Tár dir by Todd Field starring Cate Blanchett
Lydia Tár is a protagonist who appears to exist at a far remove from tragedy: her fierceness disarms, and her temerity endures through to the film’s end. Though it’s not important here to describe the nature of Tár’s tragic end, it is an interesting experiment to begin a viewing of the film, observing her striking valiance, and yet knowing that she will face a grave disappointment.
Most of the film is set in Berlin, a setting which endows it with a cool and industrial quality that is warmed by the regular intervals of onscreen orchestral music. Tár plays the first chief female conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic whose objective during the film is to make a live recording of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony.
This piece is unusual in that it is a biopic about a fictional person. The role was made to order by Todd Field for Cate Blanchett, and Cate’s performance is so sincere that it’s hard to imagine she developed the personality on her own. Another word that can be used to describe Tár is crazed—a word I attribute to her for its connotation of obsession and her inexhaustible need to extract something original from each work she conducts. But this crazed aspect of Tár’s personality is also what keeps the viewer sharply engaged with the crisp dialogue. The writing is witty, and Blanchett speaks with a quick and even caustic delivery.
Tár’s passion is what compels the film forwards, but this momentum is halted at several intervals when the scope of her power is called into question. She is a renegade in her approach to conducting; this is exemplified by her fearless and eccentric interactions with members of the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra as well as the students in the Juilliard class she teaches.
The scene with the Juilliard students is quite a salient one in the film due to the way it shows how a component of Tár’s power is her capacity to resist the small and tiresome trappings of convention that stand in the way of both one’s own individuality and appreciating it in other people and things. There has been and there will surely be more dissension surrounding the intentionality of this scene, as it deals with complicated issues of gender and sexuality. In the scene, Tár solicits a student’s opinion on Bach, to which the student responds: “I’m not really into Bach.” The curation of the onscreen tension here is noteworthy and very entertaining—kudos to Field.
Tár then makes a further inquiry, asking him if he has ever played or conducted Bach.
The student replies that “as a BIPOC, pangender person, Bach’s misogynistic life makes it kind of impossible for him to take Bach’s music seriously.”
And with that the student opens the floor to a heated diatribe by Tár on the pitfalls of dismissing a musician’s work because of perceived personal failings. Although Tár describes herself in the scene as a “U-Haul Lesbian,” this is the only segment of the film that directly treats matters of gender and sexuality. Some might call it the “woke” scene of the film, during which she does make some important and persuasive points. For instance, she suggests to the student that following his logic (of avoiding Bach because of his identity and not because of his work), he himself may not be taken seriously by an audience were he to play music composed by a female musician. This is a fair interpretation of the student’s line of reasoning. The line of delicacy is crossed, however, with the forcefulness of the harangue and its lack of sensitivity. Or is it crossed, perhaps, because she speaks a truth that is too advanced for its time and thus too powerful? Are the students and potential audience members more uncomfortable with her brazen display of intellect and power or her callous handling of sensitive material? When does the function of honesty begin to work against the truth?
The film really is a study of influence. What is Tár’s influence, how does she wield it, how is it challenged, and why, ultimately, does she lose it?
Towards the end of the film, she is accused of predatory behavior towards young female talent in the company. We only hear from the Accordion Fellow board that accusations against Tár were made, which remain anonymous. The main dramatic impetus, apart from the character study of Tár herself, is the suicide of a girl who once was a member of Lydia’s fellowship program. We only hear Tár’s version of the truth about this circumstance, though, when interrogated by the board. According to her, the girl, Krista, was fixated on her and even went so far as to rewrite Lydia’s Wikipedia page to say that Lydia saw Krista as her muse.
There are charming glimpses into Lydia’s more tender side speckled throughout, the brightest of which are the moments she shares with her daughter, Petra. The film accomplishes a fascinating and complex portrait of a female artist that is an exquisite performance by Blanchett. It may have benefitted from the trimming of some scenes, as it felt just a bite or two too long. It also may have been improved by less ambiguity concerning Tár’s favoritism. The only real affection she appears to share in the film is with her daughter or the young female Cello player, Olga. Yes, okay, we come to understand Tár as a crazed genius for whom exceptions are typically made, but apart from music, we never come close to understanding who she loves and why?