What’s brilliant about Field’s slowburner of a film is that he leaves it up to the viewer to decide whether “TÀR” is anti-cancel culture or a tongue-in-cheek condemnation of Cate Blanchett‘s brilliant but prickly conductor. For most of the film, Field obstinately hints at what’s to come, but takes his time to build everything up. The plot developments are minimal, but eventually add up to something monumental. There’s an elliptical quality to the film’s narrative, so much so that once it reveals its cards you immediately want to see it again to further grasp its thematic resonances. Although there’s nothing ambiguous about it, Field would rather you just settle with his film, without much background, and study the actions (and consequences) on display. Concentrating on the work and lifestyle of Lydia Tar, a much-lauded conductor vehemently opposed to “Millennial robots,” she more or less feels invincible, believing that her brilliant art is more than enough to shield her from the cruel and abusive nature of social media. Field stages lengthy unbroken shots to study Blanchett’s face, where her Lydia lives in a cozy Berlin apartment with her partner/concertmaster, Sharon (Nina Hoss), and their adopted Syrian daughter. A failed fling with a student is alluded to, along with the suicidal impulses that started to emerge in said student. We’re not really sure what occurred between the two, just that Lydia has basically ghosted the student and has moved on to work and create her next magnum opus, this one assisted by the Berlin philharmonic. The arrival of a young Russian cellist hints at Lydia’s potential predatorial instincts. Field deliberately leaves out the exposition; we’re always on the outside looking in, and that’s part of its charm, if you want to call it that. “TÀR” is formally bold — it transcends clichés to get to a rawer truth about art and artist. The film doesn’t take Lydia’s side as much as just embraces her individuality, her tics, and the way she lives off power and treats others. Blanchett is absolutely staggering, appearing in every single one of TÀR’s 160 minutes. It’s a character that demands attention, but also rewards it. Lydia has an affinity for the greats of the past, but, as one “woke” student points out in a standout scene, those guys were assholes. She humiliates her Juilliard student for his refusal to play Bach’s music, whom he sees as a racist dead white man. Lydia is justifiably irked. Don’t be so eager to be offended,” Lydia tells the student, “the narcissism of small differences leads to conformity.” [A-] Contribute Hire me
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