Celibidache - You Don’t Do Anything - You Let it Evolve

Music Documentary, 100 min, 1992

Director(s): Jan Schmidt-Garre
Cinematography: Karl Walter Lindenlaub, Diethard Prengel
Editor: Nina Ergang, Edith Eisenstecken

A feature length portrait of conductor Sergiu Celibidache, a phenomenon in the world of classical music. Four years in the making, director Jan Schmidt-Garre collaborated closely with the charismatic musical director of the Munich Philharmonic and the result is an exceptional look at an artistic and intellectual giant as well as a passionate journey into the creative process.


Co-produced by ZDF and ARTE/ZDF
Supported by Kuratorium junger deutscher Film, Bundesministerium des Innern, and Bayerische Filmförderung FFF

Press

Wolfgang Schreiber, Süddeutsche Zeitung, Jul. 7, 1992
Surprising and at the same time illuminating: director Jan Schmidt-Garre has created a film that exceeds the considerable length of hundred minutes employing just a single theme, the patient observation of conductor Sergiu Celibidache during the creation of, during his work on music. The sensitive conductor, perhaps more hypersensitive than any other artist when it comes to disturbing his work, has let no one else approach him so closely. And: finally a portrayal of a musician without the family portrait at the end, without hackneyed phrases and foolish, sentimental remarks, without the typical attempts to expose indiscretions.
"You don't do anything, you just let it evolve", the film's subtitle is a citation from the philosopher of music Celibidache. Schmidt-Garre accompanied and observed the maestro at his rehearsals with the Munich Philharmonic and with the Schleswig-Holstein Youth Orchestra over the course of years. He succeeded in capturing the intensity, the concentration, as well as the human compassion with which Celibidache led his orchestral and choral rehearsals. And with which the conductor, true to his maxim that teaching is the most important human act, instructs his students about music and its rules. Whether at the University of Mainz or at a mill in France during his vacation (where he had taken a whole chamber orchestra from Italy), Celibidache teaches with wisdom, humor and infinite competence. Has the technique of conducting ever been explained so humanly? Or the difference between tension and intensity?
Schmidt-Garre has mastered the art of observing without intruding, as well as the art of discriminating commentary, thereby opening the way for charming episodes, such as "Celi's" meetings with old friends on his travels to Romania and Israel. It was more than obvious: Celibidache is not only greatly admired, he is also loved by many.

Klaus Bennert, Süddeutsche Zeitung, Mar. 21/22, 1992
Schmidt-Garres Film nähert sich dem Maestro mit unverhohlener Verehrung; daß dennoch das Bild eines genialisch Schwierigen mit all seinen Widersprüchlichkeiten entstanden ist, wird dessen Naturell durchaus gerecht.

Hans Göhl, Münchner Merkur, Feb. 11, 1992
Schmidt-Garre hat die Suggestivkraft erhöht, indem er auf alle "filmischen" Mätzchen verzichtete und sein Material sorgsam und ruhig anordnete. Er zeigt mit diesem Film ausgesprochenes Dokumentations-Talent.

Paula Linhart, filmdienst, Mar.31, 1992
Der Maestro offenbart sich in diesem Dokumentarfilm in einer Weise, die einer persönlichen Begegnung gleichkommt und die besondere Art und Intensität seines musikalischen Kunstverstandes faszinierend im Werk offenbart. Obwohl teils längere, teils kürzere Schnitte das Szenarium auf die verschiedenen Schauplätze und Aktivitäten ohne chronologische Einordnung verteilen, zerfällt der Film nicht in Abschnitte, sondern verknüpft sie zur übereinstimmenden Ganzheit. Er hält die Spannung trotz seiner Länge bis zuletzt durch.
Jan Schmidt-Garre heftete sich drei Jahre mit seinem Team (sehr gute Tonübertragungen) an Celibidaches Fersen. Schmidt-Garres Bewunderung für den Dirigenten ist unverkennbar, doch hievt er ihn nicht aufs Podest erhabener Distanz. Der Film springt mitten hinein in das Erlebnis Musik und seine Faszination, und wenn er aufhört, nimmt man es mit nach Hause: als Dauergeschenk.

Regina Leistner, Berliner Morgenpost, Apr. 12, 1992
Sehr liebevoll und sensibel produzierter Dokumentarfilm, ein Muß für jeden Musikfreund.

Albrecht Dümling, Tagesspiegel, Berlin, Apr. 13, 1992
Man sieht, wie Musik entsteht - nach Aussage des Dirigenten ein Mysterium, eine Suche nach Wahrheit, die sich allen Definitionsversuchen entzieht. Musizieren ist für ihn das Eintauchen in eine Welt der Zeitlosigkeit, der Ewigkeit. Wie geduldig der Dirigent mit dem Chor und den Solisten umgeht, wie klug im Film dann die verschiedenen Probenphasen aneinandergeschnitten sind, das ist hörens- und sehenswert.

Carla Rhode, Tagesspiegel, Berlin, June 6, 1992
Ein eindrucksvolles, menschlich sehr anrührendes Porträt des Dirigenten, ganz aus der musikalischen Praxis entworfen.

Volker Hagedorn, Hannoversche Allgemeine, June 22, 1992
Einmal läßt Celibidache junge Musiker ohne Noten spielen. Irgendwas, drauflos. Nur auf seine Bewegungen sollen sie reagieren. Und diese Bewegungen sind so differenziert und unmißverständlich, daß ein strukturiertes Klanggebilde entsteht. Wer schon immer wissen wollte, wozu man eigentlich Dirigenten braucht, sollte diesen Film sehen. Wer schon immer wissen wollte, was Celibidache zum Frühstück ißt, wird es nicht erfahren.

Andreas Obst, Frankfurter Allgemeine, Jul. 7, 1992
Der Film ist wie sein Gegenstand: geschichtslos, allein dem Augenblick verpflichtet, nachdenklich, verstörend, provozierend. Es ist ein bemerkenswerter Film über den heute achtzigjährigen Pult-Star, der sich in der Position des grüblerischen Anti-Stars gefällt, selten nur Interviews gibt, tatsächlich jedoch zu dozieren liebt. Man wird süchtig nach Celibidache in diesem Film, der selten etwas anderes zeigt als das von Falten und Narben zerfurchte und von weißen, kinnlangen Strähnen, wie der greise Liszt sie trug, umrahmte Gesicht, oder man wendet sich ab, um nie mehr hinzusehen…

Peter Michael, Wiesbadener Kurier, Jul. 7, 1992
Keine der üblichen Huldigungen, sondern eher ein analytischer Essay.

Südkurier, Jul. 7, 1992
Bei Proben, Diskussionen und Dirigierseminaren war der Regisseur mit den wunderbar beobachtenden Kameramännern Karl Walter Lindenlaub und Diethard Prengel zugegen. Das Schwierigste hat er vollbracht, das Leichteste vermieden: Statt "Standing Ovations" - Abfilmerei, glanzvoller Bilderbiographie und Fragen in Kotaurhetorik - hat Schmidt-Garre zugehört und hingeschaut.

Wilhelm Roth, epd Kirche und Rundfunk, Jul. 11, 1992
Bei aller Einseitigkeit: Jan Schmidt-Garres "Celibidache" ist ein Film, der schon wegen seiner Einmaligkeit in die Fernseh- und Musikgeschichte eingehen wird. Von wieviel Fernsehfilmen kann man das sagen?

Dieter Borchmeyer, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Oct. 20, 1995
Dem Regisseur und Philosophen gelingt es, die bizarre Persönlichkeit dieses Dirigenten, seine magische, allzuoft freilich despotisch-knechtende Wirkung auf Musiker und junge Menschen, aber eben auch sein unverwechselbares Musikerprofil nach allen Seiten auszuleuchten. Zu irgendwelchen Sottisen gab Schmidt-Garre Celi keine Gelegenheit, dafür entlockte er ihm eine Reihe von substantiellen musikalisch-praktischen Äußerungen, welche die Faszination des Pult-Gurus begreifen lassen.

Jens Hagestedt, Szene Hamburg, Aug. 1993
Schmidt-Garre zeigt Celibidache bei der Probenarbeit mit verschiedenen Ensembles und, besonders eindrucksvoll, auf den verschiedenen Gebieten seiner weitgespannten Lehrtätigkeit, in Theorieseminaren und bei der praktischen Unterweisung. Wie eine Sinuskurve geht die Rhythmik des eigentümlichen, problematischen Beziehungsverhaltens Celibidaches durch diesen Film: Immer wieder zeigt sich die ungewöhnliche Fähigkeit des Dirigenten, Nähe zuzulassen, immer wieder wird deutlich, daß sie die Unterwerfung des Anderen zur Voraussetzung hat. Ein anrührendes, nachdenklich stimmendes Dokument.

Jürgen Seeger, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Dec 22, 1992
Man will nichts - man läßt es entstehen - der Titel weist auf den geistigen Hintergrund des Zen-Buddhisten Celibidache hin, der die Kunst des Bogenschießens auf musikalische Weise pflegt. Schmidt-Garre rückt dem Dirigenten auf den Leib, bewahrt dabei aber auf angenehme Weise Distanz. Ein anregender und im besten Sinne lehrreicher Dokumentarfilm.

Dorothea Zweipfennig, Der neue Merker, Wien, Mar. 1993
Nichts wurde gestellt. 'Celi en nature.' Ein wichtiges Dokument.

Gong, Jul. 25, 1992
Reserviert bis unwirsch gegenüber Fans und Journalisten, so war man Maestro Celibidache gewohnt - bis zu diesem Porträt. Aber wer intelligente Fragen stellt und das Wesentliche, die Musik, in den Mittelpunkt stellt, kommt bei "Celi" offensichtlich gut an. Bis zur Filigranarbeit des Taktschlagens erläuterte er Jan Schmidt-Garre sein Handwerk, zeigte den mühsamen Weg der Proben bis zum seltenen Moment einer für ihn perfekten Passage. Keine oberflächlichen Stimmungsbilder, sondern ein spannendes, leidenschaftliches Porträt musikalischen Gestaltungswillens.

Awards

Silver Medal at the Chicago International Film Festival, Nominated fort he German Film Prize, Midem Classical Award 2010

Quotes

You can't do anything other than let it happen. You just let it evolve. You don't do anything yourself. All you do is make sure that nothing disturbs this wonderful creation in any way. You are extremely active and at the same time extremely passive. You don't do anything; you just let it evolve.

A rehearsal is not music. A rehearsal is the sum of uncountable 'nos'. 'Not too far, not too loud, not above the bassoon, not so dull.' How many 'nos' are there? Billions. And how many 'yeses'? Just one.

That is the complete training. You have to do at your seats what I am doing at mine. You have to conduct with me. We react spontaneously to what we hear, that is, functionally, as is necessary. Not "this is marked piano, this is marked forte…" - no one is interested in that.

I don't know if that gives you an idea of what I would like: to emanate from what already exists. The way oil spreads, becoming wider and wider and wider. Not so pointed. Those are notes, but not yet music.

What is the "interpretation" in what we are doing here? It's nothing else but finding out what the composer had in mind. He starts from an experience and looks for the notes. We start with the notes to come to his experience.

When I criticize him like this he is losing his spontaneity. He will have to find reality by himself. Reality which cannot be 'interpreted'. There are facts that exist even when we don't see them. The whole morning we did nothing but try to find this reality behind the notes. We never said: "You have to do it like this!" Instead: You have to discover what exists, beyond ourselves. I could explain to him: "The phrase is like this", and he would imitate Celibidache. - I insist that he himself finds out that he went beyond the notes without making them his own, without humanizing them.

What is the sense of a musical phrase? 'Tata hee hoo hii doo pff' Why is this senseless? Because the beginning has no relation to the end. A sequence of tones follows a structure which finally connects the beginning with the end. When do I know that a piece has come to its end? I know it when the end is in the beginning. When the end keeps what the beginning promised. Continuity doesn't mean: to go from one moment to the next, but: after going through many moments to experience timelessness. That is where beginning and end live together: in the now. What is required to experience any structure as a whole? The absolute interrelation between the individual parts. When I don't feel the parts but the whole, what did my mind do? Integrate.

What did I learn from Furtwängler? One idea which opened all doors for my whole life and for all my studies: When the young Celibidache asked him: "Maestro, this transition in this Bruckner-symphony - how fast is it? What do you beat there?" "What do you mean by 'how fast'? he replied. It depends on what it sounds like! When it sounds rich and deep I get slower, when it sounds dry and brittle I have to get faster." He adjusts according to what he actually hears! According to the actual result, and not to a theory! "92 beats per minute." - What does '92' mean in the Berlin Philharmonic, and what does it mean in Munich or in Vienna? What nonsense! Each concerthall, each piece and each movement has its individual tempo which represents a unique situation.

Something starts to move, but you don't notice that it is moving in time. If anyone has the feeling it is either too long or too short, he is already out of the music. Here you can somehow live beyond time. In this sense music has no duration in time. In any normal concert you are out of it all the time. In a hundred concerts a year, if there are three where you somehow stayed with it - that would be a lot.

Releases

Celibidache – You Don’t Do Anything, You Let it Evolve

1992 - 100 min - Jan Schmidt-Garre

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Theory

Jan Schmidt-Garre: Celibi dache’s Presence of Mind

No one brought so little baggage on to the platform. He did not even have his baton with him - it was left on the leader's desk by the orchestra assistant. And of course he did not carry a score with him either - except in his head. And even there he did not perceive it as baggage, as a burden from the past which he brought to the concert with him, but as what he needed to exercise his best talent: his presence of mind. 
We learned as his students through molecular exercises that this paradox is possible: it is possible to internalize a score, it is not a lifeless entity in the memory but a living structure. He would ask someone to write a random 12-tone row on the blackboard, the most desolate phrase that one could imagine. And then the process of humanization began, the search for its innate order. How is it divided? How can it be phrased? How can it be conducted? Where are its joints? One student after another would go to the piano and try his luck. Celibidache could be cutting and sarcastic if you didn't have it right; he could be a disheartening teacher. Finally someone would succeed, and suddenly this lifeless, amorphous material sprang to life and assumed shape. And then during the break on the giant stairs of the University of Mainz, the stairs that the fragile maestro mounted every morning, I suddenly found myself whistling something as easily as if it were by Schubert: the 12-tone row.

The rehearsal begins. The cellos and basses play the first phrase of the Kyrie from Bruckner's Mass in F Minor; the violas take over, then the violins. A giant, giant body begins to take shape, infinitely larger than the 12-tone row, but structurally similar, just as rounded and closed. And then all of a sudden: "No! That's mambo!" The violins were a little blurred just before entry of the chorus. Celibidache's disappointed face has looked up at me a hundred times from the editing table, with its pain at the impairment of a well-formed shape, wounding the very man who has keenly perceived and mentally projected this shape. This inaccessible, solitary emperor had the gift of giving himself completely to the vibrant, living sonorities. The man who did not care if he was loved or liked by all, who maintained a distance even in laughter, this man was completely naked, exposed and infinitely vulnerable at the podium. 
And the results were accordingly bounteous when everything was right. The music emanated from a giant personality capable of opening a vast number of sluit gates. His Zen ideal of opening and emptying himself to the music was misunderstood by many students as a state of poverty, thin-blooded and lacking in substance, but no: this colossus opened himself up - when it worked, that is to say two or three times in a hundred concerts, as he used to say - and let us participate in a huge surge of energy.

"What is your name? Do you smoke? Never smoke cigarettes!" That was the initiation for countless students from throughout the world when he taught - gratuitously a rule. Maybe he also said, "you have to live with me for a few years", and then you were under his spell. From then on life was divided into right and wrong. His personality was oppressive for many, and he was never reserved in that respect. Skeptics often described him as a guru, and there were certain parallels that we his students couldn't deny. But is it possible for someone with vision, a true spiritual master, to be reserved?

Celibidache's rehearsals were never hypothetical; every rehearsal was the real thing, presenting the greatest possible challenge to each musician to submerse himself in every piece as if for the first time, to be driven on by what had been heard and experienced. All or nothing: as long as he didn't interrupt, everything was fine. It wasn't the little inaccuracies that made him stop, but breaks in the flow of music, for example, in the Benedictus of the Mass in F Minor, if the violins didn't listen to the flute solo, didn't pick up its phrasing. 
Celibidache angrily corrected the violins and then gently turned to the flutes: "Maxi, breathe in much more calmly. We are alone." The flutist should follow the organic flow of his breathing, the human scale. We are alone? Two human beings make music with one another, listen to one another, jointly give shape to a work of art, unaffected by the external demands of a metronome. But physically, too, they are alone: two hundred colleagues in orchestra and choir are obliterated in this intimate moment shared by flute and conductor. Celibidache could command such intimacy anywhere, at anytime.

It was his presence of mind that rewarded him with such a long life, that gave him renewed life and energy for new rehearsals and concerts after every illness. Once on the platform there were no worries about the next diagnosis, no fears about the coming night - here there was only the pure moment, which he was never ready "to sacrifice to the future" (to quote Horkheimer): the sound here and now. The mystic "instant". In a completely unsentimental, objective sense, making music was a religious act for Celibidache. 
No baggage, no memories, no outwitting transitoriness with gramophone records - he could and would not rest on anything: each rehearsal was a clean state, always new, always claiming the whole person. In this way he embodied the ideal of the conductor and artist and human being with a radicalism shared by few in the 20th century: to live in the present.