Stanislav Bunin. A genius pianist, who won the International Chopin Competition at the age of 19. It was in 1986 when I first met him. He was 20, and I was 24 years old. I visited Moscow to meet him at the height of the huge Bunin boom.
It was also the time when I had just stepped back into performing after having taken a break from being on stage. I had just started appearing on a TV news programme, assisting its cultural section, sitting next to the presenter, Mr. Hisanori Isomura.
I travelled to Moscow to meet Bunin as a crew of the NHK news programme, together with a cameraman, sound crew, the director and a coordinator. The plan was to do an interview and to perform a duet of Thaikovsky’s Melody together.
At the time, the pianist Bunin was under strict Soviet surveillance, and even a single word he spoke was subject to scrutiny by the observers around him. I could feel the tension from the expression on his face, as he chose his words very carefully.
Bunin was a highly sensitive genius, who could express himself freely once he played the piano…that was the image I had about him.
Forty years have passed since.
I had heard rumours that he had defected after the so called “Bunin fever” had faded, and that he had even taken up residence in Japan.
Though, it must be about ten years or so, since I had last heard Bunin’s name being mentioned. I was wondering how familiar his name is with the students today, when my friend told me that there is a documentary film about Bunin being released. I found the time and went to see it straight away.
I was surprised to see the gray-haired Bunin, walking with physical difficulties.
Bunin, projected on the screen had become an elderly gentleman.
He stood quietly, with a cane in his right hand, which just about aided him to walk. “I’m just an old man now” he said quietly with a sad smile.
Back in his twenties, his popularity as an idol was huge that he gave recitals at places like the Kokugikan. The young girls cheered him with excitement, or rather, screamed with joy. That was the norm during the days of the Bunin fever.
But the figure on the screen now seems like a stark contrast. A part of his left leg had to be amputated which the doctor described as necrotic, and is shorter than the other leg, and so “the missing length” is compensated and protected by a specially made thick shoe sole.
His left hand became numb and immobile due to overuse, with tear on the joints.
Nine years had passed since he stopped his performing activities – a very long time indeed.
However, Bunin loved music, and his desire to play the piano had remained. It was natural that he moved his fingers even on the railing of the terrace.
His wife Eiko watched over him quietly, and with her support, Bunin tries to return to the stage, with the camera following him along his thorny path.
There are notes he cannot play now.
The performance that earned him the label of a “genius” has been taken away from his body entirely. He cannot move his left hand like before, and his left foot need to press the pedals from beneath the thick soles of his shoe. Though he is in despair as his body makes it impossible to play like before, Bunin keeps looking ahead.
Because this film is not a fiction but a documentary, it conveys us the real intensity and poignancy, showing us Bunin’s inner thoughts.
“There is the music that I want to play, but I can’t. Though it is right there, I cannot reach it” he says with a sad smile. “I might be playing just for myself one day.” He sometime loses courage, but he returns to the keyboard yet again.
In the scenes of him practicing which are shown repeatedly, we see Bunin suffering and despairing at his inability to play, almost in tears.
In the footage of his performances on stage, also capture the anguish of the pianist trying desperately to play. After performing, he repeats the words “I couldn’t play a single piece. I still need more practicing.” Those scenes are quite unbearable to watch, as his expression tells us that living is a torment for him.
But at times, a powerful resonance echoes through the venue which I believe is the pride that lies deep inside him.
In his performance of Chopin’s prelude “Raindrops”, the camera zooms in on his face, and one can feel that his spirit is “moving forward”, even though one can also feel the despair in the sound he weaves.
I could not stop my tears falling.
“Even though I cannot play perfectly, I want to give a beautiful performance that can touch the people’s hearts” Bunin murmured.
I spoke to him in my mind.
“I was touched, Mr. Bunin. Your existence itself is music, as well as all the cells in your body”.