Film Review: "Tár"

CARLOS ALVAREZ | NOV. 7, 2022 | ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT

“Tár” is a fascinating projective test that I believe will coalesce in discussion rooted far deeper in the importance of perspective and the ethics of problematic art than in analysis of Todd Fields’ vision. Cate Blanchett’s portrayal of Lydia Tár’s descent from acclaim is gripping and largely insightful as her accusations of wrongdoing and misconduct spiral into disgrace. While I still find myself largely mixed on the line the film is towing, I can say that from its high brow intellectualism about the state of classical music, to the perspective it offers on cancel culture, and its bold nuance that is crafted through minimalistic but effective filmmaking, it is every bit as enthralling as I hoped for.

“Tár” is a film about abuse of power and corruption told through the victimized perspective of an offender and their dismissive hubris. Framing is one of the defining aspects of how this perspective is formed, both in the technical and narrative sense. Through beautifully long continuous shots that sometimes encompass entire scenes, Fields begins the narrative with over-exhausted questioning regarding the morality of supporting ethically ambiguous artists reimagined into the constantly evolving age of accountability. Even within the first scene, the greats that Lydia is inspired by are referred to not just regarding their work, but also their personal lives. Working in classical music, she is constantly paying respect to and building off the work of mainly men whose moral compasses leave a great deal to be desired, causing reluctance from her contemporaries to pay any respect to them. Even composer Gustav Mahler, from whom most of the film’s music comes from, is noted for restricting his wife from continuing her work in music after their marriage. The time old moral dilemma of separating art and artist is quickly dismissed by Lydia in favor of her predecessors. This begins the 158-minute spectacle in which her resolve to not hold the greats accountable is almost admirable in lieu of any more concrete answers.

While this line of questioning would normally be too presumptuous, the façade of self-seriousness that pervades even in the film’s title makes for a much more ambiguous thesis than one would expect. The only part of the film more abstract than its discussion of music and Lydia’s interpretation of the pieces she conducts is in the truth of her personality and past. Discussion of Tár’s behavior and previous work serves only as background noise for most of the film’s first two acts. As allegations of wrongdoing on her behalf appear, she initially learns to tune them out, though they eventually come to a boil. Through this, a great deal of insight is gained about the way that abusers use narrative to their advantage; however, I believe it is unfair to say that the film condones Lydia’s actions simply because it chooses to follow her. While she is conducting the narrative for most of the film, at a certain point Fields encourages questioning regarding if she is leading the viewer astray. This daring act which will certainly spin an uncountable number of think-pieces on the “inhumanity of cancel culture” is far more humanizing of delusion than it is of the abuse in question. The third act is constructed with unsuspected and almost translucent nuance and frivolity that I am still processing. The back half of the film as a whole also feels almost like an uppercut of a surprising amount of humor and vibrance which permeate in an ending confirming that its straight-faced tone was desperate for a gasp of air.

Beyond the politics of “Tár” that will undoubtedly be analyzed ad nauseam, the filmmaking itself contains a playfulness and excitement that can only be helmed by someone who has been patiently waiting to be back in the director’s chair. The film’s vivid soundscape and discreet use of editing are almost purgatorial and commandingly lack the flare I expected from them. Much of the nuance that is present is derived from how simply these images are put together, but the impact in every one of them makes that relatively unnoticeable construction flow in a way not always smooth but rather as jagged or relaxed as Lydia is feeling. Editing turns from almost continuous to dream-like and reality as a concept loses meaning. An early monologue discusses how with one hand the conductor controls action, and with one they control time. The precise moments of key beats are predetermined by Lydia before stepping on stage and serves almost as a coy boast for how Fields paces the film. The film is using its own baton in leading the viewer around and through a wide array of emotions. It understands the simple impact of how each shot is blocked and framed and how much emphasis a cut can have.

Cate Blanchett is also a force to be reckoned with through the entirety of the film’s runtime and exercises so much range. From long takes where she can propel deep philosophical discussion on the works of Bach and Beethoven forward to even her rather triumphant turns at the conductor’s podium in which she mixes German and English, Blanchett becomes this character at her core. The descent of her character that we witness is as much told through every movement she makes as it is through the surrounding imagery of her downfall. Keeping that sense of perspective, the key to the almost magic act that this film puts on for its first 90 minutes is the tension and contraction in Lydia’s actions. Although not explicit, her face shows the slow but compromising cracks forming in the sense of reality that she has built for herself to coddle her own arrogance.

While “Tár” is a heavy film that consists of long, at times incomprehensible discussion of music and art that may dismay most, I find myself compelled to recommend it due to how intensely absorbed by it I was for most of its runtime. Its discussion of cancel culture and what it means to live as an abuser lacks the definition these stories are often paired with but substitutes it for glistening subjectivity that has far more of a conclusive answer than appears on the surface.