Considering this screenplay was for a major film studio and geared for the general public, rather than professional musicians or scholars, the five writers who contributed to the script did a decent job.
Centered in the enactment is that of Clara Wieck, played fervently by Katherine Hepburn, who enjoyed a full life of commitment to her composer husband Robert Schumann, large family and artistic ideals.
Clara's strength held the household together, which included border composer Johannes Brahms, played earnestly by Robert Walker.
Paul Henried has the difficult assignment of portraying Robert, a musical genius suffering from depression. Whereas today medication easily placates these symptoms, in the 19th century, people just had to suffer from the ailment, which affected all those around. Henried manages the role with sensitivity.
Clara was known to eschew technical "brilliance" that was the earmark of Franz Liszt, and in one telling scene she conveys her embodiment of "loving simplicity" over Lisztian "show." It's a provoking moment that conjures relevance today, where "young piano whiz kids" often may play up a storm technically, while seldom penetrating the spiritual heart of the score.
Clara apparently was one of the strongest women of the 19th century, in a male-dominated society, successfully surmounting a father's legal challenge of her marriage, the deaths of a number of her children, and a husband who constantly needed attention--all the while composing, arranging, and giving concerts.
In a touching scene Walker's Jonannes admits to his love for Hepburn's Clara. It's not a far-fetched scene, according to musicologists, though there's hardly concrete proof for substantiation.
The film is rich in the works of Brahms, Schumann and Liszt, and Hepburn and Henry Danielle (as Liszt) do commendable physical renderings of mock piano playing to sublime recordings of Artur Rubenstein. Clarence Brown directs with his usual sure hand.
