Out of Tune

by Margaret Helfgott

  Hicks said he had already spoken with Gillian and David, but they had not mentioned anything to us. I thought it would have been more appropriate to ask us first. I was also a little wary because of the articles that had been appearing in the press since David met Gillian, which had distorted David’s past. At the time I attributed these distortions to media exaggeration, rather than to any kind of deliberate attempt to build myths around David. Still, Suzie and I decided that if a film was going to be made, it would be better to cooperate and ensure that it was accurate.

  Hicks said he had come up with the idea for the film after reading a newspaper report about David and then attending one of his concerts. He interviewed Suzie and myself in his hotel. I told him about Dad’s life in Poland, the family background, our childhood, and so on. I asked him what sort of movie he had in mind and whether it was meant to be a real life story or a work of fiction, but he didn’t give me a clear answer.

  We heard no more and after some time I assumed the project must have been dropped. Then, more than two years later, in August 1988, Leslie, Suzie, and Louise contacted me in Israel. They were very distressed. They said that some advance publicity for the film had appeared out of the blue, and that it contained some very disturbing phrases in connection with my father, such as “from patience to tyranny”; it also said that our family had “shunned” David on his return from London. I wrote to Hicks straightaway, telling him that I was concerned about these statements. I told him that my father had been “a man of talent, strength and conviction, with a capacity for great love” and that he “absolutely adored David.” I asked him not to “detract from the truth,” and I said that I was worried that there might be negative repercussions for David’s fragile state of health should his life story be handled in the wrong way. In addition I asked him if he could kindly show me a copy of the script. Leslie also expressed his objections to Hicks.

  I had heard that Gillian was involved in the film project and so on the same day I wrote to Hicks, I also wrote to her. I told her how worried I was by the film’s promotional material. “I would feel so much more secure,’ I wrote, “if I could know that you would not let anything appear in the film that might harm David, the other Helfgotts, or my father’s memory, something that would be regretted later, and which may cause irrevocable damage to David.”

  It was not until the following year—more than four months later—that Hicks replied to my letter. On January 6, 1989, he wrote to dispel my fears. He said: “It is not my intention to be judgmental in the portrayal of Peter Helfgott … I would ask you not to attach excessive importance to the wording you quote from the brochure as this is a very brief summary intended only to attract interest in the idea, and conveys none of the balance of the approach.” He reassured me by saying that the more communication there was among all of us, the greater the chance that the “true” story would be told. But despite his apparent desire for closer ties, this was the only letter I ever received from him. Rereading it today, I realize that his interest then had not been in “balancing the approach,” or in increased communication; he had wanted to soothe me and keep me quiet, rather than to seriously consider my objections.

  A few days later Gillian phoned to inform me that a journalist, Kirsty Cockburn, would be writing a book about David and our family. When Kirsty called me the following week and told me she had been commissioned by Gillian, she was genuinely surprised when I told her I had only just heard about it. She thought I had been involved in the project from the beginning. In retrospect, I realize the plans for a book and a film were linked. It seems that in both cases the idea was to tell David’s life story from Gillian’s point of view, to promote his career, and to portray herself as his savior.

  I wrote to Gillian on January 22, 1989, saying that I did not think signing contracts for films and books without first talking them over with the rest of the family, was the best way of going about things. At the time there were rumors in the family that Gillian and David would get a 5 percent share of the profits of the film and apparently this had then been reduced to 21/2 percent, which had upset Gillian. Gillian wrote back to me on February 18, 1989, denying that contracts had been signed. (I have no evidence whether they actually had or not.)

  A great deal of correspondence then took place between myself and the family, and also between Gillian and myself. Leslie said he was not opposed to a book or a film as long as it was a truthful account, and did not contain the kind of lies that had been written about my father in the advance publicity. Leslie, Suzie, and I made legal inquiries, and discovered that one cannot defame the dead, only the living. This came as a shock to me. It meant that anyone could make a film or write a book about someone precious to you and say whatever they liked, and you could do nothing about it.

  Some years passed and, to my great relief, I was told that the film was on hold because Hicks had failed to raise sufficient finance. Then in December 1994, I received a letter from Gillian and David letting me know that the film would be going ahead. (At that stage Gillian and I were still maintaining a regular and fairly amiable correspondence. In effect all David’s letters since 1984 had been written by Gillian—he no longer wrote me letters of his own.)

  Gillian told me that the film would be made with the backing of Pandora Films in Paris, the BBC in England, and the FFC in Australia, and that actors had been cast. She wrote that the film’s main theme, apart from the music, would be David’s relationship with my father. She also told me that at the end of the film there would be “a most moving and beautiful resolution of the relationship with Peter.” She went on to say that David “feels very deeply that your father would be pleased about the film and he also feels a great peace with Peter.” She mentioned that Leslie, Suzie, and Louise had raised some questions about the film and expressed a wish to see the script. She had read the first version of the script and she told me that it would not in her opinion “cause pain to anyone portrayed in it.” She added that Scott Hicks would be flying to Perth to “personally share with the family his concepts and also discuss any matters the family want to share with him.”

  At the time, Gillian’s words reassured me a great deal—perhaps, after all, the film would turn out be a tribute to Dad’s enormous role in David’s development as a pianist. Filming was to begin in April 1995. I wrote back to Gillian asking whether the film would use our real names. I also again told her of the family’s concerns and said I would like to see the script for myself, especially since I had heard that I would be portrayed in the film. I said that “once the film will have the wholehearted blessing of the Helfgott family, it can only be a source of pride for all of us, and for all who have the honor to know David and appreciate his genius.” Gillian never replied to my question about whether real or fictional names would be used.

  In February 1995, Scott Hicks brought the script to Perth. His intention was to allow some of the family to see it, but only under very restricted circumstances. My mother wasn’t given access to the script. I was told by my family that Hicks refused to send me the script because of its “confidentiality.” He also insisted on being present during the entire time Leslie, Suzie, and Louise read it.

  “I couldn’t possibly read and absorb an 111-page script in the time I was given, and I am sure Hicks knew this,” Leslie told me. “Hicks said he could come round to my house at 7:00 a.m. He said we would have two hours to read the script as he had to be somewhere else at 9:30, and we couldn’t hold on to a copy. With my young children running around, it was impossible for me properly to take the script in. Although I did not have time to finish reading the whole script, I did manage to make several objections, for example over the burning of press clippings. Hicks said it was ‘symbolic’ I replied ‘nothing like this ever happened, Scott. It’s not the kind of thing my father would have done.’ Then Hicks said he had to go.”

  Louise, too, objected to some scenes. Suzie said she found the fact that we were called by our real names “rather scary.”


  I now realize that the claim that the script was too confidential for the family to read properly—or, in the case of my mother and me, to see at all—was patently untrue. I have discovered that nonfamily members were allowed to keep copies of the script for many days. For example, Rabbi Ronnie Figdor of Adelaide, the advisor on Jewish content for the film, says he was given a copy to retain on February 3.

  I phoned Hicks several times asking to see a copy of the script, leaving messages on his answering machine. I asked him to please call me back. He didn’t. On May 13, 1995, when filming was already well under way, I sent him a telegram in which I said I would be “grateful to hear what arrangements there were for me to see the script. With thanks.” Again he did not reply. Now that I know that the screenplay attributes to my character such repulsive lines as “This house is like a concentration camp” (scene 54), I realize why he was doing everything he could to avoid me.

  Gillian then called me on May 17, 1995, telling me that there were “problems” with regard to the book Kirsty Cockburn was writing and that she had in due course asked another writer, Beverley Eley, instead. Eley, whose first biography of the Australian writer Ion Idriess was widely praised, was later also to fall out with Gillian. In marked contrast to Hicks’s approach, during the course of her writing she looked into the information she had been supplied by Gillian and David, and found that in many cases she had been misled. But although she managed to make a number of last-minute changes to her book, in many instances it was too late. She had been given a very short time to write The Book of David, published by HarperCollins, and as it was hitting the bookstores, she realized that many parts of it were still inaccurate and misleading.

  Since then, others—such as the Reverend Fairman—have been in touch with her to put right more aspects of her account. Beverley Eley has in fact decided to undertake the not inconsiderable task of rewriting the whole book. Eley told Who Weekly (December 9, 1996) that: “I could find no evidence that this man (Peter Helfgott) deserves any of this portrayal at all (in Shine). More than a third of the film is spent building up this picture of Peter Helfgott as a monster. It’s not the way it was.” She has also had the decency to apologize to me and others.

  Nevertheless, Eley had managed to correct a number of errors before publication, and as a result there were wide discrepancies between The Book of David—which was published at the same time as Shine was released — and the film’s version of David’s life. Gillian was furious. Eley claims that Gillian contacted bookshops and journalists to try to persuade them that her book should not be sold. Gillian even told one Melbourne newspaper that Eley was “bitchy.” Eley is now considering whether to instigate court proceedings against Gillian. “I have endured emotional suffering and distress by Gillian Helfgott falsely and erroneously telling others that my biography was inaccurate, unprofessional and deficient,” an extremely angry Eley told me.

  On June 19, 1995, I again wrote to Scott Hicks pointing out that I hadn’t received a reply to my telegram, and that I had just learned from Louise that there was a scene in the script in which my father hits my mother (scene 48). I reiterated: “My father was not a violent man.” Hicks never replied to this letter, either. (In any event, this scene was removed from the film, following Louise’s strenuous objections, but it remains in the official screenplay published some months after Shine’s release.)

  There were more shocks to come. A friend sent me an article, entitled “On Location,” from the June 26, 1995, edition of Encore magazine. I shuddered when I read that Shines director of photography, Geoffrey Simpson, had said that there were scenes in the film when “David’s father beat him.” Then, in January 1996, the young actress who plays me in the film, Rebecca Gooden, wrote me a lovely letter, which I was very touched by. She said she was excited to be in a major film, and that she wanted to be in touch with the “real Margaret.” But she also sent me an interview with herself from the latest issue of Disney Adventures. In it she says (in all innocence), “Margaret is ignored by her father … There is a lot of anger, jealousy, and violence in the film.” I was stunned and upset by these statements. Hicks had not even had the decency to reply to my letters and phone calls, yet he and the screenwriter felt it was perfectly fine to reinvent my childhood.

  After the film was completed, Hicks was eager to ensure there would be no hitches with regard to securing favorable publicity. His attitude to the Helfgott family seems to have been one of damage limitation. In May 1996 he said he wanted to come to Perth and show the finished product to the family and then take them out to dinner. My mother was so distraught after she saw the film that she cried and refused to go to the restaurant. However, Leslie decided to go along, partly out of courtesy and partly in the hope that he could persuade Hicks to insert a disclaimer stating that Shine was a work of fiction.

  Leslie told me later: “Part of my initial reaction was that it was artistically a very good piece of cinema and Geoffrey Rush had done a pretty good job playing David with all his quirky behavior. But I also felt very uneasy at the way Dad was portrayed. I told Hicks some of the things that were wrong in the hope that he would insert a prominent disclaimer, but he brushed my objections aside. He seemed eager to keep me quiet. He said: ‘You know, there will be so much publicity around the film. I am sure you don’t want to be bothered by the press. We could arrange to install unlisted numbers for you and your mother if you like, so you won’t be bothered.’ I, of course, refused.”

  Naturally, I wanted to see the film, so I contacted the distribution company, Ronin Films, and told them that I was going to be in London and asked to see it. The woman in charge of public relations was very cooperative and arranged a private screening for me in London on June 26. After seeing it I felt numb; it was surreal. Here were people called Peter, David, and Margaret Helfgott. But this was not me or my family or anyone I recognized. Of course I was happy that some of David’s genius had been acknowledged, but I also wondered what my father had done to deserve being turned into this evil brute.

  Hicks’s approach hadn’t been in the slightest bit balanced and there was no “beautiful resolution between Dad and David at the end of the film” as Gillian had promised in her letter. The last we “see” of my father is in the highly unpleasant graveyard scene. As the film ended, I searched for some sort of disclaimer that would inform the audience and the critics that the film was essentially a work of fiction, but I could find none.

  To my surprise, Scott Hicks, who was in London himself, had heard that I was in town and had turned up at the private screening. It seems that he was concerned that I, like Leslie, was somewhat of a loose cannon, and he wanted to keep me from causing any trouble. Here was the opportunity to speak to him for the first time in ten years. I had been so stunned by the film that I couldn’t express myself properly. I told him again that my father was nothing like the way he was portrayed, but he avoided answering me directly. When I asked him about the disclaimer, he assured me fervently that there was one but that I hadn’t noticed it.

  I now know why I hadn’t noticed it. It must be one of the hardest-to-spot disclaimers in the history of cinema. It appears several minutes after the film has ended, stays on the screen for a very short time, and is in type so small as to be barely legible. (At a showing a friend of mine went to in a Tel Aviv movie theater, the projector was shut off as the disclaimer appeared.) On the other hand, 279 names of cast and crew members appear in much larger type at the end of the film and stay on screen for much longer. For example, the credit for “gaffer” stays on the screen for ten seconds.

  In even larger type at the beginning of the credits are the words: “With thanks to David and Gillian Helfgott for their assistance and cooperation in the making of this film.” This, combined with the marketing-hype and the absence of a proper disclaimer, ensured that virtually everyone believed that what they were seeing was essentially a true story. I doubt whether more than a tiny handful of the millions who have seen Shine stayed throug
hout the entire list of credits and were then actually able to read the disclaimer. I only managed finally to do so by using the pause button on my video. The disclaimer reads: “While the characters David and Gillian Helfgott are actual persons, this film also depicts characters and events which are fictional, which do not and are not intended to refer to any real person or any actual event.”

  Had this disclaimer been properly displayed, I doubt that newspapers would have dared to suggest Peter Helfgott was “gestapolike” (Tri-City Herald, Pasco, Washington) or a “monster inside with fangs and blood intact” (Los Angeles Times).

  Later, when the screenplay was published, I was not surprised to see that the disclaimer had been removed altogether—of course, had it appeared on paper people would have had a far better chance of reading it. The screenplay does however find space to devote two pages to the cast list at the beginning and a further nine pages at the end to the crew list and music credits. Everyone from the “carpenter” to the “bar mitzvah advisor” is listed, but there seems to be no room to mention that the film is not true.

  The premiere of Shine took place in Adelaide, Australia, on August 2, 1996. I decided not to attend, even though I was to be in Australia that month. My mother also refused to go. Leslie went as he wanted to gauge the audience reaction. By now he was exasperated. He had pleaded in vain with the producer, the film company, the public relations people, and anyone else he could find, to convey the truth about my father in the interviews and hype that was building up around Shine, but to no avail. He said he now felt like standing outside the official opening and holding up a huge banner saying, “My father was not a cruel person as shown in this film.” (In any event, he did not do this.)

  Since I realized that from an artistic point of view, Shine was a film of high quality, and would no doubt be greeted with critical acclaim, it began to dawn on me that there would be a mass of newspaper articles about my family. Yet it still came as a shock when I started reading them. One of the first papers to comment on Shine was The Herald, and this set the tone for 99 percent of the articles that were to follow, first in Australia and then in almost every corner of the globe. It said: “Helfgott suffered a complete breakdown … partly as a result of his … pathologically domineering father.”