word and recoup some of the recording’s exorbitant budget.  

Most of the personalities remain one- or two-dimensional at best, with only hints at something more under the surface. Magne and his co-writer, French comedian Haroun, offer types more than fully formed characters. Meanwhile, inevitable disasters occur, including issues with the venue, a power outage, and the gasp-inducing near-destruction of a Stradivarius instrument. Most detrimental is the dynamic between the musicians, whose infighting stalls progress. Astrid reaches out to Beaumont, who wrote the piece they will be playing thirty years ago, hoping he can give the musicians some direction. Astrid’s father commissioned the music—a brisk, piercing composition that might’ve scored a great thriller—for this recording, and it has never been played. Beaumont now confesses, “I hate my piece. I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote it.” 

Les Musiciens is a gentle film, quietly amusing at times, and also moving in its passion for music and cooperation among artists. In that sense, it’s as much about the process of collaborative filmmaking as it is about musicians. Its formal execution is passive but functional, and the performances seldom call attention to themselves (except for Spinosi’s rather broad turn). However straightforward its presentation, it’s a heartening film about finding common ground. After working with the performers, Beaumont observes of them that “Musically, you get along great.” Sure enough, they bond in the unlikeliest of places: Huddie Ledbetter’s “Where Did You Sleep Last Night,” played by firelight with million-dollar instruments. For musicians who cannot ride in the same car due to insurance risks, it’s something. And it ultimately leads to a welcome commentary about reconciling differences and finding a way to move forward, even harmonize—a message that could apply to art, politics, or society at large today.