While watching Tár, I was vaguely reminded of two other recent pieces of media: The Queen’s Gambit and Spencer. The Queen’s Gambit takes place in the world of chess: a traditional, male-dominated, and intense culture the average person knows very little about — not unlike the world of classical music that Tár immerses us in. The limited series also stars a brilliant, complex woman at its center.
Though Spencer shares some of these themes, too — you can’t get much more traditional or intense than the monarchy, and Princess Diana is endlessly fascinating — it’s the way Tár director Todd Field integrates elements of surrealism and psychological thriller that feels reminiscent of the way Pablo Larraín puts such an interesting twist on the character study.
But while Tár did conjure other art to mind at times, the experience is undoubtedly a wholly singular one. A true character study, Tár centers on Lydia Tár: one of the greatest living conductors. The film highlights her achievements, her challenges, and her mistakes — of which there are many. Field’s vision and point of view are strong, yet he remains shockingly objective, never telling us what to think about her.
The movie feels like a biopic — so much so that I tried to look up more about the “real” Lydia Tár after I left the theater. The fact she’s not based on an actual person — at least not one obvious individual — makes it more impressive. Todd Field has created someone who feels so fleshed-out, so specific, so authentically human that she doesn’t feel like a character at all.
When it comes to introducing the environment of classical music — the vocabulary, the politics, etc. — the film doesn’t hold your hand. Rather, it throws you right into the deep end, forcing you to dive head-first into Lydia’s world. Early scenes include an interview she gives with The New Yorker to a packed audience of fans and her lecturing a class of Juilliard students. Even when she’s teaching, it’s to people much more familiar with the subject matter than the majority of the audience is likely to be.
It’s a risky choice, but it’s one that works. We don’t need to understand every term she uses — in fact, it’s probably better that we don’t. She’s one of music’s brilliant minds, a genius composer. It should be a bit elusive to us. There should be gaps. Space.
Speaking of space, the film is full of it, especially in its set and sound design: an intentional and highly effective choice. So much is felt in the absences. The homes and hotel rooms are breathtakingly gorgeous, but there’s a coldness to them, too. The score is sparse, with the vast majority of the music coming from Lydia, whether it be tinkering around on the piano or conducting the full orchestra.
The focus is always on Lydia, which means the focus is always on Cate Blanchett — and how lucky we are for that. The run time may be a daunting 2 hours and 38 minutes, but Blanchett commands every last not just minute but second. Every last frame, from the long scenes to the array of snappy montage-esque inserts. Blanchett has already won one of the top prizes at the Venice Film Festival. It is almost certain she will win countless more accolades — and she will deserve every last one of them.
Blanchett’s performance makes Lydia feel, at once, both like an enigma and someone we feel we know well enough to write a biography about. It’s hard not to feel frustrated with the character and the decisions she makes; it’s even harder not to feel frustrated with ourselves for being so compelled by her despite knowing the unsavory things she’s done.
I wouldn’t categorize Lydia as a particularly flashy performance. There are rare moments of release, but it’s overwhelmingly concerned with restraint and hinged on tension: a deceptively easy task. Though they may seem odd comparisons, Robin Wright in House of Cards and Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada both come to mind. They are all women under a microscope — who have forgotten how not to constantly perform and who are at the same time both self-serving and self-destructive. Considering their resources, the ladder part can be more dangerous than most.
Blanchett would not shine as bright if not for the supporting cast. Nina Hoss is a grounding, quiet force as Lydia’s wife and Berlin concertmaster Sharon, and Noémie Merlant is impossible not to root for as Lydia’s loyal, hardworking assistant. It is newcomer Sophie Kauer, however, that I find potentially the most riveting of Blanchett’s scene partners. She plays young Russian cellist Olga with an almost startling confidence and natural magnetism. She turns Lydia’s world upside-down, acting as a subtle catalyst for several of Tár’s most shocking moments, and it’s not hard to see why. If her film debut is any indication, Kauer has a long, exciting future in film ahead of her.
Tár is a movie that is sure to stick with you long after the unconventional credits roll. A masterfully composed portrait of a complicated woman and her relationships — with her family, with her industry, with time — Tár is a nuanced piece that naturally raises difficult, uncomfortable dialogue. It’s the study of an exceptional, and at times exceptionally relatable, life.
— Taylor Gates