Bradley Cooper has put a lot of work into reinventing himself as a director. You could make the comparison to Clint Eastwood in terms of his early confidence that comes with his celebrity, though he is more interesting and has better instincts as an artist than Eastwood. Two movies into his career what he may lack though is thematic diversity. With his sophomore feature Maestro, again he is directing himself in the performance of a troubled artist, albeit in a film that tries to be as different from A Star is Born as possible. While that film was raw and grounded this one is more elegant, more stylistically ambitious. And in its’ bursts of visual ingenuity, its’ signs of passion, it is more rewarding than A Star is Born by far. But the sum of its parts hold together less steadily in spite of Cooper’s best and fairly commendable efforts.
Produced by (among others) Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg -both of whom were attached to direct at different times- Maestro is a dramatization of the life of Leonard Bernstein and his wife Felicia Montealegre from the 1940s through to the 1970s. Cooper stars as Bernstein alongside Carey Mulligan as Felicia, the film reflecting the passage of time and evolution of their relationship through transitions of both tone and colour aesthetics -beginning in a black-and-white, insular, optimistic, and dreamlike world before becoming more grounded, expansive, harsh, and colourful. The crux of the story is in the tension of Bernstein’s art, his rigid process, substance abuse and promiscuous bisexuality and his relationship with Felicia -highly strained and embarrassed by all of these.
It’s not so unusual a story, though Cooper attempts to come at it from an angle that stresses the faith and conviction that Felicia had in Bernstein from the start of their relationship -always considering him a genius. And Cooper plays Bernstein as wholly dependent on Felicia for spirit and moral support. However, a fundamental assertion of the film, that posits her as the real brilliance behind the man (Cooper not so ambiguously invokes the “Maestro” of the title as reference to her, giving Mulligan top billing as well) is hardly held up by the textual predominant focus on Bernstein. This isn’t like Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla, Felicia’s role is largely showcased through Bernstein’s perspective -we see him moving about in his world before she makes her initial entrance on it. And yet in perhaps a means of additional denial of his centrality, Cooper doesn’t seem terribly interested in the method behind Bernstein’s craft -barely developing his artistic process and engagement with music until relatively late in the film. As such not much can be gleaned of what impact Felicia’s influence is really having on his work. It is as though Cooper and co-writer Josh Singer are desperate to cast Felicia’s role as more than simply “the wife” of the important-man-biopic, yet can’t actually bring themselves to make the movie about her.
But you can definitely see where a great Felicia story lies between the lines of Maestro. Certainly in the way that Mulligan plays her with astute dedication and a supreme intensity of conviction. And credit to Cooper, in a couple key places he knows exactly how to give her the best spotlight. It’s the kind of performance that really signals (where we may often forget due to her spare film roles the last several years) that Mulligan really is one of the best actresses today. Her performance also acts in concert with impressive make-up to effectively hide the barely thirteen-year age gap between Felicia and her daughter, played by Maya Hawke. Make-up and prosthetics are also a key tool for Cooper’s transformation into the musical savant -rendered nearly unrecognisable in some portions of the movie, the much debated prosthetic nose being among the least of these. Though that’s not to discount Cooper’s own compelling efforts: his voice, his demeanour, his studious commitment. It’s one of the most wholly complete performances he’s given, and possibly his best -in the elder years more than the younger- as it almost seems designed to showcase Cooper’s acting versatility as well as his directing.
It may be something of a vain project for this, but the power of certain beats and sequences can’t be denied. Sure, it opens on a quote of Bernstein’s philosophy regarding the intent of art that seems kind of haughtily meant to apply to the movie itself, but there are scenes here and there that live up to it. Those early sequences especially delight in touches of visual poetry unlike anything Cooper attempted in A Star is Born. There are sharp imitative tracking shots for transitions, connecting Bernstein’s private life (particularly his affair with Matt Bomer’s David Oppenheim) with the grandiosity of his rising orchestral career -a shot gracefully taking us from his apartment into a theatre. There’s a wonderfully shot TV interview with the Bernsteins circa the late 1950s, contrasting a TV set later in the 70s, that creates a perfect void for the couple -the audience and even the interviewer hidden from view. And of course there’s a beautiful bit of surrealism where one of Bernstein’s musicals, On the Town, comes to life around Leonard and Felicia, making for a purely visual encapsulation of her feelings about him and the choice to marry. In the latter parts of the movie, much more dictated by realism, there is only one comparable sequence -the most astounding in the movie- a barely broken long take of Bernstein conducting Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony at an old English cathedral, the only split being to close-in on his sweat-stained yet joyous face; the whole piece ultimately building towards a perspective reveal that is really quite stunning.
However this comes amidst a series of scenes of technical dullness -specifically a handful of important dramatic beats between the couple relayed through long shots that keep the audience at a distance to their relationship and emotions. They’re also just visually very bland. The trajectory of their story ultimately follows in a tragic direction, as is often the case in these biopics, and while a good deal of sympathy is mustered, it forces Cooper to abandon what creative flare is still available to him -as he seems to concentrate much more intently on spotlighting his and Mulligan’s performances than expressing the narrative in compelling ways. It really is a sharp dissonance between the early areas and the late points of the film.
The genius so often attributed to Leonard Bernstein is not reflected by Maestro, which claims to do great justice by Felicia whilst only ever examining her in relation to him; but the move is not a considerable disappointment. It’s flawed in places, inconsistent in style, and seems to lose its ambition as it goes along, but the great moments that pop have you transfixed. As do the two leading performances, heavily vying for and yet deserving of the Oscar nominations they’re likely to receive. And Cooper still shows himself to be a good and intuitive filmmaker. Though I’d like to see him tackle something different next time around.
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