Mark Reviews Movies: TÁR

TÁR, Focus Features

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 13, 2022

There's the public persona of Lydia Tár (Cate Blanchett), a famous and renowned conductor of classical music, and it is at once formidable and welcoming. That's how we first meet the title character of TÁR, writer/director Todd Field's keen character study, as she regales an attentive audience during a live interview. We first see Lydia, though, asleep on a private airplane, as an unseen observer records her and exchanges seemingly gossipy texts with another unknown person on a cellphone. Are there forces conspiring against this powerful woman, or are we catching a glimpse of and learning about some other side to her?

Field's film is one of dualities—of two-facedness, to be sure. He gives us plenty of reasons to admire Lydia, who has risen to this level of prestige based on talent and in a field that is typically dominated by men. Her success has been earned, and now, it's paying dividends.

The list of orchestras she has conducted spans the globe. She's generous in leading those groups in performing the works of modern composers, as well as the standards of classical canon. With the pandemic clearing up, she is set to complete the performance cycle of Gustav Mahler's symphonies with a single orchestra—a first, apparently, and a feat that means her interpretative stamp on the music will be one that lasts. She has a new autobiography that's soon to be released, and surely, its appeal will go beyond fans of classical music, given that her story is one of hard-fought success.

All of this information comes at us quickly and with barely a breath from the interviewer (journalist Adam Gopnik, playing himself), but the key moment for what Field is really going for might be a shot of Lydia's personal assistant Francesca (Noémie Merlant). While the interviewer recites the lengthy biographical introduction from some notecards, Francesca mouths along with the words verbatim. This isn't simply a summary of Lydia's life and career. It is a meticulously crafted narrative, pored over and re-written and repeated so many times that Francesca knows it by heart—and clearly doesn't care about or believe any of it, if the cold look on her face is any indication.

Who, then, is Lydia? Is she just the sum of her accomplishments? Is she that smiling and inviting presence on stage, discussing music and history with such a clear wealth of knowledge and affection? Is she the tough and no-nonsense instructor of a master class at Juilliard, where she tries to open the minds of students by speaking to them as if they're peers, or does that lengthy, one-take scene actually show her to be ruthless, condescending, and a bit cruel toward anyone who possesses an opinion she doesn't like?

At first, the film doesn't tell us how we should feel about this character, and that's one of its more considerable strengths. There are layers to Lydia—of her outward poise, yes, but also of her harsher side, too, but also of moments of kindness, to be sure, but also of the growing suggestion that Lydia has plenty of secrets she doesn't want to come to light. The course of this story is a bit obvious, in that it's about a powerful figure who engages in various levels of corruption and degrees of abuses by way of that power. It's a morality play, too, in that way, since Field does eventually take a side as revelations come to light and some price is paid—both for what has transpired and, perhaps more so, for the reaction to them.

As a piece of storytelling, though, Field's film is slightly more than an examination of power with some blatant, if drolly amusing, lesson-making to found by the finale. It sticks to and lives with Lydia in a way that borders on empathy, as Field dissects those assorted layers of her personality through carefully crafted scenes of her everyday life and some haunting moments in which the realm of sound seems to be taunting her like a conscience—an incessant beeping, the mystery of a hidden metronome, a nagging whistle, a blood-curdling scream while she's jogging. The film's formal construction does keep sympathy for the character at bay, although that ultimately seems to be a major part of the point, too.

Mostly, this story is about Lydia rehearsing for that final Mahler performance with a Berlin orchestra, with its members including her romantic partner Sharon (Nina Hoss) and newcomer cellist Olga (Sophie Kauer). The relationship with Sharon seems happy, as they share an apartment and Lydia is kind to her partner's daughter Petra (Mila Bogojevic)—and threatening to the girl's bullies at school.

Lydia, though, has a second apartment, where she composes music, and "borrows" some of Sharon's medication, leaving her to suffer without her pills. There's also the fact that Lydia is clearly attracted to Olga and goes so far as to arrange a companion piece with a cello solo, hoping to spend some more rehearsal time with her.

Blanchett's performance is one of complete physical and emotional control, mainly in communicating how Lydia keeps a tight rein on how she presents herself to the world, as well as the variations within these specific spaces and with these assorted people. It's all about maintaining some sense of composure, but as events transpire and secrets come to the surface, the actor allows cracks in that façade of increasing magnitude.

It's an exceptional performance that matches Field's own rigid construction and structure. TÁR itself might not rise above the restrictions of those elements, but when time is up and the reckoning comes for Lydia, Blanchett certainly does.

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