A conductor’s power must be intoxicating. They control dozens of musicians, all of whom watch their hands with unrelenting attention. The hero of Todd Field’s TÁR is aware of this responsibility, then takes it a bit further: she suggests that she literally controls time with one hand, a kind of rhetorical flourish she can get away with because of a career filled with significant achievements. Field’s film, his latest after a 16-year absence and his first original screenplay, is a sharp, coldly funny portrayal of his subject’s folly and subsequent decline.
Cate Blanchett plays Lydia Tár, and her introduction quickly establishes her place in the culture. The New Yorker’s Adam Gopnik plays himself, and he rattles off Lydia’s accomplishments at one of the talks the magazine likes to host. She is an EGOT winner, for one thing, and now heads the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra where she is about to record Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 (notoriously his most difficult). But before we see her in action, Field lets his subject talk for a while, suggesting she is a difficult intellectual who does not suffer fools. In an early showstopper of a scene, Lydia leads a conducting seminar at Julliard, one where she ruthlessly picks apart of her students who has the temerity to suggest he has little interest in Bach. TÁR is firmly set in the present, with all the characters speaking about identity and cancel culture as if they pore over articles in The Atlantic before meeting friends for coffee.
Once Lydia returns to Berlin, we get a better sense of what drives her. Of course, she’s a perfectionist, the kind who talks to her players with a mix of frustration and begrudging respect. Still, it is the smaller moments where we see Lydia indulge herself – perhaps more than she should. She pursues rigorous self-improvement to a fault, to the point where her partner Sharon (Nina Hoss) does not expect her to share equal parenting duty with their adopted daughter Petra (Mila Bogojevic). In fact, her self-involvement means all her relationships are borderline toxic: Lydia’s assistant Francesa (Noémie Merlant) has no choice but to indulge her worst impulses, while her assistant conduct Sebastian (Allan Corduner) resigns himself to zero reciprocity from her. From an outsider, it seems like Lydia is the paragon of decorum and professionalism, but thanks to Blanchett’s performance, we can see flashes of hostile impatience. Sure, she barely tolerates those she does not consider a peer. That just happens to be everyone.
Another indulgence, one that Field develops obliquely, involves Lydia’s gaze. She is partial to younger musicians, and during blind auditions (i.e. those where the listeners are not supposed to see the performers), she tips her bias toward Olga (Sophie Kauer), a Russian cellist. Soon she recruits Olga for a solo in a major performance, a nasty blow to the dynamics of her orchestra, and Field lets us to understand her ulterior motive through subtext. TÁR can be a clinical film, insofar that the most lurid parts of the story happen off-camera, and few characters fully say what they are thinking. They are guarded, weary, intelligent, the sort of characters you want to see in a story by and for adults. If Field tips his hand, it is when his film nearly develops into a thriller, like a bizarre moment where Lydia follows Olga home and finds herself in an abandoned apartment building. Because Field and his team keep building pressure, any payoff – no matter how meager – lands with shock that is carefully developed.
Several other images, some that are as intriguing as they are elusive, keep us from getting too comfortable the material. Before Lydia’s talk at The New Yorker, there is a POV shot where someone takes photos of her sleeping on a plane. They are also texting someone, though we never see who, and the nature of the texts raise more messages. Outside of Lydia’s hermetically-sealed world, is there running commentary among her underlings? Field presents us with several culprits, though stops short of naming names, leading to a borderline surreal quality that defines the last act of the film. In one escalating moment after another, Lydia’s world comes crashing down on her. Blanchett portrays this with a mix of outrage and bravado, while others are shrewder. The supporting cast in TÁR is terrific, with Hoss being the biggest standout, and yet Field depicts Lydia’s world so they are never quite given a big kiss-off speech. It has to be sufficient to leave her when the going is good.
Since there are still too few women conductors, clearly Field was partially inspired by Marin Alsop, one of the first women to lead a major orchestra (both Alsop and Lydia are disciples of Leonard Bernstein, the latter obviously fictionalized). But whereas Alsop is an important figure to this day, seemingly beloved and respected by all, Field takes that reputation and curdles it. Lydia Tár sees classical music and her place within as an extension of her will, leading to a hilarious moment of crocodile tears where she is moved by an old Bernstein lecture where he retains a generosity of spirit that eludes her. It is tempting, albeit a little facile, to summarize TÁR as a cancel culture cautionary tale. Field’s sympathy and critique of his subject is far-reaching, even during the withering final scenes where Lydia looks for dignity in the most unlikely places. If she starts the film at the top of her field, Field argues that does not mean she is also above it.
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