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The air is fresh, biting, sending shivers down your spine. In the clear sky just lightened up, the rising Sun creates fleeting shades of a thousand tones of pink and orange, embraced by the raw melodies of chirping birds and the shrill song of the blackbird. Lifting sparkling sprays of dew, a light figure strolls through the moving green of the meadows; the clear murmur of the stream accompanies her walk towards the village: and here are the wooden constructions silhouetted in the glows of the morning, the chickens and pigs, the clothes hanging in the first sun. And here are her eyes, Elizabeth's eyes, in which all of this gently disappears.
Then you hear those notes... The fingers fly fast, a white key and then a black one. The piano becomes emotion, the emotion becomes magic. The notes envelop the scene, capturing its soul and imprinting it on the heart. In another lush region, where the lake dominates and reflects what surrounds it, other notes resonate in the palace: it is a song of the woods, evoked by a blonde and frail nymph who gives her soul and body to her instrument in an almost visceral relationship with her art. Each note rises harmonious, then explodes filling the large hall at times with melancholy, at times with wonder, at times with joy.
The proud Fitzwilliam watches delighted, savoring every movement of his beloved sister's slender fingers. He sees the meadows and thinks of the girl he saw walking through them one day, the rain streaking her face. He imagines her face framed by that music. That same music will guide the two young people in the birth of their love: the piano will accompany the beat of their hearts and the strings will shape their sound becoming joyous in the dance that will introduce them masked with prejudice, becoming incisive and sharp where tension will raise a wall between two worlds of the same England, finally becoming sweet when passion in a new dawn will succeed in warming their hands chilled by too much enmity.
Dario Marianelli manages with his compositions to make immortal once again this story ingeniously written by Jane Austen, using the hands and the class of French pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet, supported by the English Chamber Orchestra. In the individual pages of this soundtrack, the composer from Pisa encompasses all that the beautiful film by Joe Wright manages to convey, so much so as to almost touch an Oscar that would have been more than legitimate.
Already with too much emphasis have I just described my emotions: it would be useless to speak individually of the tracks, with the further risk of undermining the innate beauty of the entire work as a whole. Every person who sees the film and listens to its soundtrack will feel emotions, experience different sensations: mine only wishes to be a sharing of what I felt, from the very first notes of piano heard among the blackbirds of the English dawn, nothing more than this. The notes still play, still resonate within my soul.
I too can be Mr. Darcy, after all.
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