The most striking thing about Jamie Walton in the interview that opens Paul Joyce’s film of Benjamin Britten’s three Cello Suites is his lack of egocentricity. Self-effacing and not in the least pretentious, he talks with great sensitivity about the significance of these works – both to him and as works open to appraisal and criticism. It is difficult to suggest that hearing and watching a musician speak about a work immediately (or not) before a performance will not in any way inform how the listener receives it. At worst it can cheapen and de intensify it; at best it can add a further dimension to music with which one already has an abiding relationship.

So it is surprisingly mesmerising watching a player such as Walton, whose musical insight allows him to honour the volatility that runs between the Suites (and often between their movements, and even bars), play with the sense of calm and concentration that he does. This is particularly striking in the First Suite, where the technical demands are such that to meet the challenge of staying as still and tranquil as he does gives the music itself far more power. Walton has always been able to see the bigger picture, never giving the impression that he believes in chasing technical perfection at the cost of the musical momentum of a piece, but here it is compelling to see how no compromise has to be made anywhere.

This is even true of the Chaconne of the Second Suite, which often has a tendency in performance – much like Bach’s – to goad players into trying to control it, to the detriment either of the tuning or the varied musical narrative, or both. This is combined with simple videography that accompanies the progression of the works from bright morning sunlight through afternoon and creeping dusk to arrive at full night for the introverted, death-concerned Third. It is enormously atmospheric and, as with Walton’s playing, takes the viewer through a profoundly moving artistic process with minimum fuss, and maximum effect.