Three “Conductor Films,” Reviewed
I do not fancy myself a “film critic” by any stretch, but my interest certainly is piqued when I hear of a film which deals with conductors, or musicians in general, as its primary focus. So, here are my completely unsolicited views on three “conductor films,” or at least, films in which a conductor is centered or plays a central role.
If you have not seen these films yet, beware of spoilers!
Maestro (2023), directed by Bradley Cooper, starring Bradley Cooper and Carey Mulligan
Out of the three films on this list, this is the one I had the highest hopes for. It is a biopic that centers on the life of Leonard Bernstein, one of the most significant musical figures of the 20th century, and certainly the most important American conductor ever. He is also one of my heroes, and was a source of great inspiration in choosing to be a musician.
The film begins with Bernstein’s “big break,” that is, the moment that supposedly thrust him into the spotlight, when he substitute-conducted the New York Philharmonic at the last minute for an ailing Bruno Walter. From there, Bernstein’s star rose swiftly, landing more and more work as both a conductor and composer. He composed the music to a timeless musical, West Side Story, and received an Academy Award nomination for the score to On the Waterfront. He was broadcast into living rooms across America, educating people about the nuts and bolts and joys of music until he became the closest thing to a household name any classical musician has been this side of Franz Liszt.
But the film chooses instead to focus on Bernstein’s relationships, especially with his wife, Felicia, who puts her own acting career aside to support Bernstein’s career. The central conflict of the film, however, stems from Bernstein’s inability to rein in his extramarital affairs. He was known to have had a number of affairs with both men and women, and Maestro explores the effects these escapades had on his marriage and family.
You can probably see my primary gripe with this movie by now. The film almost entirely glosses over Bernstein’s myriad accomplishments, placing his bisexuality, and his marital improprieties, front and center. It would be dishonest to ignore those facets of his character in a true-to-life biopic of the man, but are they really the most interesting things about him? Maestro essentially makes them his entire personality, with his expansive body of musical and educational work coming across as mere side hustles, avenues to meet more “chickens,” or potential young male paramours (more on that in a moment). I know there was more to Bernstein’s personality than this, but in Maestro we get practically zero chances to see what Bernstein was like purely as a conductor, mentor, or artistic collaborator- in other words, the very things that make him important.
Then there is Felicia, Bernstein’s long-suffering wife. She is aware of and accepts Bernstein’s sexuality, and even tolerates his dalliances, at least up to a point. Her patience is increasingly strained throughout the movie, and finally snaps after one too many indiscretions. The resulting shouting match is one of the more remarkable moments in the film for its sheer gravity, and its visual setting, juxtaposed against the backdrop of a jolly Thanksgiving parade outside the window.
But even here I was left scratching my head a bit. Felicia takes Lenny to task for his insensitivity towards the “gift” of his wife and family, but the main thrust of her harangue is that Bernstein does not accept himself for who he is, that his inner conflict between the needs of his sexuality and his marital obligations creates “hate and anger” which spill over on the podium and make him toxic to be around. Once again, the film’s exact priorities escape me. Is Felicia more frustrated with Bernstein’s unfaithfulness, or his dishonesty with himself?
Leonard and Felicia Bernstein, 1957
The question is seemingly answered in another poignant scene, in which Bernstein passionately conducts the ending of Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, in the throes of pure musical ecstasy. (It is a recreation of an actual, iconic performance in Bernstein’s career.) This, supposedly, fixes everything, as a sweat-drenched Bernstein rushes offstage during the applause to kiss Felicia, who happily declares there is no longer any hate in his heart. So…that’s all Felicia needed? A single super-emotive performance on the podium from Lenny to convince her that his heart is true and his motives pure? Mind you, there is no indication that his improprieties have henceforth ceased, only that his heart is now in the right place, and that, seemingly, is good enough for Felicia. Indeed, after Felicia’s untimely death from breast cancer (sorry, not sorry about spoilers; these are historical figures, not comic book characters), Bernstein is back at it with the “chickens” he is mentoring, seemingly liberated from his wife’s disapproval.
I don’t want to create the impression that I only have criticisms for this film. On the contrary, I found much to love about it. For starters, it is beautifully shot, regarding both cinematography and the set design. Everything from the wardrobe to the furniture immerses you as the film progresses through the decades. And the performances of the two leads, Bradley Cooper and Carey Mulligan as Lenny and Felicia, respectively, are utterly captivating. It is clear that they both threw their heart and soul into this project, and embodied their respective characters with genuine humanity. Not to mention, I was completely taken by their voices. Cooper admirably replicates Bernstein’s Mid-Atlantic “Hah-vud yahd, dahling” accent, as well as the nicotine-deepened nasality of his voice later in life. Mulligan, as well, sounded very convincing as the Costa Rican-born Felicia. I think her performance was the strongest out of all the cast, shifting seamlessly from vivacity, to tenderness, to implacability, to vulnerability as she crests the waves of Bernstein’s career. I believe that she and Cooper deserve any accolades that come their way.
On the whole, however, I wanted to love Maestro a lot more than I did, but I just can’t get past its narrow focus. Nowhere to be seen is the man who conducted the world’s great orchestras, composed some of the most beloved musicals of all time (West Side Story and Candide), and educated millions through the Omnibus television programs and young peoples’ concerts with the New York Philharmonic. All of this is glossed over, and not even mentioned are the more “minor” but no less interesting episodes of his life (lecturing at Harvard, hosting his “radical chic” gathering with the Black Panthers, conducting Beethoven’s 9th in Germany after the fall of the Berlin Wall, traveling to Israel, etc). That Leonard Bernstein is utterly missing, replaced by one who is impulsive and hedonistic, and can’t keep his hands off the “chickens.” Which, by the way, if I didn’t know anything about Bernstein coming into the film, I might have had a difficult time coming away without thinking of him as something of a predator, the way he is portrayed. Maybe the real Bernstein really was impulsive and hedonistic to some degree (and he probably was), but the Bernstein in Maestro lacks the nuance, complexity, and brilliance of the one I have read about and admired.
Whiplash (2014), directed by Damien Chazelle, starring Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons
Although the conductor is not the primary character in this movie, he is nevertheless one of the two central characters of the story.
Andrew Neimann is an eager young drummer who studies at the prestigious Schaffer Conservatory (basically a fictional Juilliard). He idolizes the great jazz musicians of the 20th century, especially Charlie Parker and Buddy Rich, and he aspires to attain their level of fame and success, practicing for long hours. One day, he gets a chance to play in Schaffer’s premiere jazz ensemble, Studio Band, directed and conducted by Terence Fletcher. Andrew badly wants to impress Fletcher, who Andrew discovers is abusive, narcissistic, and manipulative. Fletcher berates and humiliates his students for simple mistakes, and the first time he directs his rage towards Andrew, Fletcher throws a chair at him and physically assaults him for struggling with tempo during a rehearsal.
Rather than run far, far away from Fletcher, as a normal person might have done, Andrew doubles down, determined to earn Fletcher’s respect. In the process, he alienates his family, breaks up with his new girlfriend (by bluntly telling her she is in the way of his greatness), and practices so much and so fiercely that his blistered hands turn into grotesque, bleeding masses. The film essentially becomes a chronicle of Andrew’s descent from a bright-eyed conservatory freshman into a callous shell of his former self, obsessed with earning Fletcher’s approval and consumed by a desire for greatness.
The shock value of this film is undeniable. There is not a more terrifying thought to either a student or a parent than an educator who respects no lines or boundaries with students, and in this regard, Fletcher is the nightmare of nightmares, short of being an actual predator (his explicit language notwithstanding). When his wrath is fully unleashed, it comes with all the unstoppable brutality of a train crash, and every bit as impossible to look away from.
And that, I believe, is the most potent force driving this film: it is intoxicating. As Andrew falls further and further down the rabbit hole of obsession and ambition, the story drags us down along with him. Despite clear signs of his destructive tendencies, we find ourselves rooting for him to finally get the better of Fletcher, either by impressing him or standing up to him. It becomes clear, however, that no amount of effort on Andrew’s part is going to impress Fletcher, so all that is left is for Andrew to somehow stand up to him. And, without spoiling too much, that is essentially what happens. It is an explosive, brutal, one-million-volt shocking moment, but it is far from the heroic comeuppance we were itching for Andrew to dish out. It leaves both men disgraced, the clash of their unstoppable wills leaving a quite literal trail of blood and destruction behind.
The story does not end there, however. Neither man has learned their lesson. Andrew still clings to some irrational attachment to Fletcher, who, it is revealed, has an obsession of his own. Fletcher wants to create the next Charlie Parker as much as Andrew wants to be the next Charlie Parker. And how did Charlie Parker become great? When his bandleader went berserk on him for messing up a solo, almost decapitating him with a cymbal and humiliating him in front of the band. Instead of quitting, Fletcher says, Parker doubled down and practiced even harder. He did so to the neglect of nearly everything else in his life, eventually becoming addicted to drugs and dying of an overdose at 34, but Fletcher conveniently doesn’t mention this.
In Fletcher’s view, it seems, the ends justify the means. Parker would never have been more than a blip on anyone’s radar had his bandleader simply forgiven him and said, “good job.” Fletcher views those two words as the most “harmful” things a teacher can say, and he laments that he has “never had a Charlie Parker,” a generational talent who would emerge from the fires of Fletcher’s abuse and take the world by storm. The closest he ever got, it seems, was a trumpet student named Sean Casey, who graduated from Fletcher’s program and went on to play at Lincoln Center, only to take his own life some years later due to unresolved trauma suffered at Fletcher’s hands. (Fletcher, for his part, denies that he was in any way responsible for Casey’s death, claiming he died in a car accident.)
And so, with the method behind the madness revealed, Andrew and Fletcher seem to come to some sort of understanding. Fletcher even invites Andrew to join him as the drummer in a professional band he is leading, in front of an audience packed with industry professionals and record label executives. A strong performance here could be his ticket to much sweeter gigs. Andrew accepts, dusting off the drum set he had kept in storage since his explosive “final” confrontation with Fletcher. This turns out to be a setup- Fletcher intends to embarrass Andrew by telling him to prepare the wrong pieces. Andrew discovers this to his horror on the first number of the program, and leaves the stage humiliated.
His father tries to comfort him backstage, encouraging him to come back home. But, in a poignantly symbolic moment, Andrew backs away from his father’s embrace, and defiantly returns to the stage. Without Fletcher’s cue, he launches into the jazz standard “Caravan,” and the rest of the band joins, angering Fletcher. But Andrew pours his heart and soul into the drum solo, and Fletcher slowly accepts what he is witnessing. Despite all that Fletcher has put Andrew through, the kid has not broken. He no longer fears Fletcher. The film ends with an exhausted Andrew finishing his sensational solo, making eye contact with Fletcher, who finally shows a sign of approval with a grin. Has Fletcher finally found his Charlie Parker? Most critically, has Andrew finally found the stardom he has hungered for? If yes, what has it cost him, and what will it cost him?
Even if I were not a musician, I would rate this as one of my favorite films of all time. It so easily sucks you into Andrew’s world of obsession and ambition. Its pacing, slick cinematography, and moody lighting add to its “intoxicating” effect I mentioned earlier. And the performances from the lead actors are nothing short of legendary. J.K. Simmons deservedly won an Academy Award for his portrayal of the volatile Fletcher, and Miles Teller gave Andrew Neimann a wide range of authenticity ranging from vulnerability to fearlessness, and ultimately self-sabotage.
I have heard a number of criticisms of Whiplash from fellow musicians, most of which deal with the film’s accuracy in portraying jazz music and music school life. True, the film does not always stay on the straight and narrow path of correct musical terminology, and it is also argued (with some justification, I’ll admit) that it does jazz a disservice by how it is portrayed. There are certainly more than a few issues and inaccuracies to be found here, if you are going to hold the film to an exact standard of truthfulness to the real-life musical experience. I will not list these issues here; there are a number of pretentious…erm, I mean, edifying creators on YouTube who nitpick…ahem, break them down more completely than I could.
But in the final analysis, this film isn’t for musicians. That is, its central message was not conceived with any concern for whether the YouTube music theorists of the world would find it accurate, and it makes no pretense of so being. It is instead a warning about the dangers of unbridled ambition, a layered commentary on resilience, ego, abuse, and the price of excellence and fame. It asks a number of important and thought-provoking questions. Is Charlie Parker’s fate (dying young, broke, and drug-addicted, but remembered through the ages for his greatness) preferable to dying old and naturally but unremembered? Is Fletcher correct about the words “good job” creating a world of mediocre music, and “depriving the world of the next Charlie Parker?” Do once-in-a-generation talents only come about when Terence Fletchers forge them in furnaces of narcissism, abuse, and ambition? If so, is it ever worth it? Ponder these questions. You may feel like you immediately know what the answers are, but you will be surprised how layered the questions are upon thinking further.
Tár (2022), directed by Todd Field, starring Cate Blanchett, Nina Hoss, and Noemie Merlant
If Lydia Tár was a real person, she would only be the latest world-famous conductor to make headlines for less-than-appealing reasons, and unfortunately, she likely wouldn’t be the last. In recent years, big names such as James Levine, Charles Dutoit, Valery Gergiev, and others have found themselves under intense scrutiny, as political controversy or past misconduct comes to light which may have a profound effect on their legacies. Taken as a whole, the history of the conducting profession is a tabloid journalist’s playground.
This film explores what that might look like at the upper echelons of classical music, chronicling the spectacular fall from grace of Lydia Tár, one of the most respected conductors in the world. She leads one of the world’s great orchestras (implied to be the Berlin Philharmonic, though the orchestra’s name is not explicitly mentioned), and is sought after around the globe as a clinician and interviewee. Her wife, Sharon, is the concertmaster of the orchestra, and they have a young daughter. Her assistant, Francesca, an aspiring conductor in her own right, idolizes Tár, and hopes to leverage her connection with the maestro to her own career success. Tár seems in complete, secure command of her fiefdom of authority, and clearly enjoys her high-class, jet-setting lifestyle. And, shortly, she is to make a career-defining recording of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony.
Gradually, however, the façade starts to crack, and Tár’s stature at the top of the classical music world is slowly whittled away. First, she gets into a spat with a student at a Juilliard masterclass. The student dismisses the music of J.S. Bach, being as he was white, male, and misogynistic, as purportedly evidenced by his profuse childbearing (he had 20 children, with two wives). Tár cautions the student against allowing their own preferences, or misgivings about Bach’s identity and character, to affect sincere judgment of his art- after all, if you are allowed to evaluate Bach’s art on those grounds, are other people not allowed to do the same to your own art? Their exchange deteriorates; the student is offended, and storms out of the class after some choice words. It is an inauspicious start to the film, but as viewers, it is important to keep it in mind.
Skeletons from her closet start to appear, and Tár’s fatal character flaws begin to emerge. A former student, Krista, apparently angered Tár for some reason at one point in the past. Tár has been sabotaging Krista’s career ever since, blocking any kind of advancement. Though her character is entirely unseen, the tension caused by Krista’s increasing desperation to contact Tár becomes quite visceral to the viewer. Eventually, Krista reaches her limit, and takes her own life.
Fatal character flaw number one: Lydia Tár is a narcissist. The film makes it clear that Tár has gone well out of her way for a long time to prevent Krista from getting into schools, being hired for gigs or employment, etc. All because of some real or imagined slight, the exact nature of which the film does not reveal. It is ultimately immaterial, in any case. Narcissists often become obsessed with holding grudges and exacting revenge on those who they believe have slighted them in some way, as you may attest if you have dealt with one.
From this point on, Tár’s days as classical music royalty are numbered. Krista’s family is out for vengeance. Videos of the Juilliard incident are going viral online, making her appear racially insensitive. An earlier attempt to promote Francesca to assistant conductor of the orchestra does not go unnoticed by the orchestra. Nor does her obvious crush on a young Russian cellist, for whom Tár pulls strings to ensure that she wins an audition with the orchestra, and ends up driving away Tár’s wife and daughter.
Fatal character flaw number two: Lydia Tár is a hypocrite. After telling the Juilliard student not to evaluate artists based on identity and preferences, that is precisely what she is doing in her own professional life. She cannot resist using her position of power to grant favors to people she likes, instead of focusing on the merits of their work, as she admonished the Juilliard student to do. If you ever find yourself in a position of leadership, one of the first things you will notice is how sensitive your charges are as to whether you, the leader, are a hypocrite. Do you practice what you preach? If not, you’ll lose the locker room on day one.
Tár’s obvious favoritism erodes the orchestra’s trust in her, and with the mounting public scandals, she is canned. She doesn’t go quietly, however. She barges into the Mahler 5 recording session she was originally slated to conduct and assaults her successor on the podium (in a peculiar echo of Whiplash), before being pulled away. Her disgrace complete, she returns to her family home in New York before attempting to find new work. There is a poignant moment when, shortly after arriving back at the home she grew up in, she runs into her brother, whom she has not seen in years. Her reception is frosty at best. One gets the distinct impression that the events we have witnessed thus far are not the first times Tár has alienated important people in her life.
This is a classic tale of power hunger, narcissism, and self-sabotage, and it was a visceral experience to watch. It reverberates with echoes of MeToo and the cancel culture debate, though it stops short of taking sides with any particular character(s). The viewer’s judgment is usually sufficient to decide if Lydia Tár really deserves what she gets. Not everything is cut-and-dry, however, as she spirals irrevocably down her path of self-sabotage. There are plenty of details and nuances to watch for and keep in mind. But, like Whiplash, it has a way of sucking you deep into Tár’s world, and you tend to feel trapped with her, and tempted to empathize with her, while her world crumbles around her.
I found this to be a powerful and engrossing film, with a captivating performance from Blanchett. The movie is also a poignant warning about the dangers of unchecked narcissism and egotism. The storyline about Tár’s former student Krista, in particular, struck a chord with me. Though she is never seen nor heard, I know a little about her pain. The feeling of someone you thought was a mentor turning on you, chewing you up and spitting you out since you have apparently outlived your usefulness to them, is one I can unfortunately empathize with.
Though Lydia Tár is a fictional character, I’ve met her. Her type walks among us every day. You will meet her one day, if you haven’t already, especially if you are a musician. My experience with her taught me one very important thing about being a musician: the second you make it all about you, you’ve failed. The onscreen Lydia Tár, and the Lydia Tár I knew, both share the same critical flaw: music, to them, is all about them- satisfying their own egos, expectations, and desires. The greatest joy in music, and conducting in particular, is the chance to help others shine, to be the means by which others flourish and experience the endless fulfillment that music offers to every human being. To stand in the way of that fulfillment is, bluntly, a crime against the human soul that deprives people of one of the most enriching experiences that life offers, and I pity those whose monstrous egos prevent them from realizing that.
