Tár
Is it our character or our achievements that define us as a person? Tár is a complex drama that explores this idea. It is not the first to do so, but it is perhaps the most "in tune" with contemporary society to make such a brave attempt. The protagonist is acclaimed conductor Lydia Tár (Cate Blanchett), who is preparing to perform Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 5 with the Berlin Philharmonic. But after Lydia's assistant, Francesca Lentini (Noémie Merlant), informs her that a former protégée--and implied lover--named Krista Taylor (Sylvia Flote) has committed suicide, Lydia's carefully constructed persona begins to crumble, and in its wake the tumult breaks loose.
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Written and directed by Todd Field, Tár is an intimate examination of not just a complex personality (Lydia), but of our world today. By that I mean everything from our fixation on celebrities--and the license we grant them despite how insufferable they may be--to how we define others based on superficial data...and much more. To be honest, Tár at first appears almost impenetrable. From a rather unorthodox smattering of credits thrust at us from the start, the first scene is fundamentally a glut of exposition. It is an aggrandizing interview on stage with some windbag from The New Yorker (no wonder they didn't appreciate Tár), with all of the earmarks and canned humor befitting it. And yet...this is merely laying the foundation for what Tár is really about--turning the mirror of celebrity worship back on us, revealing how complicit we are in it. It's all but satire to see this wholly authentic scene played in all seriousness about a fictional character who is so true to life that people actually believed that Lydia Tár is/was a real person. (Spoilers: she's not.)
There is a scene that I believe gets undue weight in critical assessments of Tár, yet it is nonetheless revealing. This is when she is instructing at Julliard and a student named Max (Zethphan Smith-Gneist) informs Lydia that he cannot reconcile the works of Johann Sebastian Bach and his own interest in music with his morality because of his perception of Bach as a "misogynist". Lydia challenges him on this youthful prejudice by highlighting that if an artist can be reduced to aspects of their character rather than their body of work, then someone like Max is not exempt from this, and he will be judged based not on his talent but by the color of his skin. Their discourse does not end on a positive note, and descends into name calling. (It was at this point when I became utterly convinced that Tár is essentially a counterpart to the 1970 war movie starring George C. Scott, Patton, of all things. Seriously, compare this scene to the slapping of the shell-shocked soldier from the earlier movie, and the similarities start to emerge.) The intriguing (and hypocritical) part of this is that Lydia herself leverages aspects of her personal life and identity to bolster her prestige, even though she superficially downplays this. She maintains a scholarship program alongside others--like amateur composer Eliot Kaplan (Mark Strong)--for young women. Lydia comments to Eliot over a fancy lunch that they should open up the opportunity to participate regardless of gender, but one suspects that this comes less from altruism than an awareness that she has already obtained what she sought on these grounds...and that perhaps she is threatened by another ousting her from her entitled throne. Lydia is also a lesbian; does that matter? Well, as with her gender, she exploits this aspect of her persona for special treatment, even if no one comments on this. And why? Because Lydia is truly a creature of our times. She understands better than most that we live in an age where people are defined by their public aspects, and receive special attention from the media and institutions as a result. The irony comes from her suggesting that she believes otherwise to people like Max. And this is really because she wants a monopoly on this privilege. It's a lousy teacher that lies to her students.
Lydia is all about maintaining the dominant position in her little world. Take for example a scene that comes after she takes her daughter, Petra (Mila Bogojevic), to school after learning that she is being bullied. Lydia confronts the child bully and in turn bullies her (in German), threatening that if she speaks up about this confrontation that no one will believe her on the basis that she's just a child. Lydia also introduces herself to the bully as Petra's "father", leaving Lydia's spouse, Sharon (Nina Hoss), as the "mother" in the relationship, even though they are both women. What's fascinating about how Tár examines gender roles is that for all intents and purposes, it is irrelevant to Lydia's character that she is a woman. She all but acts with what many perceive as "masculine assertiveness", not least of these stereotypes is her "wandering eye", which she casts toward a young cellist named Olga (Sophie Kauer). Lydia offers her--as she is implied to have done with other women before her--with special "favors" to entice her into a sexually transactional relationship. This raises an old question about double standards as it concerns men and women in positions of power, and how unfaithfulness and philandering has historically been more acceptable for men than women, despite being wrong regardless of gender. Lydia's colleagues tolerate her transgressions--or at least turn a blind eye to them--because ultimately they stand to prosper from being within her circle of influence. And because of her power and prestige, everyone dances to her tune. When Lydia knowingly opts to introduce a "companion piece" suited for a cellist into the program, everyone knows that she's doing so--even Lydia's wife who plays violin in the orchestra--because Lydia wants to sleep with Olga. And all they can do to reply comes in the form of a thin-lipped smile.
Only the worst kinds of leaders surround themselves with sycophants. This is most evident in Francesca, who is essentially Lydia's shadow for much of the movie. She mouths the words of the interview at the beginning of the film from the shadows, because she has made Lydia her life's ambition. Francesca obviously pines for Lydia, and there is the added implication that they have been/are lovers. (I'm reminded here of the overly self-effacing actress-to-be who latches on to Anne Baxter's Eve Harrington at the end of All About Eve.) But Francesca ultimately wants a role as Lydia's assistant conductor, currently occupied by the aged Sebastian (Allan Corduner). Lydia casually denigrates Sebastian's performance to others in advance of her move to "rotate" him out of service, so that she can supplant him with Francesca. But when Lydia learns that Francesca failed to delete all of the emails which Krista sent prior to her suicide--which could incriminate her for destroying Krista's aspirations to be a concert conductor, presumably because she refused Lydia's advances--Lydia's favor shifts, and she casually betrays Francesca. For all intents and purposes, Lydia sees herself as the de facto ruler of her little kingdom within the realm of classical music. But her prestige and power have corrupted her, if she wasn't already. At one point, while trying to return a stuffed animal to Olga, she walks into a dark and scary dilapidated building, gets startled and trips and falls, injuring her face; she blames this on being mugged. Why lie? Because she stands to garner more sympathy for being victimized than being merely clumsy. She must maintain the illusion that she is infallible, because once that illusion drops, it becomes clear that the emperor has no clothes. The punchline comes when a doctor examines her, and tells her that she's "somewhat crooked" because of her injury; even she has to smirk at this.
The world of Tár is unfortunately one which only encourages Lydia's over-cultured and conceited attitude toward others. She is clearly educated and well-spoken--a quality which often by itself affords opportunities. (Just watch Hal Ashby's Being There if you want to see this taken to the nth degree.) Lydia can afford to be ultra-snobby (wearing individually tailored suits and driving high-end automobiles, to begin) because--as the film suggests--she occupies a place in her society which is protected. She is one of the power elite, but is her position truly deserved? She talks about keeping "time" as the core of what her job as a "maestro" is, but isn't she really little more than a human metronome? She decries social media, but is overly concerned with the aesthetics used in the program for her concert. She demands compliance and "following the rules" from everyone around her, but when she is subject to those same rules, she does everything in her power to subvert them, suffering a mental breakdown in the process. Her egomania is so overwhelming, that she begins to hallucinate sounds...or rather puts undue emphasis on small sounds that grate on her nerves. (Her identity crisis recalls Natalie Portman's Nina Sayers in Black Swan, or perhaps F. Murray Abraham's Antonio Salieri in Amadeus, if that isn't too on the nose.) Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Lydia is how she uses the word "robot" to insult her opponents. Why "robot"? My theory is that she considers this to be the ultimate insult because it implies that the people she disagrees with only disagree with her because they lack any sense of individuality...at least to Lydia. This is especially ironic considering that Lydia herself is a "construct"; she is really "Linda Tarr" from Staten Island, who grew enamored with music after watching VHS tapes of Leonard Bernstein's "Young People's Concerts". Near the closing of Tár , it's clear that Linda/Lydia loves music as she watches this tape from her childhood home, tears streaming down her face...but regrettably, she loved herself even more.
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling and insightful character study and examination of a society that allows for transgressions by celebrities on the basis of their status alone. Tár may be difficult for audiences expecting spectacle--there is hardly anything that could be considered "exploitative" here--but for audiences searching for insight into a complex character in a movie that feels like the love child between Patton and All About Eve, this one has you covered. Whether you sympathize with or loathe Lydia/Linda (or a little of both) depends much on each viewer's own values.
There is a scene that I believe gets undue weight in critical assessments of Tár, yet it is nonetheless revealing. This is when she is instructing at Julliard and a student named Max (Zethphan Smith-Gneist) informs Lydia that he cannot reconcile the works of Johann Sebastian Bach and his own interest in music with his morality because of his perception of Bach as a "misogynist". Lydia challenges him on this youthful prejudice by highlighting that if an artist can be reduced to aspects of their character rather than their body of work, then someone like Max is not exempt from this, and he will be judged based not on his talent but by the color of his skin. Their discourse does not end on a positive note, and descends into name calling. (It was at this point when I became utterly convinced that Tár is essentially a counterpart to the 1970 war movie starring George C. Scott, Patton, of all things. Seriously, compare this scene to the slapping of the shell-shocked soldier from the earlier movie, and the similarities start to emerge.) The intriguing (and hypocritical) part of this is that Lydia herself leverages aspects of her personal life and identity to bolster her prestige, even though she superficially downplays this. She maintains a scholarship program alongside others--like amateur composer Eliot Kaplan (Mark Strong)--for young women. Lydia comments to Eliot over a fancy lunch that they should open up the opportunity to participate regardless of gender, but one suspects that this comes less from altruism than an awareness that she has already obtained what she sought on these grounds...and that perhaps she is threatened by another ousting her from her entitled throne. Lydia is also a lesbian; does that matter? Well, as with her gender, she exploits this aspect of her persona for special treatment, even if no one comments on this. And why? Because Lydia is truly a creature of our times. She understands better than most that we live in an age where people are defined by their public aspects, and receive special attention from the media and institutions as a result. The irony comes from her suggesting that she believes otherwise to people like Max. And this is really because she wants a monopoly on this privilege. It's a lousy teacher that lies to her students.
Lydia is all about maintaining the dominant position in her little world. Take for example a scene that comes after she takes her daughter, Petra (Mila Bogojevic), to school after learning that she is being bullied. Lydia confronts the child bully and in turn bullies her (in German), threatening that if she speaks up about this confrontation that no one will believe her on the basis that she's just a child. Lydia also introduces herself to the bully as Petra's "father", leaving Lydia's spouse, Sharon (Nina Hoss), as the "mother" in the relationship, even though they are both women. What's fascinating about how Tár examines gender roles is that for all intents and purposes, it is irrelevant to Lydia's character that she is a woman. She all but acts with what many perceive as "masculine assertiveness", not least of these stereotypes is her "wandering eye", which she casts toward a young cellist named Olga (Sophie Kauer). Lydia offers her--as she is implied to have done with other women before her--with special "favors" to entice her into a sexually transactional relationship. This raises an old question about double standards as it concerns men and women in positions of power, and how unfaithfulness and philandering has historically been more acceptable for men than women, despite being wrong regardless of gender. Lydia's colleagues tolerate her transgressions--or at least turn a blind eye to them--because ultimately they stand to prosper from being within her circle of influence. And because of her power and prestige, everyone dances to her tune. When Lydia knowingly opts to introduce a "companion piece" suited for a cellist into the program, everyone knows that she's doing so--even Lydia's wife who plays violin in the orchestra--because Lydia wants to sleep with Olga. And all they can do to reply comes in the form of a thin-lipped smile.
Only the worst kinds of leaders surround themselves with sycophants. This is most evident in Francesca, who is essentially Lydia's shadow for much of the movie. She mouths the words of the interview at the beginning of the film from the shadows, because she has made Lydia her life's ambition. Francesca obviously pines for Lydia, and there is the added implication that they have been/are lovers. (I'm reminded here of the overly self-effacing actress-to-be who latches on to Anne Baxter's Eve Harrington at the end of All About Eve.) But Francesca ultimately wants a role as Lydia's assistant conductor, currently occupied by the aged Sebastian (Allan Corduner). Lydia casually denigrates Sebastian's performance to others in advance of her move to "rotate" him out of service, so that she can supplant him with Francesca. But when Lydia learns that Francesca failed to delete all of the emails which Krista sent prior to her suicide--which could incriminate her for destroying Krista's aspirations to be a concert conductor, presumably because she refused Lydia's advances--Lydia's favor shifts, and she casually betrays Francesca. For all intents and purposes, Lydia sees herself as the de facto ruler of her little kingdom within the realm of classical music. But her prestige and power have corrupted her, if she wasn't already. At one point, while trying to return a stuffed animal to Olga, she walks into a dark and scary dilapidated building, gets startled and trips and falls, injuring her face; she blames this on being mugged. Why lie? Because she stands to garner more sympathy for being victimized than being merely clumsy. She must maintain the illusion that she is infallible, because once that illusion drops, it becomes clear that the emperor has no clothes. The punchline comes when a doctor examines her, and tells her that she's "somewhat crooked" because of her injury; even she has to smirk at this.
The world of Tár is unfortunately one which only encourages Lydia's over-cultured and conceited attitude toward others. She is clearly educated and well-spoken--a quality which often by itself affords opportunities. (Just watch Hal Ashby's Being There if you want to see this taken to the nth degree.) Lydia can afford to be ultra-snobby (wearing individually tailored suits and driving high-end automobiles, to begin) because--as the film suggests--she occupies a place in her society which is protected. She is one of the power elite, but is her position truly deserved? She talks about keeping "time" as the core of what her job as a "maestro" is, but isn't she really little more than a human metronome? She decries social media, but is overly concerned with the aesthetics used in the program for her concert. She demands compliance and "following the rules" from everyone around her, but when she is subject to those same rules, she does everything in her power to subvert them, suffering a mental breakdown in the process. Her egomania is so overwhelming, that she begins to hallucinate sounds...or rather puts undue emphasis on small sounds that grate on her nerves. (Her identity crisis recalls Natalie Portman's Nina Sayers in Black Swan, or perhaps F. Murray Abraham's Antonio Salieri in Amadeus, if that isn't too on the nose.) Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Lydia is how she uses the word "robot" to insult her opponents. Why "robot"? My theory is that she considers this to be the ultimate insult because it implies that the people she disagrees with only disagree with her because they lack any sense of individuality...at least to Lydia. This is especially ironic considering that Lydia herself is a "construct"; she is really "Linda Tarr" from Staten Island, who grew enamored with music after watching VHS tapes of Leonard Bernstein's "Young People's Concerts". Near the closing of Tár , it's clear that Linda/Lydia loves music as she watches this tape from her childhood home, tears streaming down her face...but regrettably, she loved herself even more.
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling and insightful character study and examination of a society that allows for transgressions by celebrities on the basis of their status alone. Tár may be difficult for audiences expecting spectacle--there is hardly anything that could be considered "exploitative" here--but for audiences searching for insight into a complex character in a movie that feels like the love child between Patton and All About Eve, this one has you covered. Whether you sympathize with or loathe Lydia/Linda (or a little of both) depends much on each viewer's own values.