Venice Dispatch – TÁR

In 2001, Todd Field rocked the indie film world with his debut narrative feature IN THE BEDROOM, which went on to receive five Oscar nominations including Best Picture. He followed that up in 2006 with LITTLE CHILDREN, which earned three more Oscar nods. And now, 16 years later, he finally returns with his third feature TÁR, which premiered in competition at the 79th Venice Film Festival. Regardless of whether it can repeat the same success with the Academy, this immaculately crafted, unsettlingly, unsparingly insightful character study marks Field’s further progression as a humanist filmmaker and solidifies his place among the most vital American auteurs today.

The film revolves around Lydia Tár (Cate Blanchett), the chief conductor of the Berlin philharmonic. How did she reach this eminent, highly influential position in the world of classical music, a world still very much dominated by men? The film spends almost an entire hour offering us clues. In an extended on-stage interview, we learn about Lydia’s career, her views on the role of conductors and how she unlocks a composer’s intentions behind their work to create magic. In a lecture she gives at Juilliard, we see her interact with a Gen-Z student who, as a self-professed BIPOC pangender person, is not “into” Bach, noted CIS white male with a misogynistic track record. Thrown in between are scenes of her lunching with a fellow conductor and her former mentor, where they compare notes on performances and gossip about behind-the-scenes politics.

We also get peeks of her private life, including her dependency on assistant Francesca (Noémie Merlant), who takes care of her everyday problems, and her relationship with Sharon (Nina Hoss), the star violinist in her orchestra with whom she shares a daughter and a posh Berlin apartment. It’s not until young Russian cellist Olga (Sophie Kauer) shows up for auditions and a ghost from the past returns to haunt her that cracks start to show in Lydia’s seemingly pitch-perfect life.

Written by Field, the screenplay of TÁR is remarkable for both its sweep and intimacy. It tackles the figure of a female conductor from every possible angle and makes you realize what a rich subject matter that is. Like other leaders of the creative process, conductors seek to assert and achieve a single vision through the efforts of many. This requires not just skills, ambition, but a force of will that’s fascinating to explore. And like others in a position of power, it’s easy for conductors to get addicted to the sweet taste of control and forget that they’re not the boss of things (or people) when they put down the baton. Add matters of gender and sexuality to the equation by having a queer woman be the (anti-)heroine, and you’ve got the materials for a complex, multifaceted profile. The script also smartly avoids giving answers to the art vs artist question (at least the way I see it) and simply lets the conflict play out in real time, providing provocative fuel to an eternal debate.

In a film that explains in vivid detail the invisible hand of the conductor that shapes the music you hear, one can’t help but notice the magnificent hand at work that’s responsible for the wonders you see. As suggested above, the first hour of TÁR is pure character-building via a lot of talking. In lesser hands this could feel like faux documentary footage lacking the built-in tension of fiction. But boy did Todd Field make it all so riveting to watch. In the interview scene, he switches between shots of Lydia, the moderator and the back of an unidentified audience member’s head. The camera never moves, but a sense of mystery and unease lingers. For the Juilliard scene, he traces the escalating friction with an ever-wandering eye that keeps opening up the room to new dimensions. I also love the many snippets of short, wordless scenes scattered throughout the film. These could just be clips of Lydia noticing a hotel door standing ajar, waking up at night to put a rogue metronome to sleep, or simply a fleeting image of a floating bed in the middle of the jungle. They don’t always serve apparent narrative purposes, but add much atmosphere to the storytelling and inform on a whole different level.

All of this works thanks in no small part to Blanchett’s majestic performance. This is easily her juiciest role since BLUE JASMINE and when Cate finds a character like this to really sink her teeth into, it’s a glorious sight to behold. Embodying both the austere physicality and troubled mind of a celebrated artist haunted by her past, she’s compelling down to the last uncontrollable twitch of the neck. We see her get ready to enter the stage for a total of three times, and each time her posture, expression, energy are different and tell you exactly where her character is in the story, in her journey. It’s the kind of transformation where you could swear even the lines on her face rearrange themselves to serve the scenes. Simply phenomenal. Hoss, Merlant and Kauer are also wonderful as the women in Lydia’s life, but Blanchett’s central performance is so commanding there’s hardly room for anyone else to shine (none of them gets the Marisa Tomei slap either) – which I guess is only appropriate considering the themes of this film.

Strangely I wasn’t particularly aware of a film score, seeing as I did that this is supplied by Oscar winner Hildur Guðnadóttir. If anything, I was very much struck by the notable, vacuous silences in the film, which communicate a mood all their own. The clean, severely linear photography by Florian Hoffmeister is excellent, as is the precise, evocative sound work.

Films depicting queer romances/desires have often been unjustly dismissed as being “cold” (anyone who found CAROL cold need to have their pulse checked). Mindful of the inherent homophobia of such casual descriptors, I’d still venture to call TÁR a work of icy brilliance. There’s no kitsch, no promise of closure, no redemption arc. From the writer/director to the performers and technicians, everyone was on the same page to tell a story without sentimentality. It reveals an intimidating woman who grows more unlikable the more we see. Blanchett is certainly coming for her third Oscar, but it would be interesting to see how a film like this will be received by Oscar voters and the public.