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| Writer/director Todd Field |
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| Field with Cate Blanchett |
TÁR A USA (158 mi) 2022 ‘Scope d: Todd Field
Appearing as a crooner in Woody’s Allen’s Radio Days (1987), starring with Ashley Judd in Victor Nuñez’s RUBY IN PARADISE (1993), while playing the blindfolded pianist in Stanley Kubrick’s EYES WIDE SHUT (1999), Field stopped acting and turned to directing in the early 90’s, receiving his Master of Fine Arts from the AFI Conservatory. Only the third film by this director, premiering at the Sundance Festival with In the Bedroom (2001), separated by five years from Little Children (2006), which initially screened at the Telluride Festival, and the next is now 16 years later, each exploring spectacular human failings, moving in scope from the intimately personal first film, a potent study of guilt and grief, an ode to the futility of vengeance, to a tragic Madame Bovary variation with community-wide ramifications in the next, both adapted from previously existing sources, and finally enlarging the canvas to an epic scale in a full-blown, behind-the-scenes exploration of one of the premiere classical music conductors in the world, where one wonders if there is that much difference between conducting and directing? Written with Cate Blanchett in mind, winner of the Best Actress award when it premiered at the Venice Film Festival, this larger than life story is the classical music equivalent of Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood (2007), as it revolves around a massive character study of Blanchett as Lydia Tàr, the esteemed, first-ever, female orchestra leader of the Berlin Philharmonic, fearlessly told through the artist’s perspective, intoxicated by the seemingly unlimited reach of her own power, ultimately undone by a fever dream of arrogance and ethical lapses, never making it easy on viewers, structured a bit like a symphony, with its long phrases and short outbursts, where the choice musical selections capture the emotional landscape of her character, becoming one of the more complex films of the year. Offering razor sharp insights, one of the most visceral and gripping moments is a long and detailed bravado opening scene with a captivated New York audience that immediately lures audiences into a sophisticated and intelligent discussion of classical music through one of those up close and personal onstage interviews at a New Yorker festival Q & A with The New Yorker’s staff writer Adam Gopnik, where it’s easy to admire her expertise and passion. Instantly elevating her personal appeal from listing all of her many accolades that have been carefully prepared, she is a musical prodigy, composer, patron of the arts with a doctorate from Harvard, founder of a scholarship program for young girls studying at the conservatory, and author of an upcoming book Tár on Tár, also a rare EGOT winner (an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony), the conductor of one of the world’s most distinguished orchestras, having recorded live performances on Deutsche Grammophon of the entire Mahler symphonic output except Symphony No. 5, which is scheduled in the near future, mentored by Leonard Bernstein, and like him she exhibits a talent for articulating the dramatic power of music, yet what distinguishes this scene is the clarity and eloquence of her answers, easily comprehensible, not over anyone’s heads, breaking it down in a way that makes it easier to appreciate a conductor’s role in affecting results, TÁR - "You Cannot Start Without Me" Official Clip - YouTube (48 seconds). Near the end of the film there’s a video of Bernstein suggesting music can express what words cannot, which seems to be the core motivation for Lydia’s work. Taking a somewhat literary approach, making a cerebral film offering plenty of thought-provoking ideas, seamlessly shifting between English, French, and German, it relies upon long takes and a precisely measured control, strangely opening with the end credits, showing gratitude, perhaps, for those often receiving little credit, referred to as Acknowledgements (needing a magnifying glass to read), which mysteriously excludes the principle actors (their credits are shown at the end). A live camera phone from an unknown viewer finds the director asleep on a plane to New York wearing a blindfold, eliciting sarcastic comments written on social media, establishing she is a public figure subject to her own share of ridicule, describing herself as “a U-Haul lesbian,” yet she scoffs at the idea that women conductors need a special gender-specific title like maestra, “They don’t call astronauts astronettes.” When we see her hold her own in a public forum, however, she is clearly a beloved figure, recognized not only for her musical talents but for her intellectual acumen.
There are common threads running through Todd Field’s filmography, which not only illustrates his prodigious strengths as a screenwriter (Oscar nominated in each of his films), but also the centrality of extraordinary female figures, Sissy Spacek and Marisa Tomei from In the Bedroom, and Kate Winslet from Little Children, all awarded Oscar nominations, with the two films earning eight Academy Award nominations between them, where this film is not expected to be any different, featuring exemplary dialogue and fully realized characters, with Blanchett providing a towering performance that may arguably be the best in her career, focusing on her strong, confident, and controlling nature, talking over people, always having the last word, having indisputably reached the upper echelon of her profession, before stripping away at the façade and revealing a precipitous fall from grace, which may leave many viewers more than a little ambivalent about just how they feel, engaging in scandalous behavior normally associated with men. Blanchett has in the past advocated for both Woody Allen and Roman Polanski, both saddled with glaringly public sex abuse allegations, which may add yet another layer of difficulty to the subject matter, becoming a monumental film of ominous implications, with a jagged puzzle piece editing scheme concocted by Michael Haneke’s editor Monika Willi, full of mysterious clues and no easy answers. Offering some beautiful glimpses of Berlin, including the concert hall of rehearsals, something of an architectural marvel of modernism, yet above all this exposes the personal intrigues and ties between women, as Cate Blanchett gives life to an out of the ordinary woman who tends to challenge the conventions of conformism, making us appreciate her first and then making her ethically unbearable and hateful, evoking parallels between the narcissism and hypocrisy of Hollywood in Joseph L Mankiewicz’s ALL ABOUT EVE (1950), with the psychological intrigues that arise in the relationship between various generations of artists or aspiring artists. Lydia Tár, as the orchestra conductor, assumes the Bette Davis role, the famous Broadway diva, surrounded by Anne Baxter as her youngest admirer aspiring to replace her, emulated by Francesca (Noémie Merlant), Tár’s tireless personal assistant who tends to her every whim while continually enduring being underestimated and ignored, yet would like to fill the assistant conductor position, joined by her life partner of ten years, Sharon (Nina Hoss), the stabilizing force in her life who is also the first violinist in the orchestra. Together they live in Berlin and share an adopted Syrian daughter, Petra (Mila Bogojevic), in a spacious and luxury chic industrial apartment that always appears darkened and impersonal, yet one of the most intimate scenes shows them dancing together to the music of Count Basie, calming the nerves after a blisteringly intense day. Tár has lunch with one of her sycophantic benefactors, Elliot Kaplan (Mark Strong), a wealthy man who she clearly does not respect, yet he funds her scholarship program, exerting a sense of ease and comfort in her role as they discuss the internal politics and interpersonal relationships of the orchestra, with plenty of gossip and social innuendos, always appearing so sure of herself, wielding a significant amount of responsibility and power, yet we also begin to see how easily dismissive she is about the opinions of others. This is followed by a tour de force Julliard guest lecture exquisitely filmed by cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister in an unbroken ten-minute single take, expressing a fluidity of movement with Lydia circling around the classroom, while also capturing the immediacy of the moment, accentuating every uncomfortable word and gesture as the maestro openly challenges and humiliates a pansexual student, Max (Zethphan Smith-Gneist), identifying with the acronym BIPOC (The BIPOC Project, Black, Indigenous, and people of color), as he openly resists the music of Bach, claiming he was a white European misogynist, making it impossible to identify with him. Lydia takes the bait and turns the argument back around on him, pointing out the absurdity of his position, hoping to distinguish between the artist and the man, as his genius has overcome any and all limitations, carving out an illustrious identity that will survive into eternity, repudiating his sentiment with the utter simplicity of an introductory Bach Prelude, Prelude and Fugue No. 1 in C major, BWV 846 ... - YouTube (5:18), yet her abrasive manner grows mockingly excessive and ruthlessly dismissive, becoming an exaggerated performance for the students, taking perverse pleasure in squeezing him like a bug, describing him as “an epicenic dissident” before informing him “The architect of your soul appears to be social media,” causing him to flee the classroom, calling her a “fucking bitch.”
Despite the success of Lydia’s argument, the entire history of classical music has always been a monolithic representation of almost exclusively one race and one gender, and one need only recall that Wagner was an anti-Semite, while both Britten and Tchaikovsky had more than a passing interest in young boys, so this remains something of an open question in the modern world, subject to continual reevaluation. The film even examines the forced denazification of acclaimed German conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler, as he remained in Germany during the war as the head of the Berlin Philharmonic, though he never joined the Nazi party and had publicly opposed Hitler’s regime, also Austrian conductor Herbert von Karajan, who did join the Party and was a Nazi favorite, waiting in the wings to replace him while helping to promote the Nazi war propaganda, which so irritated Furtwängler that he refused to call him by his name. One would be hard-pressed to name a single female conductor who has ever achieved anything like their international prominence, so this film innovatingly projects a post-feminist world that currently doesn’t exist, with Lydia having the distinct ability to distinguish out of tune instruments or off-note sounds in the orchestra, while also acutely sensitized to unrecognizable sounds around her, which play a significant role in the film, using sound in much the same way Antonioni experimented with photography in BLOW-UP (1966). Blanchett’s performance is easily her most exhilarating since Todd Haynes’ masterfully understated 2015 Top Ten List #6 Carol, also starring Blanchett as a lesbian, or the boozy Manhattan socialite in Woody Allen’s 2013 Top Ten List #7 Blue Jasmine, essentially seen as a maestro moving between lecterns, rehearsals, scores, and auditions, actually conducting the Dresden Orchestra, seen several times rehearsing the Mahler 5th, a commanding piece, all-consuming and haunting, providing insight into Mahler’s personal and professional control over his wife Alma when writing the piece, demonstrating a tour de force in the art of interpretation, snapping at her orchestra to finally get “the Visconti” out of their heads, alluding to the film music for his 1971 film DEATH IN VENICE, where Adagietto excerpts were prominently featured, becoming an iconic association. Ironically 1971 was also the same year opera diva Maria Callas taught master classes at Julliard, where one wonders if she was equally operatic in her classrooms. The film questions what constitutes accountability in our world today, examining the power dynamics of her role, as power is essential for how she has built herself up into her position, a seemingly self-made artist, the embodiment of success, who views her work superseding any gender, suggesting one must sublimate their identity in the pursuit of their art, believing it’s not useful to look into who the artist is, or their past, gender, race, sexuality, behavior, or even their morals. Yet this position conveniently covers up the fact it’s advantageous for her that people don’t see who she really is, becoming an exposé of modern artistic arrogance, where a manipulative person with an inflated view of power abuses that power to protect their image, doing questionable things, following the same trajectory that many men have traveled before, like having affairs with young students and musicians she’s particularly attracted to while rewarding them with special positions within the orchestra. It’s apparent the orchestra knows this is what she’s doing, and that it’s a longstanding pattern of behavior, yet they keep silent out of fear of reprisals, as they could lose their positions. At home, Lydia runs her home life as she does her orchestra, handling each issue as it presents itself, making sure her wife takes her medicine, while also taking care of her daughter’s problems. She seems to be having difficulty writing an original piano piece entitled For Petra, but at least according to Sharon, her daughter is the only real relationship she has in her life. One of the most chilling scenes comes early, with Lydia delivering her daughter to school, pointing out another girl in a red coat who’s apparently been bullying her. Lydia approaches the child, changing the entire focus of the film by speaking to her in precise German, adding a certain urgency, quickly informing her “I am Petra’s father,” before issuing a veiled threat indicating there would be consequences. Not exactly sure what that means, or why she shifted genders, but the imminent danger associated with the threat is astonishingly real, exposing a darker side of her that is carefully concealed, a stark contrast to how extremely image conscious she is, carefully controlling her public image, shrugging off any negative allegations, and may actually be editing her own Wikipedia page, though at one point she claims this is a sabotage against her character. Her biggest nightmare may be for the hideousness of her character to come to light, as we get a glimpse of that through the texting from her assistant Francesca, adding her own revelatory comments on social media, revealing that Lydia’s not totally in control of her image, even though she believes that she is.
Lydia is a distinctively outré gay woman who prefers a masculine style of dress in her everyday life, a dominating presence both at work and at home, yet is surprisingly at ease when discussing the history of women conductors, those who paved the way, acutely aware of the scant history of women in classical music, where the largesse of her ego is thoroughly on display. Blanchett has the ability to make her cruelty so charismatic, yet she would love to overlook her own personal indiscretions, as much of her power comes from taking advantage of people’s affections, making promises, offering career enhancements, as she does for an aspiring young cellist who catches her eye, Olga Metkina (played by British/German cellist Sophie Kauer), a prodigious Russian talent inspired by Jacqueline du Pré, Jacqueline du Pre & Daniel Barenboim - Elgar Cello Concerto YouTube (32:38), becoming an object of desire, exerting an incredible fascination on the maestro from the very first second, taking her under her wing, offering special favors, allowing her the Elgar solo even before she’s admitted to the orchestra, as the secrets of her past start to spill into her present. When things go wrong it’s represented by inexplicable or unwanted sounds, like hearing a woman’s cries while jogging in the park, or the ticking of a metronome at night, activities that are never explained, yet offer clues into her psychological deterioration. The film is essentially a treatise on power, as she ultimately chooses power over art, which may be why the film opens with the end credits, revealing the names of all the people working behind the scenes who normally receive little recognition. Such a prominent public figure can produce an all-consuming ego and sense of pride that can be self-centered and narcissistic, to the point of becoming cruel to those around her, leading to abuses in power in a world that doesn’t want to accept those practices anymore. Slowly stripping her of her charisma, showing us a darker side, a selfish and cruel person who can also be fragile and insecure, Lydia has no qualms about disposing of people and their feelings, behaving like a dictator with her subordinates, routinely calling anyone robots if they dare disagree, displaying a surprising ease in bending the rules for her own benefit. “It’s not a democracy,” she tells her daughter in one of the key scenes, as there is only one conductor, creating a parallel between the microcosm of the orchestra and power in contemporary society. In the #MeToo era, all it takes is a misplaced word, an incorrect action, or an exposed abuse to lose one’s hold on power, with recent reminders like Metropolitan Opera conductor James Levine or Spanish opera singer and conductor Plácido Domingo, where it’s amazing how once glorious careers fade with changing views on sexual harassment, where Lydia becomes a mirror image, offering a fascinating and at times repulsive set of contradictions, as she can be charismatic and funny, but also ruthless and cruel, mocking her students while manifesting a cold exterior, exhibiting acute intellect while at the same time showing a cynical and inhumane side, openly disinterested in what her closest collaborators may think, simply dismissing them, where no one is immune to her abuse. Much of the film is told in code, leaving little hints that must be extrapolated to be understood, like brief flashbacks, suggesting Lydia sabotaged and ruined the once promising career of Krista (Sylvia Flote, seen only in the beginning, blink and you’ll miss her), apparently coming too close, with subliminal sexual images suggesting she’s penetrated her private domain, sending obsessive and threatening email messages to Lydia, who quickly turns on her, calling her a rat and dismissing her from the orchestra, while sending emails to prospective employers that she’s not trustworthy and would have a corrosive impact overall. In abuse cases with public figures, we don’t often have all the specific details, but just the allegations, so we never know what truly happened. The same happens here, as in this instance, it’s not even clear if Lydia knows what she’s doing is wrong, as she may believe these are perks that come with the privilege of her position of power, instilling her with a near delusional sense of entitlement, with Lydia wondering where Twitter was when Schopenhauer threw some random old woman down a flight of stairs. Yet seemingly overnight her image is tarnished, implicated in a very public suicide, with her career suddenly derailed and her chaotic life left in shambles, with angry protests following her wherever she goes, where the rapid fall from grace is quite literally stunning, as is the restrained manner of Field masterfully directing that descent, evoking chilling questions about what’s real and what’s imagined. A film about art and obsession, Mahler’s 5th Symphony provides a link between this film and the inner decay underlying Visconti’s DEATH IN VENICE, slowly unraveling into a full-blown psychological thriller, centered around Lydia’s professional and emotional decay, as the music by Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir becomes more foreboding, creating a web-like trap where the walls are closing in on her, regressing into nameless ambiguity, coming full circle in an utter and complete transformation, with no possibility of redemption, ending with distinctly out-of-character electronic music at the end, at the opposite end of the spectrum from the classical symphonies that once defined her career. A film that invites reflection.
Cate Blanchett and Todd Field's Closet Picks! - YouTube picks from the Criterion closet (5:25)
