Introducing Academy Award Winner Cate Blanchett -'Tár'

Cate, fucking, Blanchett.

I recently enjoyed a solo trip to my local cinema to see the new Todd Field psychological drama Tár with very high hopes. Reviews had the film very well received, many commenting on Cate Blanchett’s performance as being a career-defining one. Now, if you knew me more personally, you’d know I am, in fact, in love with Mrs Blanchett. I think she is one of the best actresses of this generation and deserves all the acclaim she receives—so, saying this, I was not surprised her performance was being praised, just excited to see it for myself.

Tár is a biopic-esque psychological drama about the classical composer Lydia Tár, who is widely considered one of the greatest living conductors, yet she is one symphony away from her career excellence. The film follows a relatively small cast, with the majority of dialogue coming from Tár, in a brutalist, eerie-looking Berlin that acts as the backdrop for her character's spiral into paranoia and erraticism. Initially, I expected the 158 minutes of this film to be packed full of intense drama and beautiful classical music; however, it is entirely diegetic sound, meaning any sound originates from the film itself—you only hear classical music when the orchestra is playing. If anything, the majority of this film feels uncomfortably quiet.

Cate Blanchett’s character is sophisticatedly complex. I spent the majority of the film feeling as if I shouldn’t like her, yet never actually disliking her. Her performance demanded the viewer’s attention in each bleak wide shot of dull monochrome, with each twitch and unsavoury glance emoting unease throughout. She plays the serial lesbian adulteress very, very well, depicting every queer person’s guilty pleasure dream of bullying mean German children through intimidation: “I am Petra’s father.”

Tár is a whirlpool of intertwining themes that force viewers to question their moral reasoning. After writing up this review, the main question the film posed to me was, “Should we separate the art from the artist?” In one of the most memorable scenes, where Tár is giving a lecture at Juilliard, the main themes of the film are tackled all at once, as she asks students, “By what criteria do we judge an artist?” This results in snippets being removed from context and edited into a video chewed up by Twitter’s cancel culture. While all elements seem to conspire against her—some self-inflicted—the ‘final straw’ of such is the discourse around #MeToo. Throughout the film, Tár is haunted by an unknown presence I concluded to be symbolic of Krista Taylor, the young woman we are informed has committed suicide after what we are led to believe was an inappropriate affair with her teacher, Tár. From Tár’s narcissistic perspective in the film, we are never truly introduced visually to Krista—only the fallout of her death via emails and glimpses in disturbing dreams. It is extremely uncomfortable to share the perspective of the protagonist, who we quickly realise is on the wrong side of the #MeToo movement many previous films also portray. Tár has the career dominance expected of a workplace groomer, yet she differs in one key aspect I personally had not seen explored before: the perpetrator is, in fact, also a woman.

Seeing everything through Tár’s perspective means it all becomes very tricky to separate yourself from the character, removing objectivity from all moral judgement. The questions posed are never answered in the film, leaving you, the viewer, to attempt this when you leave.

If you like Cate Blanchett, the films Whiplash and Black Swan, or complex themes of sexual abuse and artist culture, I HIGHLY recommend this film. Just going to book my second viewing now...

Evie 23 January 2023