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This paralyzing, intense sequence is just one of many sobering scares in this awe-inspiring and exhausting motion picture, which won the coveted Palm D'Or Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. This week it continues to gain rave reviews from critics as it begins its U.S. run. Some are predicting Oscar nominations for best picture, best director, and best actor. Adrien Brody deserves high honors for his work portraying Wladyslaw Szpilman, a concert pianist whose career, family, and community are trampled underfoot as the Nazis crush his Warsaw home.

As I wrote last week, The Pianist is the most riveting film I saw in 2002. (My full review is at Looking Closer.) This week, other religious press critics are offering similar praise.

Steven D. Greydanus (Decent Films) praises it as a "masterful film, one that resolutely avoids melodrama, polemicism, heroics, or sentimentality. The Nazis commit ghastly atrocities, but aren't demonized; the protagonist … isn't celebrated. The result is a powerful film that is not about good and evil or cowardice and courage, but simply, starkly, life and death, civilization and chaos."

Doug Cummings (Chiaroscuro) says Polanski's Holocaust film "is a surprisingly hopeful one. This film … benefits in the sort of tossoff detail only a survivor could know. The movie differs from Schindler's List in at least two ways: it circumvents the extermination camps by focusing on the slow roasting of Warsaw and its people by slight degrees, and its protagonist isn't a savior looking in, but a victim reaching out. And Szpilman and Polanski (artist-survivors, both) offset the terrors by a love for music, a source of unquenchable beauty that touches all those with ears to hear and miraculously provides a way to endure."

Ted Baehr (Movieguide) addresses what may be a common misconception: "Going into the film, there is a tendency to say, 'Not one more Holocaust movie.' But this is not just another Holocaust movie. It is a history, which has been brought to life by a brilliant mind and will speak to everyone with its good sense, to all who seek to understand the past." Regarding Polanski, he writes, "The Pianist is arguably his best movie to date. [The film] builds to an incredible intensity. Every scene is thought out carefully. [Brody's] acting is superb. The sets also are incredible. Polanski takes viewers from the beauty of pre-war Warsaw to a devastation that is hard to imagine. As it is, the movie is almost a documentary with the power of drama. The Pianist deserved the Cannes Film Festival Palm d'Or."

But some disagree. Gerri Pare (Catholic News Service) calls it "a very personal work for the filmmaker who himself escaped the Krakow ghetto when he was only 7," but argues that it "fails to have the expected emotional impact."

Michael Elliott (Movie Parables) also notices a tone of "detachment," but considers that a strength. "There have been some critical complaints that the film is too emotionally detached; that we don't have a visceral connection with the characters or understand how they are emotionally responding to the events around them. I believe this, in itself, is a tremendous statement that Polanski is making. The enormity of the events; the unexplainable hatred and evil that showed its face; the amount of loss and grief mixed with the guilt of surviving. … It is all too much for human comprehension. We record, as does Szpilman, what is happening with a sense of disbelief. That disbelief later must grow to a kind of detached awareness because to emotionally connect with the sights, sounds, and smells of the horror would be too much for us to bear.

Elliott also observes a reflection of Scripture in the storyline: "As horrific as it is, we can be reminded of God's grace, mercy, and deliverance. 'For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead. Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate. I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works; I muse on the work of thy hands. I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land.'"

For an archive of rave reviews from mainstream critics, click here.

Steven D. Greydanus (Decent Films) writes, "The Pianist contains images as uniquely and indelibly horrifying as anything we've seen in any film. But Polanski isn't interested in mere emotional impact. He's giving us a human perspective on the story, rather than an omniscient one."

But the news is buzzing with a story that is decades old. Roman Polanski will probably not try to return to the U.S. for the Oscars. He left the U.S. decades ago after pleading guilty to charges of child rape, and has been making movies and living in France ever since. You can read about the situation here and peruse a new statement from his victim here.

Should we be praising the work of an unpunished criminal? Should Polanski's films have been allowed to play in the U.S. while he hid from justice overseas? What are your thoughts on the situation? We'll look at it more closely next week.

I asked readers to write in with their opinions on what should be done about Polanski and his movie.

A university English professor who wishes to remain anonymous submits these thoughts: "The relationship between artist and art is complex. As a medievalist, I deal with many texts that are anonymous, so the biographical issue is moot—the text must speak for itself. That may have been, at least in part, what D.H. Lawrence meant when he said, 'Trust the tale, not the teller.' We're pretty sure that Sir Thomas Malory was a rapist who also committed several other crimes for which he was imprisoned at the time he wrote Le Morte D'Arthur. Anyone want to argue we shouldn't read it because of Malory's sinful past?

"I have yet to see The Pianist, but from all accounts, it's another tale that transcends its teller. There are hundreds of examples of art that was more glorious and graceful than the lives of the artists that produced it.

"In some cases, actions speak louder than words. I expect my pastor to live, if not a perfect life (none of us can do that), at least one not in direct contradiction to his sermons. But a work of fiction, such as The Pianist (even though it's based on history and biography) should not be judged by its author's personal failings or worthiness as a person."

Kerry Oren of Leo, Indiana, says: "Thirty-some years ago, Beatles albums were burned because of John Lennon's comments about Jesus Christ. Sinead [O'Connor] destroyed a picture of the Pope on national television years later. Art in our fallen world is a product of fallen artists, and it would seem to be pretty hard to only honor the art of the God-honoring artists.

"But it seems to me this is different—this is a man who committed a crime, and who has never been held accountable for it—not to mention that it was a heinous crime against a child. I absolutely do not believe we should be honoring this man."

Should we pay attention to Polanski's crimes when judging his work? From the Netherlands, Rick de Geier, who writes film and music reviews for a Dutch magazine similar to Christianity Today, wrote in. "My answer is 'No.' It's usually nice to know stuff about the artist when enjoying art. It might enrich the experience, as it did for me when I watched The Pianist. Knowing Polanski was partly telling about his own childhood … made it even more tragic and powerful for me. On the other hand, I believe it is never absolutely necessary to know about the artist. Good art speaks for itself. A cynical or perverted yet gifted artist may be capable of making beautiful things in spite of himself.

"I don't believe you need to be a Christian to be inspired. My favorite movies, books, and music are made by people who undoubtedly have committed horrible sins. (Haven't we all?) Maybe the inexplicable magic of art … is the fact that it is lifted above whoever made it. It becomes something in itself."

I agree to an extent. Art, no matter whose hands craft it, is something that has a life of its own. It often means more—or even differently—than its creator intends. Great art throughout the ages has come from people both morally responsible and irresponsible; all human beings are flawed, and their art will always reflect that to some extent. If an artist had to pass some test of behavior for their art to be treated with respect, we would probably not be blessed with the works of such talents as Mozart, Van Gogh, or Dostoyevsky. How many great poets and artists enhanced their imaginations with harmful substances?

The Pianist is the most meaningful and artful film I saw in 2002, and many other critics agree. Academy members should not only feel free to honor it but if they feel it is indeed a work of surpassing excellence they have a responsibility to acknowledge that. (It is certainly superior to the current favorite, Chicago, which gleefully celebrates the corrupt behavior of its heroines.)

However, a work of art that deserves high praise does not in any way give the artist a free pass when it comes to justice. We are not at liberty to choose our own criminal punishment, no matter how much we assure others that we will not commit the crime again. If Polanski views his longtime absence as a self-imposed exile, it should not excuse him from a judge's ruling.

Here's a question: Could the Academy celebrate The Pianist by awarding the film its highest honor, and yet withhold the award from the director's hands until he has paid his debt to the community he so severely wronged? This would deliver a two-edged affirmation of artistic excellence and legal responsibility.

How much sweeter Polanski's success would have been if he had crafted such a work after paying his debts to society. Whatever the outcome, I agree with the anonymous professor who writes, "I don't think anyone can really 'hide from justice,' since 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay,' says the Lord."

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