Now, as you might expect, Gould's playing forms the film's core, a hub around which all understanding necessarily revolves. After all without this, the name Gould would have no public meaning. Thankfully the pieces chosen by Girard are uplifting, emotionally intense and destined to make you yearn for the real thing. Gould's interpretation, as no doubt scores have already noted, is warm and supple, technically remarkable yet never alienating; one could absorb this talent forever, never weary or bored. Clearly Girard made the correct (if inevitable) decision when he elected to use only original Gould pieces. And yet, the film is only tangentially about Gould's music and so it never grows to become the dominant theme; there are other paths by which a fan can approach this maestro!
Imaginatively, Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould is more an exploration of Gould's place within the world, a study of his life's arc rather than a list of achievements. Hence the story more or less kicks off with Gould as a little boy, a prodigy reading music before words, never wishing to be anything other than a concert pianist. A compelling start, vivid enough to catapult us forward through time to Gould's (now performed by Colm Feore) last concert. We don't get to see all that happened in-between and we don't need to; if you can't interpolate then the facts are surely in the public domain. No, now Girard touches upon Gould's eccentric sophistication, raw intellect binding him to a lifestyle incomprehensible to a contemporary like Yehudi Menuhin.
In its entirety, this film is a wonderful education as to just how much of a difference editing can make to the finished product; without the structure, timing and contexts imposed by Gaétan Huot's judicious manipulation, the movie would be a sorry mess. Instead, full justice is done to Alain Dostie's sympathetic photography. In one vignette, X-ray images of Gould dance and twist while he plays; his fingers quick and skeletal, his over-heavy head nodding to the beat. In another Gould listens intently to a recording, physically swept along by the notes around him. Dostie's camera ducks and curves smoothly, closing with Gould shutting the lid of his piano; a clever, circular instant of reversal. Here and elsewhere Girard's experienced crew give his vision true form.
Looking back it seems that Girard really did take on an impossible task and, against the odds, triumph. As an individual, Gould certainly doesn't provide much assistance; for the last twenty or so years of his life Gould lived on his own benign terms, caring but distant, like an emigrated uncle. Conducting interviews by telephone, refusing to perform and enigmatic in his comments, Gould maintained absolute control over his image. Fortunately Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould is no kiss-and-tell story, there are no salacious revelations here! Instead we glimpse his personality through music and conversation, handed down by friends and contemporaries, expressed in abstraction and animation. This is where Girard's style comes true, inspired and inspiring in its lashing of disparate and unconventional ideas to a fundamentally musical framework.
The end result is that Gould comes across as a typical genius, obsessed by his obsession, devoted to his craft and at odds with his accomplishments. As some of the central themes (sounds, isolation, hypochondria and mysticism) loop back and connect, we have a feel for Gould, perhaps knowing as much about him as anyone. Erudite and highly able, he plainly cared little for appearance and social nicety, absorbed more by a something, a hunger forever beyond our appreciation. And yet, as Girard's oblique vignettes clearly show, our knowledge amounts to so very little. Perhaps, beyond all of the conjecture and fact, it's Gould's will that makes the most enlightening comment; half was left to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and half to the Salvation Army.