Documentary detailing the creative process of Sergiu Celibidache, Romanian born symphony conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic and Stuttgart Orchestra, among others. That was the intent of the filmmaker, the maestro's son Serge Ioan Celibidache. What we see in addition, intentional or not, is a portrait of a man whose indisputable major talent evidently usurped his humanity.

Except for a photo or two from his younger days, the film presents scenes late in his life mostly with his music students. They listen and watch with reverence and uneasiness as he verbally shreds the efforts of each student who gets a shot at conducting a piece for the class. These scenes are intercut with the master as he amuses himself around the garden caring for the flowers and feeding the ducks. At every turn, what he has been saying to his students seems contradicted by his total acceptance of the harmony he sees in nature. This natural accord he is content to let be, without trying to conduct the cosmos.

Layered on top of these two venues are conversations and quiet moments with some Buddhist monks who are his guests in the garden. In addition to music, Celibidache has a passion for Zen philosophy, which strives for a perfect state of being. As he aims for perfection from the music, he seeks perfection for his own state of being.

In the music, this need for perfection is most obviously manifest in his belief that to record music is to lose its purity and essence. Music should be performed and heard live as an organic entity. He describes with some frustration how it is impossible to capture the music in a recording. According to his elaborate reasoning and explanation, some 40% of the music is lost in the act of recording it. This explains why there are so few recordings of his concerts. Some of these few instances of mechanical reproduction are in this film, where we see him rehearsing and then conducting some beautiful pieces by Mozart, Schubert, and his favorite Bruckner.

This is a fascinating look at the creative process unfolding as he coaxes, guides, cajoles, and browbeats the students into experiencing the music as he does. Ironically, the only time we see him actually conversing with others is in the brief scenes with the Buddhists. In his exaggerated sense of self-esteem, he seems to feel that they may have reached a level of perfection that he can relate to. With his students and the interviewer, (who remains off camera, is it his son?) he lectures or pontificates, but does not allow them to respond. He is clearly seen to be extremely egocentric.

He died in 1996 before seeing the movie, or maybe he did not wish to. His son will not discuss it. At its best, and the thing one takes away, is an understanding of the painstaking, detailed, and yes, loving, work of making music. That and the irony of understanding that one who is capable of creating such harmony may not be capable of much harmony with other people. With perhaps myopic vision of his own greatness, he strikes a note of honesty when he says that the world celebrates mediocrity. The film’s 147 minutes is too long by about a half hour, but perhaps Serge Ioan Celibidache was a bit too close to the subject to know when to quit.