Lately, I've been trying to enter into movies as unspoiled as possible--no trailers, no reviews, no news. This strategy has greatly improved my enjoyment of movies, I think. In the case of TAR, I went in knowing that it was about a controversial female conductor trying to put together a difficult symphony. I also, for some reason, was convinced that it was based on a true story--an illusion that the film itself in no way dispelled. Was it unusual to be seeing a biopic about such very recent events in the life of a living person? Sure. Was it refreshingly bold that the film seemed to hold no punches in its portrayal of its real life protagonist? Absolutely, but that seemed to fit what Lydia Tar would want. I imagined her giving her full endorsement to a film that exposed both her phenomenal talent and her most despicable flaws. Was I confused by the apparent artistic license that director Todd Field must have taken when choosing to reveal intimate private details that contradicted what was being told to the public? Sure, but this is art! Was it a bit mind blowing that I had never heard about some of the newsworthy events in the film? Well, yes and no--for one, I kinda remembered reading about that climax in The Atlantic last summer, and for another, well, what the hell do I know about the world of classical music? I can't tell you the name of any conductor, living or dead, world famous or not. For hours after seeing the film, I had no idea that it was not a fairly accurate account of real recent events.
Todd Field has created a masterpiece. The world he has captured feels utterly believable. The jargon-laden conversations, so frequently peppered with charged opinions about esoteric ephemera; the complete lack of anything that feels expository or explanatory; the magnificent embodiment of these characters by Cate Blanchett, Nina Hoss, Noemie Merlant, and the others, so evocative of real lived emotions and back stories and contradictions; the atmospheric realism to every setting, prop, and costume: everything about this film seems suggestive of nonfiction, as though Todd Field and the other filmmakers were able to convey this international ecosystem of elite musical performance so convincingly because they were simply copying details, interviews, and footnotes that already existed. It is simply astounding that this screenplay is an original creation; its level of immersive realism surpasses anything else I can think of.
The cinematography by Florian Hoffmeister, the editing by Monika Willi, and the work accomplished by their sound team likewise contribute to this impressive illusion. The camerawork in the opening scene so effectively places us in Lydia's New Yorker interview with the real life Adam Gopnik as he enumerates the many accomplishments on her CV that the enunciation of her bio becomes a hypnotic spell ferrying us into the alternate reality on the screen. Other scenes capture gestures, tics, expressions, and glances that add infinite subtext and subversion to what is happening on screen.
Towards the end of the film, a 1958 recording of Tar's mentor Leonard Bernstein explains to us "what music means" and how it's infinitely more layered and meaningful than our verbal communication. This is illustrated throughout the film, showing a woman of humble beginnings who has mastered not just English but apparently several vocabularies and yet often uses those precise words to conceal, to obfuscate, to abuse, to disorient, and to terrorize. Most of what she says often comes across as inauthentic, dishonest, pretentious, or performative except when the subject is musical expression, which she truly seems to intuit and love. At times, you'll want subtitles to fully understand her hypereducated and superspecialized speech; if you can't keep up, it's only proof that she belongs in the ivory towers and you do not. Sometimes literal subtitles are needed (and not always provided) to fully understand the multilingual conversations, although the sense of the language can be appreciated simply from the sounds and delivery. When Tar tosses out ten-dollar words like "misogamist" in the midst of an argument in order to simultaneously belittle, confuse, and derail her opponent, one sees the ways in which education can be used simultaneously as a weapon and as armor. Beneath her venomous loquaciousness cowers an insecure frailty. Ignore the mask, the identity, the performance of self, Tar seems to beg--only the music matters.
That is, in fact, her literal argument in one very captivating scene early in the film. During a screed against identity politics, she effectively asserts that art must be separated from the artist--a stance which the remainder of the film then troubles to the utmost. The movie engages in the cultural politics of today with full complexity, refusing easy answers or the clear taking of sides.
There is a lot to unpack in this beautiful, artful, and provocative film. I imagine many audience members will be turned off by its many discomforting choices: forcing us to watch and acknowledge the full credits of all the filmmakers in the crew before beginning the movie, making us empathize with a protagonist whose actions are often contemptible and unforgivable, forcing us to keep up with allusions and references that are often unfamiliar, tantalizing us with glimpses of moments that have no clear purpose or meaning within the structure of the film, and then denying us any of the obvious catharsis that we've come to expect from our character arc-driven movie structures. Nevertheless, this is a rich, powerful, and moving film that I will certainly be revisiting many times.
Todd Field has created a masterpiece. The world he has captured feels utterly believable. The jargon-laden conversations, so frequently peppered with charged opinions about esoteric ephemera; the complete lack of anything that feels expository or explanatory; the magnificent embodiment of these characters by Cate Blanchett, Nina Hoss, Noemie Merlant, and the others, so evocative of real lived emotions and back stories and contradictions; the atmospheric realism to every setting, prop, and costume: everything about this film seems suggestive of nonfiction, as though Todd Field and the other filmmakers were able to convey this international ecosystem of elite musical performance so convincingly because they were simply copying details, interviews, and footnotes that already existed. It is simply astounding that this screenplay is an original creation; its level of immersive realism surpasses anything else I can think of.
The cinematography by Florian Hoffmeister, the editing by Monika Willi, and the work accomplished by their sound team likewise contribute to this impressive illusion. The camerawork in the opening scene so effectively places us in Lydia's New Yorker interview with the real life Adam Gopnik as he enumerates the many accomplishments on her CV that the enunciation of her bio becomes a hypnotic spell ferrying us into the alternate reality on the screen. Other scenes capture gestures, tics, expressions, and glances that add infinite subtext and subversion to what is happening on screen.
Towards the end of the film, a 1958 recording of Tar's mentor Leonard Bernstein explains to us "what music means" and how it's infinitely more layered and meaningful than our verbal communication. This is illustrated throughout the film, showing a woman of humble beginnings who has mastered not just English but apparently several vocabularies and yet often uses those precise words to conceal, to obfuscate, to abuse, to disorient, and to terrorize. Most of what she says often comes across as inauthentic, dishonest, pretentious, or performative except when the subject is musical expression, which she truly seems to intuit and love. At times, you'll want subtitles to fully understand her hypereducated and superspecialized speech; if you can't keep up, it's only proof that she belongs in the ivory towers and you do not. Sometimes literal subtitles are needed (and not always provided) to fully understand the multilingual conversations, although the sense of the language can be appreciated simply from the sounds and delivery. When Tar tosses out ten-dollar words like "misogamist" in the midst of an argument in order to simultaneously belittle, confuse, and derail her opponent, one sees the ways in which education can be used simultaneously as a weapon and as armor. Beneath her venomous loquaciousness cowers an insecure frailty. Ignore the mask, the identity, the performance of self, Tar seems to beg--only the music matters.
That is, in fact, her literal argument in one very captivating scene early in the film. During a screed against identity politics, she effectively asserts that art must be separated from the artist--a stance which the remainder of the film then troubles to the utmost. The movie engages in the cultural politics of today with full complexity, refusing easy answers or the clear taking of sides.
There is a lot to unpack in this beautiful, artful, and provocative film. I imagine many audience members will be turned off by its many discomforting choices: forcing us to watch and acknowledge the full credits of all the filmmakers in the crew before beginning the movie, making us empathize with a protagonist whose actions are often contemptible and unforgivable, forcing us to keep up with allusions and references that are often unfamiliar, tantalizing us with glimpses of moments that have no clear purpose or meaning within the structure of the film, and then denying us any of the obvious catharsis that we've come to expect from our character arc-driven movie structures. Nevertheless, this is a rich, powerful, and moving film that I will certainly be revisiting many times.