Pianist David Helfgott rushes into the room like a tornado, kissing and hugging men and women, eyes half closed under hooded lids, laughing, having huge private fun.
His wife, Gillian, is finally able to get him into his place at the luncheon table only to see him take off again as soon as she turned her back. The curly-haired, slight figure whom the movie ‘Shine’ has made into a world celebrity, was lassooed once more, received a pat on the bottom like a naughty boy, and grinning, made ready to give his recital.
In the movie, English actress Lynn Redgrave had touched the hearts of millions of cinema-goers portraying Gillian Helfgott, wife, mother figure and professional astrologer. But today - here was the real person - talking about the book she had written: ‘Love You to Bits and Pieces’, the story of 13 years married to classical music’s newest and most extraordinary ambassador. She writes: ‘I once overheard a four-year-old girl query her mother: "Is David a kid or a grown-up?" David has a childlike countenance and trust. Malice, jealousy, cruelty and deception have never been part of his make-up, and his generosity and affection towards all around him is uncomplicated and bountiful.’
To the audience in the sunny restaurant, Gillian said: ‘A lot of people are surprised at David’s kissing and hugging; but don’t you think if there was more kissing and hugging the world might be a better place?’
And what does David Helfgott think of the film and the publicity that has people going into music stores demanding his CD of "Rak 3" (Rachmaninof’s Third Concerto), who have never listened to classical music in their lives. ‘I feel very privileged and grateful to the end of eternity.’
Gillian revealed that just as she was dressing for the lunch, she had received a phone call from the US telling her that ‘Shine’, despite being shown in only 10 cinemas so far, had been named film of the year by the US National Board of Review of Motion Pictures. ‘Surely a very good omen for the Academy Awards...’
Now here among us at last, was the slim, smiling man whose story most of us already knew: the child prodigy whose oversensitive, over-protective Polish Jewish father had forbidden to take up a scholarship to London’s Royal College of Music, and who was shown to be violent, beating him. (David’s London-based sister, Margaret, has protested in letters to Australian newspapers that their father’s portrayal was unfair and inaccurate. "The truly great are often misunderstood," she said).
Whatever the truth, David’s brilliant classical career had sunk into depression after he finally attended the Royal College, and he spent more than a decade in psychiatric institutions. Then one night he got the chance to play in a Perth wine bar and his confidence gradually returned. Consuming medication, massive amounts of caffeine and chain-smoking, he emerged into a half-way house, then, a doctor friend’s house, where Gillian met him and fell in love with him. ‘In 13 years,’ she told her audience, ‘I have never had a boring day. I long for a boring day!’ She said she dreaded airports because David would suddenly take off in the crowd, kissing and hugging everyone in sight with minutes to go before departure. She always booked him a seat by the window, otherwise every attendant, whose names he memorised instantly from their lapel badges, would be flattered, smothered with kisses and cajoled for endless cups of coffee.
Music had kept David going through the dark years. He had never been without a piano. ‘People like David may have different mannerisms than other people, different methods of communicating; but their souls are still there and these souls need loving and nurturing,’ she told the audience. David had recently given an unheard-of three sell-out performances at the Sydney Opera House and is scheduled this year for a world tour. A book about his own life was now being written.
She said: ‘A woman who had been through a serious breakdown, took a group of fellow psychiatric patients to see ‘Shine’. Outside the cinema they stood in awe of what they had seen. One said: "Watching what happened to David and what he has achieved, gives us some hope that someone will love us."
After several stiff little upright bows, eyes clenched closed and wearing a silver silk smock, dark trousers and patent-leather shoes, David Helfgott settled at the piano. The moment his long fingers touched the keys he became lost in the piece, face grim for a moment, then alive and happy, grinning at some private joke; humming, then whispering loudly, matching the notes with stacatto snatches of his own language that at times sounded like deep-throated moans.
When his three pieces were finished, he stood to the applause, rocking rather than bowing, arms stretched behind him, fists clenched, face squeezed in a tight grimace. ‘Are you proud of me, darling?’ he asked Gillian.
