Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--Falling Down Stairs; Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--The Music Garden; Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--Sarabande; Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--Six Gesture; Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--Sound of the Carceri; Yo-Yo Ma: Inspired by Bach--Struggle for Hope

When the renowned classical cellist Yo-Yo Ma decided to record Bach's six suites for unaccompanied cello, he sought out leading lights in dance, architecture, Kabuki theatre, film, skating and garden design to collaborate in an artistic cross-disciplinary interpretation of the works. Settling in with some non-alcoholic grape juice and cheese substitute (soy cheddar), I spent a long summer afternoon alternately delighted, bored, awestruck, annoyed, and--even though I can only unreservedly recommend two--ultimately edified for having made the six-hour journey. Working from (in this reviewer's opinion) worst to best, Falling Down Stairs, based on the third suite, pairs Yo-Yo Ma and choreographer Mark Morris (an egotistical boor who reminded me of Peter O'Toole in The Stunt Man, minus the authority and charm). Following a half-hour of behind-the-scenes fatuous shop talk that will appeal to dance students only, the finished piece is performed by 15 members. I'm not exactly sure how the spirit of the third suite would find expression on the dance floor, but I'm convinced that this stylized arrangement of arbitrary contortions (which typifies the mechanistic, spiritless approach of much modern dance) ain't it.The Sound of the Carceri (2nd suite) and Struggle for Hope (5th suite) are both occasionally entertaining/enlightening films which suggest that Ma's conception, though grand and relentlessly ambitious, is perhaps too insular to appeal to viewers outside of the specialized areas represented here: architecture and Kabuki theatre, respectively. In the former, director François Girard chronicles the musician's attempt to wed a series of architectural sketches by Piranesi (dungeons and dragons stuff, without the dragons), visualized for the viewer through computerized three-dimensional drawings in which Ma is superimposed, with his rendition of the second suite. Deep discussions about changing the reverb delay time during recording and adjusting bowing technique were (to me) less than sublime, though I suspect architectural and/or music students might respond to this as if they were seeing the emperor's new clothes: outwardly impressed. Struggle for Hope features Kabuki artist Tamasaburo Bando (a self-proclaimed "tragic human being"--and how the hell do you respond to that?) working with Ma. Once again, I failed to see the artistic connection between the music and what appeared to be stylized calisthenics during the second half as Bando, dressed as a geisha, glided around the floor brandishing a butterfly fan.The most disappointing effort was Atom Egoyan's Sarabande (4th suite), a dramatic film exploring (rather fuzzily) the relationship between music and--choose one or more--1) the road not taken, 2) relationship ennui, 3) missed connections (literal and metaphorical) and 4) healing. Although the final quarter of the film almost succeeds in drawing the wildly disparate plot threads together into a moving denouement, the first three quarters of laborious set-up aren't worth it.Interestingly it is the alpha and omega suites which are the best. Not best suites, necessarily; nor best collaborative ideas, but best films--and that, after all, is the most important unit of measurement here. The Music Garden (1st suite) begins like the other films with an intriguing, if somewhat strained, idea: Julie Moir Messervy agrees to design a garden for Boston's city plaza based on the first suite ("Bach to nature," as media pundits dubbed the project). Initially, as Messervy outlined her ideas, I was torn between feeling a grudging respect for her attempts to rationalize the marriage between Bach and shrubbery and a vague sense that it was time to don my waders. What the Boston politicos felt is a mystery: as Ma and Moir Messervy present their case to bureaucrats around a board table, the looks range from vacant to inscrutable (the first of many reminders that art and commerce are not the best of bedfellows). Just as Werner Herzog literally scaled mountains to bring his film Fitzcarraldo to the screen, so cellist and garden designer struggle for the better part of a year trying to raise the necessary funding until the Boston fathers pull the financial plug...opening the door for Toronto's civic planners and another chance. The Music Garden, directed by Kevin McMahon, succeeds not because of its subject, but because real events overtook the project, expanding the film beyond a music-meets-horticulture experiment into a look at the age-old battle between the artistic imagination and the financial bottom line.Finally, Six Gestures proves, to me, that Yo-Yo Ma's conception was not only workable, but capable--with the right mix of talent--of achieving transcendence. Filmmaker Patricia Rozema (I've Heard the Mermaids Singing, When Night is Falling) proves herself, once again, to be a master at pure cinema, seamlessly interweaving Yo-Yo Ma's playing (in a crowded Times Square, no less), the beautifully choreographed figure skating of Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, and commentary from J. S. Bach (here played by Tom McCamus). Each component (music, skating, cinematic direction) is noteworthy in and of itself; together, they form one of the purest aesthetic experiences I've enjoyed all year.To recap: Falling Down Stairs should be inflicted on self-absorbed dance students only; The Sound of the Carceri, Struggle for Hope and Sarabande are interesting misses and are optional purchases; The Music Garden is recommended. The exquisite Six Gestures is highly recommended and an Editor's Choice. (Note: The series is also being sold with home video rights only on PBS's website for $149.95 for all six parts.)