Tag Archives: B


Producers: Alexandra Milchan, Scott Lambert and Todd Field   Director: Todd Field  Screenplay: Todd Field    Cast: Cate Blanchett, Noémie Merlant, Nina Hoss, Sophie Kauer, Julian Glover, Allan Corduner, Mark Strong, Sylvia Flote, Adam Gopnik, Mila Bogojevic, Zethphan Smith-Gneist, Dorothea Plans Casal, Fabian Dirr, Sydney Lemmon and Lydia Schamschula   Distributor: Focus Features

Grade: B+

Cate Blanchett brings such ferocity to the role of Lydia Tár, the symphonic conductor who’s the protagonist of Todd Field’s third feature (his first in sixteen years), that her brilliance may overshadow just how controversial the film is.  “Tár” is a portrait of a prominent person who becomes the victim of so-called cancel culture, and while it doesn’t shy from depicting her arrogant sense of entitlement, it’s not unsympathetic to her plight, the complete circumstances of which are kept deliberately vague.  That should make it a magnet for debate.

Or would, if it weren’t set in so rarefied a milieu that the vast majority of viewers will have trouble catching all the intricacies and allusions in Field’s uncompromisingly detail-oriented script, which could make many eyes glaze over.

That’s not a criticism, just an observation.  In fact, one has to be amazed at the film’s near-fanatical devotion to the minutiae of the world of classical music and its devotees.  The combination of sophistication and smugness most outsiders perceive in it is captured with exceptional sharpness, and the name-dropping is sometimes like a test (even if you recognize Marin Alsop, will you know Antonia Brico?).  The sense of insularity can be intimidating.  But anyone willing to endure it (or is familiar enough with it to appreciate—even swoon over—the degree of accuracy) should find “Tár” compelling and thought-provoking, even if its point of view isn’t always clear (or, depending on how you interpret it, acceptable).   

Lydia Tár (Blanchett) is the chief conductor/artistic director of the Berlin Philharmonic, one of the world’s premier ensembles.  Her impressive résumé is summarized in a carefully contrived interview before an adoring audience, conducted by Adam Gopnik as her devoted assistant Francesca (Noémie Merlant) looks on, mouthing the pre-written words. (Lacking is the actuality of her lowly origin, since she’s created a persona to escape it.) One of the matters touched on is the paucity of female conductors; much is also made of Lydia’s forthcoming performance of the Mahler Fifth Symphony, which will be recorded live and complete her survey of his symphonies on DGG, the label that also released the final recordings of them by her mentor Leonard Bernstein.

Field and Blanchett revel in the rehearsal scenes of the Mahler, which showcase Tár’s obsession over pacing and expression. (When admonishing the orchestra over a sluggish tempo in the second movement, she cattily snaps, “Less Visconti.”)  They also demonstrate that Blanchett took podium technique seriously—the comparison to, say, the ludicrous arm-swinging of Rex Harrison in “Unfaithfully Yours” or Yul Brynner in “Once More, With Feeling” is like night and day—though it’s clearly of the histrionic Bernstein school.  There’s even a snicker-inducing interruption when she’s shown puzzling over the best pose to feature on the cover of the CD.

But her attitude toward Francesca can be dismissive, and she’s at the point of abruptly removing the orchestra’s long-time assistant conductor Sebastian (Allan Corduner)—an appointee of her predecessor at the Philharmonic, Andris Davis (Julian Glover)—from his post.  At a Juilliard master class she also delivers a stinging dressing-down of Max (Zethphan Smith-Gneist), a nervous student identifying as “BIPOC pangender” who admits to “not being into” J.S. Bach because he considers the composer a misogynist dead white male.  Of course the encounter—choreographed beautifully by Field, Blanchett and Smith-Gneist in Florian Hoffmeister’s fluid camerawork—is captured on another student’s phone and will reappear later, edited to appear even worse than it was, on social media.

Lydia’s treatment of others blends her professional and personal lives.  She’s married to Sharon (Nina Hoss), the concertmaster of the Philharmonic, and they have an adopted daughter, Petra (Mila Bogojevic), of whom she is fiercely protective, even threatening a classmate who’s been bullying her.  Yet her interest in younger women is apparently unabated.  There’s a needling suggestion of something between her and Francesca in their past, and she’s being stalked by a former student, Krista Taylor (Sylvia Flote), who keeps bombarding her with e-mails and has sent her a book about a woman’s former lover who attempts suicide, which she tears up in a rage.  (Lydia has, meanwhile, been sabotaging the girl’s career with less-than-glowing recommendations.)  Now she’s developed an obsessive interest in Olga (Sophie Kauer), a talented young cellist on trial in the orchestra, even going so far as to finagle the inclusion of her specialty, the Elgar concerto, in the program with the Mahler as a potential showcase for her.

(Spoiler Alert!  The following discloses turns in the film’s last act.  Read on at your own discretion.)

Everything collapses when Taylor does commit suicide and accusations about their relationship, and Lydia’s role in her death, emerge.  So does the edited version of the Juilliard class.  In conversation Andris offhandedly mentions the cases of James Levine and Charles Dutoit, dismissing them cavalierly with a comparison to Wilhelm Furtwängler’s treatment in post-war Germany. 

But the damage is done.  At this point Monika Willi’s editing, until now smoothly paced, becomes more energetic and rugged (the score by Hildur Guðnadóttir also revs up). Tár is dismissed from her post, but her time with the Philharmonic is not over.  When Elliot Kaplan (Mark Strong), a former friend and aspiring conductor, is chosen to replace her at the Mahler concert, she refuses to take the insult lying down.  (Surely Elliot’s surname is a cheeky reference to Gilbert, the amateur who used his wealth to conduct—and record, twice—the piece with which he was obsessed, none other than Mahler’s Second.)  The film closes with a revelation that frankly, given her apparent wealth, strains credulity—her going into exile in Southeast Asia, where she’s last seen conducting an orchestra in a movie score accompanying a screening of some sort of fantasy piece before an audience of cosplaying fans.

Visually elegant—Marc Bittner Rosser’s production design and Bina Daigeler’s costumes are silkily seductive—“Tár” is intentionally oblique about the background to Lydia’s downfall: Field presents everything from her perspective, leaving the viewer to hypothesize about what actually happened between Lydia and Krista, or Lydia and Francesca, and as the episode with Max shows, her detractors are prone to exaggeration.  Nor is her relationship with Olga one of a dominating authority figure abusing a helpless underling—and one can hardly imagine such a situation ever having existed with Sharon.  The result is a portrait that demands that the viewer decide whether she’s more villain or victim, or as much one as the other, and to consider whether similar ambiguity exists in actual cases of public “cancellation.”

It also leads to questions about works of art in general—should they be judged on the basis of the character of their creators, as Max seems to suggest?  The music of Wagner was boycotted in Israel for many decades.  Should accusations of pederasty against Schubert oblige us to stop listening to his music?  And the issue extends beyond composers.  What of painters, sculptors, novelists, playwrights, many of whom lived very suspicious lives?  Or of actors like Kevin Spacey, directors like Bryan Singer, or producers like Harvey Weinstein?  Are all the pictures they had a hand in making now prohibited viewing?  Even “Tár” itself could be the subject of a boycott on the grounds that it can be taken as a defense of abusers.

So it’s courageous of Field to take on the whole business of cancel culture, even if he oh so dexterously sidesteps some of the central issues (by making the protagonist a woman, first of all).    While one can express doubts about the way he’s done so, or—as some will—condemn the side they see him as having come down on, it’s hard to deny that his film, despite its nearly three-hour length, is an absorbing, masterfully made if troubling treatment of a timely and provocative subject, anchored by another magisterial Blanchett performance.                 

DARK GLASSES (Occhiali neri)

Producers: Noëmie Devide, Brahim Chioua, Vincent Maraval, Laurence Clerc, Conchita Airoldi and Laurentina Guidotti   Director: Dario Argento   Screenplay: Dario Argento and Franco Ferrini   Cast: Ilenia Pastorelli, Asia Argento, Andrea Gherpelli, Mario Pirrello, Maria Rosaria Russo, Gennaro Iaccarino, Xinyu Zhang, Paola Sambo Ivan Alovisio, Giuseppe Cometa, Gianluca Giugliarelli, Guglielmo Favilla, Viktorie Ignoto, Gladys Robles, Mario Scerbo and Tiffany Zhou   Distributor: IFC Midnight/Shudder

Grade: B-

Aficionados of Dario Argento’s gialli from the 1970s and 1980s—especially the early classics—won’t want to miss the now-octogenarian writer-director’s return to the genre.  Although “Dark Glasses” hardly equals his best, and indeed isn’t even very good, it has enough of his iconic touches to get by as a sort of Argento self-homage, and admirers will enjoy its characteristic inanities and excesses.

The picture represents the realization of a script Argento actually co-wrote some two decades ago, presumably after 2001’s “Sleepless” (which was co-written by Franco Ferrini, his collaborator here), but financing fell through and the project collapsed.  His daughter Asia found it in 2021 and spearheaded its production, acting as an executive producer and taking one of the lead roles, in the process enduring one of her father’s lurid murder sequences.

But the real protagonist here is Diana (Ilenia Pastorelli, stilted though game), a classy prostitute who won’t take guff from her clients, expecting them to be clean and well-mannered.  But she becomes a target of a Roman Jack the Ripper, whom we see brutally dispatching another call girl.  Though Diana escapes him, the fiend forces her fleeing car into a collision in which she is blinded, and two of the three occupants in the other vehicle seriously injured.  Only the child, a Chinese boy named Chin (Xinyu Zhang) emerges unscathed.  He’s sent to an orphanage while his mother is hospitalized in critical condition; his father has died. 

Meanwhile Diana begins to deal with her blindness.  Aided by Rita (Argento), a specialist caregiver, she begins navigating her apartment and the streets outside with a seeing-eye dog, now using constantly the titular dark glasses she’d been shown employing to watch an eclipse at the start.  She also visits the Chin in the orphanage, feeling guilty about her role in the accident that devastated his family.  It’s not long before the kid escapes and shows up at her apartment, pleading to be allowed to stay.  They bond, and she refuses to hand him over to the cops, even when they show up at her door.  Unfortunately, the killer shows up as well, and Diana and Chin are forced to go on the run, making their way to Rita’s.  Others, including a sympathetic motorist, get sucked into the action, and a swirl of snakes and some snarling dogs show up as well.   

“Dark Glasses” hearkens back to early Argento gialli in the serial-killer plot and the lurid killing scenes, both of the victims and of the perpetrator at the close, as well as the ineptitude of the police.  But it differs in significant respects.  Visually it lacks the almost tactile lushness of the classic titles; Marcello di Carlo’s production design is thoroughly pedestrian and Matteo Cocco’s cinematography drab, except in the relatively few sequences where the makeup artists take over with ample applications of fake blood and gore.  The alternately flabby and frenzied editing of Flora Volpelière doesn’t help.  But Arnaud Rebotini tries, in his score, to mimic what Ennio Morricone once brought to the party.

Narratively there are the usual problems of lucidity and coherence, especially in the final reel, where things go pretty much berserk.  But perhaps the most seriously miscalculated aspect of the plot is the early revelation of the villain’s identity, which proves to be as off-the-wall as one expects, even though it’s been well (too well, in fact) telegraphed.  The splashy conclusion fails to make up for it; this is no “Vertigo.”

Of course Hitchcock’s film was psychologically complex.  The same certainly can’t be said for “Dark Glasses,” in which even the major characters have less depth than those in an Agatha Christie novel, being nothing more than pieces in a madcap board game.  But if you appreciated the young Argento’s contributions to Italian slasher movies, you needn’t hesitate to check out what will probably be his swan song in the giallo genre, despite its obvious failings.