Cate Blanchett stars as Lydia Tár in director Todd Field's TÁR, a Focus Features release. Credit: Courtesy of Focus Features
In one of the opening scenes of TÁR, director Todd Field’s first feature film in nearly two decades, which is playing at the 60th New York Film Festival, world-renowned composer-conductor Lydia Tár (Cate Blanchett) chides a BIPOC gender non-conforming Julliard student who suggests he can’t appreciate Bach as he was a racist white man. Tár—a self-proclaimed “Uhaul lesbian” draped in harshly structured suits pulled out of a Muji catalog—retorts, “you must stand in front of your audience and God and obliterate yourself.” She’s saying you need to compromise your humanity—your values, identity, and beliefs—for your craft. And the way Blanchett delivers the stunning monologue, which is presented as an unbroken ten-plus minute take, convinces you that she’s right.
She’s not, of course. And over the course of two-and-a-half hours, we’ll learn exactly why.
Refreshingly, Field presents her as an anti-hero, a title often reserved for male characters. Like it’s impossible for a woman to be both “difficult” and a human at the same time. The concept is broken down in Brett Martin’s book Difficult Men, which explores the television revolution of the 2000s through the villainous men we rooted for until the end—Don Draper in Mad Men, Tony Soprano in The Sopranos, Walter White in Breaking Bad. However, often times the women in those stories are simply seen as the villain—Skylar White in Breaking Bad being the prime example.
TÁR, on the other hand, is on Lydia’s side. Or perhaps, we the audience are on her side and the movie challenges us to stay on her side similarly to her partner (in both life and the orchestra) Sharon Goodnow (Nina Hoss). However, she makes it difficult at every turn. We learn that Lydia, the first female conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker in Germany, is set to conduct a recording of the fifth symphony of legend Gustav Mahler. An accomplishment that will cement her greatness status even more than the EGOT she already achieved—Mel Brooks, eat your heart out.
Though she’s more than devoted to the work as we see through prep for the concert and rehearsals, Lydia is human after all despite the android-like demeanor she maintains. It comes in handy when she bullies her young adopted daughter Petra’s (Mila Bogojevic) bully into leaving her alone. She hilariously approaches and says, “I am Petra’s father” before assuring her if she doesn’t leave her daughter alone that she will get her. I’d be terrified too. However, it also prevents her from seeing her true nature like when she’s auditioning new members for the orchestra and cheats the blind audition system to admit young Russian cellist Olga Metkina (Sophie Kauer) to whom she takes a liking.
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But like any good anti-hero story, Lydia’s past eventually catches up to her and exposes her truest human nature—and forces us to reckon with how we treat, forgive, and don’t forgive genius. A past protégé that she tries to sweep under the rug, political intrigue around the orchestra (who knew philharmonics were so dramatic!), and her interest in Olga all eventually start to crush the perfect world she’s built around her. It leads to the movie exploring the power dynamics of fame (and grooming), cancel culture, and the narcissism of greatness.
Lydia herself is a few degrees removed from full-blown satire—not quite Julia Louis-Dreyfus screaming about croissants and dildos in Veep but close. And at first, that’s part of her charm until you see that Lydia’s emotional crassness goes beyond words and into action. But when the world puts you on a sky-high pedestal, you’re bound to get too close to the sun. Is Lydia a self-imposed victim of circumstance or is she a sociopathic narcissist? The movie’s ending—completely unexpected—doesn’t give us the answer. Yet, it’s still boldly satisfying like everything else about TÁR. Like a perfectly composed symphony, every note has a purpose—even the ones that don’t seem to.
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However, what really pushes TÁR into greatness is that Lydia isn’t actually our point-of-view character. Sure, we see the events of the movie from her perspective, but it’s actually Sharon who represents us in the movie. When Tár makes the rash decision to hold auditions for a cello solo rather than giving it to the first chair as is tradition—in an effort to give the solo to Olga—Sharon’s confused, disturbed, then angry face says it all. When things finally come crumbling down, Sharon delivers the final blow. Hoss, with far less screen time and internal exploration, makes Sharon into the movie’s most complex character.
Still, it’s Blanchett’s performance that feels like a magnum opus—in a career that seems to hit a peak but then continues to climb. I can’t fathom that Tár is fictional because she makes her so real. Like I could open Wikipedia and go on a bender through her early life, personal life (“Tár is openly gay”), and controversies section. It’s what makes TÁR one of the year’s greatest. So rarely does a movie feel so imminently relevant while also having no agenda, no references, and no preconceived notions. TÁR is a movie to chew over. To analyze like a historian. If only those dead old white guys were this interesting.
Hey! I’m Karl. You can find me on Twitter here. I’m also a Tomatometer-approved critic.
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