Franz Schubert’s Winterreise, completed in 1827, consists of 24 “truly terrible songs, which affected [him] more than any others.” Composed almost entirely in minor keys, the songs and lyrics sound sad, detailing not only the fateful journey of a nameless narrator, but also evoking Schubert’s own personal condition, having recently contracted syphilis. He died just one year later.[1]
The coda to Winterreise is “Der Leiermann” (The Hurdy Gurdy Man). It is about the narrator’s despair and the complete deterioration of his mental state. The lyrics, written by Wilhelm Müller, mention a man who “with numb fingers, plays the best he can…no one wants to listen, no one looks at him.”
It is in words, sound, and spirit, the perfect song to ominously flow through director Louis-Jack’s 16-minute film, Petrichor, completed in mid-2020 and currently on the festival circuit. The movie is a haunting snapshot of a washed-up, former snooker wunderkind preparing for his final match and unable to accept his career ended some time ago.
From the opening piano chords of “Der Leiermann,” Petrichor evokes a disturbing, spectral sensation. The viewer is intently and intimately focused on a snooker table, but the experience is slightly unnatural. The camera pans right to left and a bodiless, white-gloved referee completes the rack, even as a light dust falls over the baize.
After the film’s title is revealed, the movie abruptly cuts to the backside of a balding man, probably in his 50s, with greasy hair, an unshaven face, and a disturbing paunch drooping over his mustard-colored underwear, the only clothing the man has on. He looks jaundiced, smoking a cigarette, and splashing vodka into a used plastic water bottle that he uncaps with his teeth. He’s in some sort of industrial bathroom, talking to a man in the mirror. The viewer does not want to be in the room, and neither does he.
The viewer soon learns this man is Liam “Lightning” Daniels (played by Paul Kaye, who Game of Thrones fans will recognize as Thoros of Myr), a three-time world snooker championship finalist, the People’s Champion, the Force of Nature. Daniels enters the snooker hall to the sound of a roaring crowd, but like the man in the mirror, it’s all in his head, as the dreary room houses maybe 10 people, including his opponent.
I won’t share more about what happens, but the ending is shot as beautifully as the opening. The viewer hovers above Daniels, watching him play, but also watching him fade ever farther into the distance. (A special shout-out to “The Cream of Devon” Andy Hicks, who is credited as both a snooker consultant on the film and the stunt double for Mr. Kaye.)
Petrichor is intentionally unsettling and spookish. This is not a love letter to snooker, though the director has shared that “before he even knew the rules, he was utterly mesmerized by [snooker] on TV.” Rather, this is a film about the “psychological warfare on the table, a life lived from a suitcase and relentless losses that have left [Daniels] a shell of a man.” Louis-Jack continues:
“Snooker has an incredible history of amazing characters. Many of the most compelling players to watch – the mercurial geniuses of the green baize – have experienced severe mental illness and volatile personal lives…I thought that a portrait of a snooker player would not only make for thrilling drama but could, in turn, be a powerful vehicle for exploring mental illness.”[2]
It doesn’t take much Googling to confirm Louis-Jack’s assessment of the damaging effect snooker can have on individuals’ mental health. The five-time world champion Ronnie O’Sullivan is probably the sport’s most vocal critic. During various parts of his magnificent career, Mr. O’Sullivan has been heavily involved in alcohol and drugs as a way to combat his self-coined “snooker depression.” Speaking to BBC’s Don’t Tell Me the Score podcast last year, Mr. O’Sullivan said: “Snooker is a really hard sport, and if I had my time over again, I definitely wouldn’t choose snooker as a sport to pursue.”[3]
Mark Allen, who won the Triple Crown title at the 2018 Masters tournament, has been similarly outspoken, directly linking his depression to his life as a long-distance snooker player. So too have snooker professionals Martin Gould and Michael White shared their struggles with the illness. In fact, the issue became so prominent that in 2017 the World Professional Billiards and Snooker Association (WPBSA) announced partnerships with both Talking Solutions Ltd and with the SOS Silence of Suicide group to support snooker players struggling with mental health issues.
Research has shown that social isolation and depression are closely linked. Therefore, is it really a surprise that snooker players, who are constantly traveling and practicing alone, are at greater risk of suffering from depression than other athletes, especially those who play on teams or who are supported by coaches and trainers?
While Petrichor is not yet publicly available to watch, you can see the trailer here. I hope that the film’s release and reception not only accelerate Louis-Jack and writer Kenneth Emson’s plans to develop a feature-length version, but also continue to amplify the discussion around depression in professional sports. No one may want to listen to or look at the Hurdy Gurdy Man, but his story needs to be told.
[1] “Decoding the Music Masterpieces: Schubert’s Winterreise,” The Conversation, August 28, 2017.
[2] Louis-Jack is quoted in a pre-release article published in It’s Nice That, July 17, 2018.
[3] “Ronnie O’Sullivan health: Snooker champ discusses how the sport caused his depression,” Express, December 15, 2020
