TÁR ON TÁR
A review of Todd Field's 'TÁR'
The Yearning Rating: ✰✰✰✰½
Romance ✰
Sex ✰✰✰✰
Storytelling ✰✰✰✰✰
Performance ✰✰✰✰✰
Yearning ✰✰✰✰✰
This review contains spoilers.
Written by Meg Heim
TÁR is Todd Field’s brilliant new psychodrama, following the career of the fictional celebrity conductor Lydia Tár, who is preparing to put the crown jewel on her orchestral box set with a recording of Mahler’s Symphony No. 5. Friends of The Yearning may know that while my passion is running our Substack, I also moonlight in film and television production to pay the bills. When I read early reviews for TÁR, (Field’s first feature since the Oscar winning Little Children in 2006) and the 6 minute standing ovation it received at the Venice Film Festival, I was particularly excited because I happened to be working on an oddly similar film at the time—Bradley Cooper’s Maestro (anticipated 2023). Maestro is a biopic about the life of Leonard Bernstein, an American composer and conductor who is widely considered to be one of the most influential musicians of the modern day.
It felt kismet that I had just spent the past six months working on a feature film where the highest heights of classical music and queer identity (as Leonard Bernstein was increasingly less closeted over the course of his life) were similarly woven into the core of the project. The fictional Tár was even a mentee of Bernstein, and lauds him as one of her greatest influences.
I had the pleasure of seeing an early screening of TÁR at the 2022 New York Film Festival. Thank you to all of last week’s readers who manifested this for me, and to friend of The Yearning Carter Houston for enduring the hour-plus standby ticket line in the freezing rain outside Alice Tully Hall with me for the chance that we *might* get tickets. The screening was followed by an incredible panel featuring Director Todd Field, Cate Blanchett (Lydia Tár), Nina Hoss (Sharon, Lydia Tár’s wife), Sophie Kauer (Olga), and the film’s composer, Hildur Guðnadóttir (who previously won an Oscar for her original composition work on “Joker”).
After a mysterious glimpse of an Instagram Live feed discussing a disheveled, sleeping Lydia on a private jet, the movie properly opens on an interview conducted by New Yorker’s Adam Gopnick (played by himself), detailing Tár’s accomplishments in the field of classical music. It is quickly established that Tár has risen to the highest possible ranks of her field, including being appointed the first ever female chief conductor of a major German orchestra. Her charisma, confidence, and disregard for the role her gender has played in the trajectory of her career each come through in equal measure as she breezily dismisses any experience of gender discrimination. With a passionate reverence, she underscores the utmost importance of the conductor. Adam’s simple prompt becomes an avenue for her emphasis that time is everything, and to rule time—within her world—is to rule all. It’s complete power. Lydia, eyes bright, is at her most captivating when discussing this collective service, on behalf of the orchestra, to her.
Critical knowledge of the ins and outs of the high-profile classical music world may make this film more meaningful for you—but it stands boldly on its own for any viewer. This is because through Cate’s performance, you clearly see and understand the importance of things via Tár’s ferocious perspective on it. You are inadvertently pulled in; the violent forging of her path through the world commands your attention. Whether or not her interpretation of Mahler’s marriage is meaningful to you is neither here nor there—you glean more from her assistant and conducting trainee, Francesca’s (played brilliantly by Noémie Merlant1) careful disagreement with it. This back-and-forth is our first hint as an audience to the blinders that Tár wears—in her eyes, greatness will always overshadow the nuances of interpersonal dynamics.
During the panel, Director Todd Field shared that he spent 10 years evolving and developing the character of Lydia Tár. This is so evident in every last precise, piercing moment of the film. It is a brilliant and mesmerizing character study of a deeply talented, deeply flawed person. She navigates her world with blanket condescension— this comes through as she balks incredulously at a Black, pangender student’s identity politics and their refusal to celebrate Bach. It’s as if these equally derisive, flippant and intelligent morsels just fall out of her mouth—all universally in defense of traditional, “high aesthetic” principles.
What’s astonishing is how Cate’s portrayal of Tár makes you feel both so enchanted and repulsed by her—you smile in spite of yourself as she effortlessly reinterprets Bach’s famous Prelude in C Major over and over again to argue his merit. As she terrorizes a class of Juilliard students, you wonder if it’s possible that Lydia may have felt required to take up the so-called mantles of misogyny and racism in order to truly “play with the big boys” and be the preeminent Maestro. But that moment of grace you had for her is quickly forgotten as you sink further, wholly immersed, into the glacial pacing of this film and witness how deep the river of Tár’s toxicity truly runs.
As the story unfolds, we’re introduced to the shared dynamic between Lydia, Francesca, and Sharon, Lydia’s partner (a remarkable portrayal by Nina Hoss). Tár’s life force is fed by the push and pull of these relationships—and keeping those who worship her at a measured distance from her feet is second nature. All three of their performances—Francesca, Sharon, and Lydia—and the connection that they all share brings the realism of their world through so vividly. Francesca is an exemplary assistant—all at once capable, reserved, and portrayed with a just right amount of knowing intimacy—and she is playing the long game, waiting dutifully for the opportunity to parlay her current role into an Assistant Conductor appointment. This decision rests in Lydia’s hands—and she relishes the opportunity to sit in her power.
A scene between Sharon (who happens to be the concertmaster of the Berlin Philharmonic) and Lydia sitting in on rehearsal exchanging notes showcases a rare moment where Tár sees eye to eye with someone. The two share a mutual respect and trust, as they each serve a meaningful corporate purpose for the other—their partnership built something as extraordinary as a female-helmed Berlin Philharmonic. While they may not see that specific element as a measure of importance, the transactional nature of their relationship shines through. They are able to connect closely—one of their most intimate moments in the entire film—to further their mutual professional success.
In the panel discussion, Field shared that he does believe that Sharon and Lydia are in love, but they are also friends, coworkers, and business partners. While love and companionship are present in their partnership, it has moved beyond that nature [exclusively] in order to accommodate their goals. I particularly appreciated Field’s choice to have the only marriage we glimpse inside structured this way—he breezes past the trope of the scorned wife to the big, bad star. Sharon is much smarter than that and is patient with what—through flirtations and glances and snippets of passionate dream sequences—we can safely gather is Lydia’s fair share of infidelity and sexual misconduct. I also feel that a relationship like this only adds to the all-encompassing realism of the movie, because I have witnessed ones like this. This is the kind of relationship that doesn’t end in slammed doors—it falls apart an inch at a time. How very lesbian of them.
Even Petra, the child that the two have adopted together, is kept by Tár at a calculated arms length. While it's clear that Lydia loves her, she shows her the most sparing kindnesses and only when Petra needs it most. When she learns of a bully at Petra’s school, she approaches the child in broad daylight, introduces herself as Petra’s father, and flat out threatens the girl. She viciously reminds the child that if she were to tell an adult about what was said, no one would believe her anyway. Every fiber of Lydia’s web must be reinforced through power, as that is how it was constructed in the first place. In a seemingly-innocent moment of play with Petra, Tár reminds her that, even in pretend orchestras, “It is not a democracy” and there can only be one conductor.
From the moment Olga—a young cellist, auditioning for the Berlin Philharmonic to play in the Mahler recording—is introduced on screen, her frank exuberance clashes with the hushed and insidious tone of the film. I loved watching Cate navigate Tár’s conflicted feelings here. She is equal parts intrigued and affronted by Olga’s boldness. After Lydia has a near-pornographic experience viewing an old performance of Olga’s on Youtube, her hunger for Olga affirms to us that sex is one of the many tools used to maintain a critical homeostasis between Tár and those beneath her. Despite it not being explicitly depicted at all in the film, the implications of a potential sexual encounter run as an undercurrent through every interaction Lydia and Olga have. Their relationship is a classic motif reinterpreted—the artful indie version of Big Boss Man in a leather wingback chair and fledgling, attractive new hire desperate to Prove Herself.
As Lydia and Olga’s relationship murkily progresses, Sharon’s perception of it is tangible. The expressiveness in Nina Hoss’ face is something to behold—she conveys a poignant fragility and sensitivity to Tár’s explosiveness. There is a knowing tolerance and awareness in her eyes that you recognize—it comes from years spent together building a home and a life. It is profoundly queer to witness one woman understand another so clearly. It’s as if at all times, Sharon knows what Tár is thinking, feeling and planning, even if Tár herself would admit everything but those truths. It is a masterful portrayal of a partner both wary and in love.
This is a movie that is made of tells. Moments—big and small—all reveal another piece of who Tár is. Cruel, in love, passionate, talented, vicious, on a power trip, turned on, furious. You have the distinct impression of being let into a spectacular and terrifying life and you cannot look away, even if you want to. There is an undeniable realness to Blanchett’s portrayal; her depiction of Lydia Tár as a cruel and brilliant woman is so vivid. (So much so, that I was genuinely jarred by Cate’s sincerity and gentleness on the panel after the screening.) Blanchett’s performance is haunting and it resonates throughout the film as you watch Lydia face hauntings of her own— the two tone chime of her doorbell, a sound not yet turned into music, disconcerting geometric patterns. As the cracks begin to form, the conductor’s podium is both her home—where she is the most emotionally connected to herself—and a reminder of all there is to lose. And lose, she does.
A critical thing to understand about TÁR is that this is a story about power and how it corrupts. Whispers of the nature of Tár’s past relationships with women in her conducting fellowship resurface, and a tumultuous, spectacular fall from grace begins. A sprinkling of Instagram Lives and the conversations held during them teases a potential enemy of Lydia’s that we didn’t see coming as she finds herself more and more alone. A terrible fall onto concrete steps contributes to a shocking visual depiction of our Maestro: the effortless hold she has on her world is slipping.
Lydia ascends the podium, face horribly bloodied and scraped, and conducts the most violent and terrifying rehearsal we’ve seen in the entire film. Field and his DP, Florian Hoffmeister, beautifully capture this sequence with coverage of Blanchett from almost entirely underneath her, giving the impression that her swooping arms might attack you at any moment. As an investigation regarding her past mentor/mentee relationships begins, Sharon puts Lydia in hand with more firmness and intensity than we’ve seen from her the entire film. Both her individual power and the support of the structures around Lydia have begun to crumble in earnest.
This is a mammoth of a film, with a run time tipping just over 2 ½ hours. But that’s not to say that it’s slow. The way the movie is paced imitates a piece of music. When professional philharmonic orchestra performances make up a significant portion of the plot, it can’t be reiterated in the score. To support a film this intentional, the score needed to surpass music and cut straight to emotion. Guðnadóttir found inspiration in process, like the way a breath rises up in your throat before becoming a note. As are many things with intention, there is no sense of speed or urgency in the film until you realize that Tár may not actually get to record Mahler’s No. 5. That palpable shift in pacing stuck out to me—Field is challenging us to keep up as Tár’s life is falling apart.
Maestro is a reverent term. I’ve now watched it be woven into the stories of two characters on screen. Whether historical or fictional, a term that stands across so many languages—German, English, French, Italian, what have you—holds a weight to it that it is akin to worship. It’s mainlining power straight into Lydia Tár’s veins. As everything is stripped away from her, you can really see how the heaviness of the concept of Maestro anchored Tár. Now we see a woman truly unmoored.
Our real lives—not on movie screens—exist in a thousand different places, relationships, email chains, Instagram threads, and taxi cabs all at once. I say this hoping to convey that so much happens in TÁR. You know Lydia as a real, breathing person because Field’s construction of her is so thorough. I also have no doubt in my mind that this will be Cate’s third Oscar—she brings Tár to life in a chilling, breathtaking consumption of character.
The challenging part of this review is that it would be impossible for me to tell you every single important thing that happens in TÁR. Each moment is weighty and tenuous with possibility. What I can share with you is this: Todd Field said that he believes this is a film that trusts its audience—it wastes no time doubling down or forcing a specific message through to you. When watching this film, you’re meant to come away with more questions than answers. In an ending as equally powerful as the rest of the film, Field slam-dunks us with a final moment so cringe worthy that you ache for Tár, even as you despise her. I was utterly transported by this film and believe it is a modern masterpiece.
TÁR begins its limited theatrical release this Friday, October 7th. You can look here for when it comes to your city.
Has October put you in the mood for campy horror? Yes? Good. Next week on The Yearning, Ali reviews HBO’s Los Espookys.
Noémie famously provided us with THE tour-de-force in yearning with her portrayal of Marianne in Portrait of a Lady on Fire