Usually when viewing film, I am accustomed to a narrative framework that includes exposition, tension, climax and resolution, along with elements of style, allegory and entertainment value— not dissimilar from the structure of storytelling within opera. You absorb whatever wisdom and insight there is to take in, and like a book, you put it down and resume your life. Todd Field’s 2022 film Tár had all of these elements, but rather than any sense of finality after its viewing, I was left with more unanswered questions. At first, I thought it may have stayed with me because of how accurately the film mirrors certain behaviors, routines, and surroundings within the classical music community: the performed intellectualism of name dropping and knowing better, high context albeit petty shop talk; even the interior design of Lydia Tár’s studio apartment made me wonder, “Haven’t I been exactly there, several times before?”
When we see a story unfold from the perspective of the antagonist, it is assumed that the intent of the storyteller is to outline a person’s journey from Point A to Point B, in order to inspire compassion from an audience, rather than arrive at the oversimplified conclusion that they were deserving of their own downfall. The main conflict in the film surrounds the mystery of the relationship between Tár and her former protégé Krista Taylor. However, Krista is a only shadow throughout the film, and most of the information presented to us is speculative at best. Upon a second and third viewing, I wondered if Field’s thesis was hidden in Tár’s comment on the 11 pistol shots in Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring:
“It’s a prime number, that strikes you as both victim and perpetrator. You know, it is not until I conducted it that I became convinced we’re all capable of murder.”
Tàr’s narcissism notwithstanding, if we are not given enough evidence to determine who is victim or perpetrator (or both), it seems to me that any judgement about who Lydia Tàr is, is therefore dictated by the viewer’s own life experiences, belief systems, intellect and emotional intelligence. This is to suggest then, that one’s reception of the film is confessional— that it says more about who the audience is, rather than about what the film is intended to be.
Although I certainly could not have articulated it this way at the time, when I was growing up, there was an understanding that those in the arts field were free spirits, with an air of mystery, as if they carried the collective consciousness of humanity reflected in their creative output, and were therefore exempt from the social conditioning that “everyone else” was subjected to. Whatever truth there is in that assumption, after I began studying music more seriously, it was disappointing to discover an entirely separate set of norms and behaviors that musicians were expected to conform to. Narratives on suffering and sacrifice, minimizing personal attachments and outside interests, down to a heartfelt origin story and appropriate audition attire. Which of course begs the question, whether all of these stereotypes surrounding the personality traits of instrumentalists and voice types are really based on pattern recognition, or rather an integration of these behaviors collectively, out of the desire to fit in, for better and for worse.
I think to a certain degree, we are all attracted to a specific field in part by its symbolism, or in how one’s participation would be perceived by our social group. For doctors, it might be the healer archetype, for religious figures the sage, social workers the servant, teachers the mentor, artists the seeker, etc.. For those in a leadership position, in this case Tár as conductor, it looks like what is trying to be lived out (and preserved at all costs) is the archetype of the great man.
Setting aside whatever symbolism might be associated with your position, when a person feels called to a vocation that provides for them a sense of purpose and meaning, the expectation, or at least a subconscious wish, might be the personification of a certain degree of moral purity. So when a person arrives at the highest standing of what is considered to be the ideal in their field, for example the conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker, that person becomes an abstraction to others, and not a human being with needs and faults and feelings. Regardless of the individual’s actions or personal integrity, the idealization of their role can lead to information and interactions that are ambiguous or misleading, and might be manipulated (for example, the heavily edited video of Tár’s masterclass) in order to try to validate a narrative that is projected onto their character.
It may seem obvious to the outside when these figures become inflated, but I wonder if self-reflection or objectivity is possible for anyone in a position of the highest standing. What degree of trust and counsel can those figures expect, even from those within their inner circle, from people who are at least partially motivated by their own self-interests? Tár’s assistant, Francesca, does not resign on principle after her friend Krista’s suicide, but only after she is denied her promotion, and her association with Tár no longer provides a professional benefit to her. We meet Tár’s colleague and co-founder Eliot at the beginning of the film, who presses her for performance notes on the very piece he replaces her in, after she is banned from conducting the Mahler concert. Tár’s wife Sharon, despite her non-involvement, openly confronts Tár about strategy, in an effort to protect their personal and professional interests. Do these characters bear some responsibility in reinforcing Tár’s predatory behavior as enablers, directly or indirectly? Should we assume that when there is a power dynamic within a social group, that close personal relationships (i.e. friendship, Wahlverwandschaft, romance, etc.) are not possible, not only because of competition and corruption, but also the complications and fallout that arise when there is conflict? Would music-making be worth it, if we were deprived of interpersonal relationships within that context?!
Perhaps the most telling scenes for me occur at the very beginning and end of the film, as they relate to the Point A and Point B journey I mentioned earlier. I am referring specifically to, (A) the interview with Adam Gopnik in the beginning of the film, as well as, (B) Tár’s return to her childhood home after the film’s climax. As we hear recited by Gopnik in the beginning of the scene, Lydia Tár has the definitive grocery list of professional accomplishments to be taken seriously in her field, which is validated by the thoughtfulness of her responses in the interview and her competence within a musical setting later on. The scene with Tár in her childhood home shows us to what extent she had transformed herself in order to get to Point A. Interestingly, what these two scenes reference is the adoration of her mentor Leonard Bernstein, and musical masters of the past. The tape of Bernstein’s young people’s concert that Tár watches is so touching, I will quote the excerpt (truncated in the film) and attach the video of his speech below:
“Now we can really understand what the meaning of music really is. It’s the way it makes you feel when you hear it. Finally, we’ve taken that last giant step and we’re there, we know what music means... and we don’t have to know a lot of stuff about sharps and flats and chords and all that business in order to understand music, if it tells us something. And the most wonderful thing of all, is that there’s no limit to the different kind of feelings music can make you have. And some of those feelings are so special, and so deep, that they can’t even be described in words. You see, we can’t always name the things we feel. Sometimes we can. We can say we feel joy, pleasure, peacefulness, whatever, love, hate. But every once in a while, we have feelings that are so deep, and so special that we have no words for them. And that’s where music is so marvelous. Because music names them for us. Only in notes, instead of words. It’s all in the way music moves. You must never forget that music is movement. Always going somewhere. Shifting and changing, and flowing. From one note to another. And that can tell us more about the way we feel than a million words can.”
What is it that we admire so much about these beloved musical figures of the past? Is it simply their virtuosity? Their contribution to the art form? Their devotion? Charisma? Creativity? Authenticity? And are they seen as idols, because time and mortality gives humanity the space to forgive and forget their flaws?
When musicians become entrenched in self-promotion, benchmarking, branding, legacy, persona, and all of the aspects of working in this field that serve our professional interests and have nothing to do with music, I feel we risk becoming embittered away from the core of what Bernstein so eloquently described in his speech. Perhaps that is Tár’s great failing in the film. That her identity was so wrapped up in performing and preserving a persona (or archetype), that she lost sight of the why and to what end. Perhaps, as with religion and politics, the assumption that we behave accordingly, based on our agreement with and intellectual understanding of these virtues, is exactly what makes us vulnerable to becoming blind of our own questionable conduct.
There is a noteworthy quote from Tár’s masterclass that has been reiterated in the promotional material for the film:
"You must sublimate yourself and your identity. You must stand in front of the public and God and obliterate yourself."
She is right about this in many ways, and ironically, it is advice that Tár herself is challenged to live out, though I am sure not in the way she would have anticipated. While I have strategically avoided “passing a verdict” on Lydia Tár in this post thus far, I have to say that the humility and seriousness with which she commits herself to conducting a cosplayer concert, suggests to me that Tár makes the step on the anti/hero’s journey towards redemption. And the fact that there is no reward or glory in this action, in term’s of outside validation or public perception, is an indication to me that this transformative step is authentic and not performative. Perhaps that makes Lydia Tár representative of both saint and sinner, in Oscar Wilde’s famous quote, proclaiming that: "…every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
I was ashamed of myself when I realized that life was a costume party; and I attended with my real face.
— Franz Kafka