SEE the film then read the book, or read the book then see the film? It's always debatable whether one will whet or blunt the appetite for the other.
But some stories, such as the extraordinary life of Australian pianist David Helfgott, will work in print and film. Director Scott Hicks's superb film Shine succeeds because of its innate understanding of the relationship between music and film; Gillian Helfgott's Love You to Bits and Pieces works because it can indulge the rich human detail of a touching life story. Written by David Helfgott's second wife, this biography not only complements the film but also justifies itself as a worthwhile literary venture.
After meeting the effusive, 36-year-old eccentric with Coke bottle glasses at a friend's house in Perth in 1983, Gillian recounts in tandem their life together since and flashbacks to his life before. It is an affectionate portrait of an artist whose child-like countenance belies an astonishing in
Born in Melbourne in 1947, the son of Polish-Jewish immigrants who fled the Holocaust, young David was playing the piano by the age of four. Driven by his father, Peter, who had once dreamed of becoming a professional musician himself, David soon found that his playing earned him not only gifts from neighbours but also special affection from his father.
That intimate relationship between a father desperate for his "little prince" to succeed and a son who strove to please him imploded under outside pressures.
First, there were the financial problems which made Peter move his family to Perth; then there was the help, or in Peter's eyes interference, of the benefactors the child prodigy attracted.
A control freak, Peter couldn't cope with seeing a tide of publicity, critical acclaim and prize money carry his son away. Forbidden to take up an Isaac Stern scholarship to America at the age of 14, David became increasingly withdrawn from his father. One year later, after a row over prize money, David stopped talking to him altogether.
"I put myself on the hook when I battened down the hatches and stopped talking to Daddy," was David's explanation years later. It was a hook on which his emotional maturity was snagged.
Taking a place in the Royal College of Music in London, against his father's wishes, 19-year-old David entered what he described as his "vintage years". The star pupil's third year culminated in a triumphant performance of Rachmaninov's notorious Third Concerto with the RCM orchestra. This led to an offer of a scholarship to continue his studies for a fourth year, with the promise of prestigious recital opportunities. His decision to stay was a disaster.
Although he continued to practise and perform, David's chaotic personal life and inner demons were driving him to breakdown. He found little comfort in drink and Valium and confessed to a doctor that all he wanted to do was "play the piano for father".
Another performance of the "Rak 3" in March 1970 was "histrionic" and an embarrassment. Months later, he fled to Australia and within days was admitted to a psychiatric hospital.
Little is known about the next decade of David's life, which was spent in and out of institutions. Peter visited his son once but, after being told by a doctor that he was primarily responsible for his son's mental problems, never returned.
It took the dedication of a far seeing doctor to start David's rehabilitation in the early 1980s. And it was the love of a woman which restored the chain-smoking, shambling restaurant performer to the brilliant, albeit unconventional, concert pianist of his youth who finally performed the Rak 3 again in 1995.
Read after seeing Shine, Gillian Helfgott's simple prose inevitably resounds with Geoffrey Rush's exuberant portrayal of the babbling and obsessive David. But the book not only elaborates the story which is condensed by the dictates of film-making, but also details the inspiring love affair which has given it a happy ending.
Seen the film, read the book - now it's time to buy the CD.
Sheila Wayman is an Irish Times staff journalist
