TÁR: A Modern Classic - Essay

During an old episode of Siskel & Ebert, the critics shared a rare moment of agreement. Both critics praised the power of modern films. More specifically, films that were not so interested in commenting on the past but instead pointed their lenses at the present. Now, neither gentleman was neglecting the importance of the classics (Ebert himself wrote countless essays praising "The Great Movies"). Their statement was instead directed toward the films of their time and the desperate attempts made by these films to capture ideas and settings from the past. Whether through historical fiction or adaptation, the men saw these films consistently fail to examine themes relevant to their present society. Both men recognized that the great classics did this and, at least in the opinion of Siskel and Ebert, the great films of their age would need to do the same. This exchange occurred many decades ago, but I could not help thinking of it while rewatching Todd Field’s TÁR. TÁR is a modern example of what these two critics discussed all those years ago. TÁR has all the trappings of a modern classic because it attempts to examine relevant themes of art, genius, power, and so much more in a masterfully realized contemporary setting.

The film ingeniously asks many questions of its audience but offers no easy solutions. There are many of these questions worth discussing in TÁR, but the easiest to start with may be the film’s investigation of art vs. the artist. The debate of “Art vs. Artist” has been taking place in our society for many years and revolves around whether the art of morally reprehensible artists can/should be consumed. It felt best to start with this subject because the film puts a great deal of focus on this cultural debate. In the second major scene of the picture, Lydia Tár argues with a music student about whether the personal sins of classical composers should invalidate their work. Lydia makes a relatively strong case at first, but unfortunately, Lydia keeps going and begins attacking the student directly. The purpose of this exchange is twofold; it introduces the less-than-good side of our protagonist and this debate early in the story. While this scene features the argument, the overall picture subtextually carries on the discourse throughout its runtime. For example, as the audience, we hear/see the art Tár is attempting to put into the world as she rehearses and composes (or struggles to), but we also see the amoral acts of which she is guilty. We are privy to her abuses of power, superiority complexes, and many lies. Through our time with Lydia, the film confronts us with whether or not the art she makes is worth the harm she causes. It never gives us a definitive answer to the debate, but the film presents as much information as possible to make us at least question our stances. Lydia’s fall from grace is a living examination of the art vs. artist dialogue by confronting the audience with one of these figures for 2 hours and 38 minutes.

Not only does the film explore questions of moral responsibility in art, but it also explores the concept of idols in modern society. TÁR is obsessed with examining the genius myth. For those unaware, the genius myth is the inaccurate assessment that great works are imagined and created by one sole individual. As with the last theme, TÁR presents the genius myth through the protagonist herself. When we first meet Lydia, she is in an interview with Adam Gopnik (of The New Yorker) in front of a massive audience. We find out that Lydia has a book coming out and is currently at the peak of her popularity. However, as the story progresses and more of Lydia’s secrets are exposed, we see this figure once held on such a high pedestal fall. During this fall from grace, the film confronts us with the notion that Lydia’s “genius” may not be what it appears. Throughout the film, she struggles to write music and lies habitually. Near the film’s climax, Sharon (Lydia’s wife played with artful subtlety by Nina Hoss) insinuates that she helped Lydia to play the social/political game at the Berlin Philharmonic to become the conductor. Through narrative discoveries like this, the movie asks us whether Lydia is a musical genius or a gifted manipulator. Todd Field, the film’s director, seems incredibly invested in this theme, as evidenced by the deliberate creative choice to put the end credits right at the beginning of the film. This credit crawl, which most movies position at the tail end of their screenings, showcases the many individuals that worked on TÁR in often overlooked roles. This intentional choice by the director is clearly commenting on the genius myth that is such a core thematic element of the picture. Field is trying to illustrate that these forgotten individuals are essential to making great art, not one “genius.” The character of Lydia Tár and the entire film masterfully dissects the genius myth and asks its viewers to question hero worship within their society.

There is so much more to explore within TÁR that deciding on one specific talking point is impossible. The film depicts the explosive fall from grace of its protagonist. While it does condemn her, the movie does attempt to give her some level of humanity. Making Lydia a woman instead of a man automatically changes the narrative dynamic. If a man was abusing power like Lydia, it would just be analogous to real life. The audience would lose interest in that depressing story and never care for them as a protagonist. But Lydia makes the movie an investigation of the human ability to succumb to power while also making the protagonist somewhat sympathetic at brief moments. During the film, we see how she utilizes most of her relationships for personal gain, but we also witness to the one real love she has for her daughter. It reminded me of similar stories like Citizen Kane and There Will Be Blood. Both pictures also feature incredibly flawed/almost antagonistic protagonists, but each has an emotional core that makes them somewhat sympathetic. The only thing that Charles Foster Kane loved [spoiler] was his sled, and Daniel Plainview was only ever redeemable through H.W. These incredibly flawed characters need emotional cores, and Tár is no exception. For the audience to believe they have the potential to become Tár or to question their belief systems the way the director wants, Lydia had to have a level of humanity that was not just her narcissistic and sociopathic behaviors. Her humanity is shown elsewhere in the film when Lydia experiences many hauntings that seem to be a subconscious manifestation of guilt. These dream sequences illustrate Lydia’s remorse and shame for the horror she caused. One other attempt to humanize Lydia occurs at the end of the film. After she is stripped of all her power and in a foreign land, she is guilt-ridden and alone. She survived but seems to have still lost. All that said about humanity and sympathy, the film does ask whether Lydia lost enough. She was publicly shamed and fired, but she is still conducting. Are we meant to see this as a healthy rebirth (she is disgusted by the thought of sexual exploitation)? Or is this final act meant to comment on “cancel culture” and its failure to adequately punish those it targets? The film asks these questions but leaves the discovery of the answer to us. Lydia is brought to life by Cate Blanchett in what may be the achievement of her career, but on the page, Lydia Tár and her story emit great complexity and nuance that makes them both accessible, relevant, and powerful.

I could go on about TÁR until I physically could not type anymore, but I strongly feel there will be many more opportunities to discuss this masterpiece in the future. TÁR may be the first film of my adult life that I am convinced will be remembered long past the end of my life. It is an artistic masterpiece for our modern age, but its deeper messaging of power structures, wealth, art, and genius will persist long after this particular period in time is up. If I were alive for the cinematic classics of our past, I am confident that those viewing experiences would be interchangeable with my time seeing TÁR. It is intellectually challenging, beautiful, and constructed with such mastery. TÁR is a modern classic that, as time persists, will cement itself along with the all-time greats.