TÁR
Image courtesy Universal Pictures 2022
Epitomising quality over quantity, Todd Field has directed a grand total of three films between 2001 and present day. His first, In The Bedroom (which is shamefully still on my watchlist) premiered at Sundance and received five Academy Award nominations (back when that meant something). His second, Little Children, explored a dark side of suburbia of which American Beauty could only dream. After 16 years he returns with TÁR - a quietly confident masterpiece about absolute corruption of power and its resulting paranoia in the Western classical music world. Described as a psychological drama, there’s a lot simmering away beneath the surface of this strangely haunting film; for those tolerant of a badly behaved (and likely unreliable) antihero, TÁR will occupy your mind long after the curtains close on its bewildering final act.
Lydia Tár (Blanchett) is a maestro at the peak of her career; she leads with gusto at the podium of the Berlin Philharmonic, she has a book coming out (titled Tár on Tár, of course) and she is soon to conduct a live recording of Mahler’s fifth symphony. The New Yorker’s Adam Gopnik (as himself) interviews Lydia onstage in a packed auditorium where we flit between front-of-stage perspective and the back of a red-headed woman watching stilly from somewhere in the middle of the seated crowd. Through this interview, we learn that Lydia is revered as one of the few female conductor/composers experiencing success in the historically male dominated industry; she belongs to the elusive EGOT club (having won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony), has recorded all of Mahler’s symphonies save for No. 5, and has worked in South America deep diving into what it really means to ‘keep time’. She balances her duties with teaching at Julliard and being the co-chair of the Accordion Foundation, an organisation that champions aspiring young female conductors. She’s on top of the world and as such, there’s only one direction things can go.
Like many (men) who find themselves in a position of power and influence, Lydia has taken advantage of the opportunities afforded her by her rank. As past sexual indiscretions become more than just inferences, a dangerous beast reveals itself in the shape of a smooth-faced “u-haul lesbian” whose words are as carefully tailored as her suits. Blessed with a concertmaster wife (Nina Hoss), a devoted personal assistant (Noémie Merlant), a child and a chic polished concrete apartment, the contrast between Lydia’s home life and working life is quite stark. One of the major themes of the film is the separation of art from artist and Lydia subscribes to this notion wholeheartedly, holding onto her old, classically-styled apartment under the guise of a home office (which she has historically used to groom those under her tutelage, including her now-wife). As a former flame leaves her world via tragic means, another enters in the shape of a rebel Russian cellist whose turquoise boots and unrestrained, animalistic talent inspire something in Lydia that will lead her down an unfamiliar path littered with ghosts.
Image courtesy Universal Pictures 2022
Field scatters crumbs throughout the film (which he also wrote) but rightly refuses to explain their presence, leaving many of TÁR’s mysteries up for interpretation. A curious maze, an abandoned building, a black dog, a two-note alarm sound repeated in different settings - symbols of Lydia’s paranoia or odd obstacles obscuring a new career high? Field counts among his mentors Stanley Kubrick, having starred in his erotic mystery Eyes Wide Shut. Similarities in atmosphere can be found in TÁR but are so whispered that some, like Lydia herself, may not immediately notice the change in vibration occurring after a disturbing act. What comes through without question are Lydia’s peculiarities, bursting with volume and severity to us but accepted as part and parcel by those around her.
Lydia seems to think of herself as unconstrained by the expectations of her gender, scoffing at the likes of International Women’s Day and terms like ‘Mum’. Instead, she displays typically masculine behaviours (even introducing herself to her kid’s bully as “Petra’s father”) in her day-to-day. She fails to hide her lust for sycophantic female admirers, she dines with old male mentors (Julian Glover) and inferior male colleagues (Mark Strong) and she surrounds herself with pretty women whom she can control; short of blatantly re-adjusting her junk, Lydia she walks through life with what can only be described as big dick energy. That this role was originally written for a man seems preposterous after having seen the film; everything that is baffling and nuanced about Lydia springs from this fracture in her identity and inability to view herself objectively. If Lydia were a man, would she have been able to hide her behaviour in plain sight for so long? “True power requires camouflage,” states the film’s teaser - we’ll leave it at that.
It almost seems redundant to mention, but Blanchett’s performance in TÁR is one for the ages. With a visage as flawless as Patrick Bateman’s and a knack for demolition rivalling Miranda Priestly, Lydia is a fearsome thing to behold. Blanchett immersed herself fully in the role, learning piano and the art of conducting so that everything she does onscreen is authentic. She is equally as put-together in her highs as she is ravenous in her lows and it’s a persona Blanchett says she needs time to shed - let’s just hope Lydia didn’t do too much damage.
With time to steep over the last few days, TÁR’s flavours have deepened. At face value appearing to be a fictional biopic of power in decline and cancel culture on the rise, the film's quieter notes have come forward and revealed at its centre a psychologically terrifying depiction of a mind fractured by suppressed guilt and grief. The uncertainty over who is editing Lydia’s Wikipedia page in the opening and what part her chronic insomnia plays in the strange happenings around her validate a later reveal that not only is she not quite who she thinks she is, she’s not even who she says she is. One can retcon the past all they like but deleting incriminating emails is a half measure and anything recorded on a phone can (and will) be taken out of context.
TÁR: a mockumentary?
If Fargo claims to be a true story but isn’t, TÁR’s greatest strength might be its slow and determined morphing into an account that feels uncannily real and lived in (to the point that some in the crowd even voiced surprise at its fiction)…until it’s not. The film’s crescendo is a brilliant slice of melodrama that works on whatever level you want it to; taken literally (as it likely will be on first viewing) it’s a monumental fall from grace that revels in its heroine’s scrappy revenge and resulting punishment. But there’s something a bit surreal about the third act that suggests all might not be exactly as it seems. Field has succeeded spectacularly in crafting a film that will only get better with repeat visits - so long as the viewer is aware of what they’re in for.
Unfortunately for the many walkouts in our screening, a second date is unlikely. Throughout TÁR’s 2½ hour runtime we witnessed about 20 premature withdrawals; some quietly slipped away not long after downing their complimentary glass of bubbles, while others loudly announced their departures (and stupidity) around the halfway point. But sitting amongst an audience of varied types of intelligence added an immersive aspect to the experience; whether from the beast of a woman in front of us, who not only stole somebody’s seat but then lied about it and confidently handed him back his car keys (no doubt still warm from having been enveloped by her behind, along with his crushed box of popcorn) or the person who decided to quickly answer a phone call during a particularly still scene and then accidentally hit the speaker button, extrinsic faults of human nature only added to my takeaways.
So if you’ve got time, focus and the ability differentiate between ‘boring’ and subtly riveting, TÁR might just blow your socks off.
TÁR is in cinemas January 26.
