Tár (2023)

Todd Field’s psychodrama Tár serves to tackle systemic abuse, cancel culture, manifestations of guilt, and the consequences of evading accountability. Spoilers below.

Trigger warning: This article contains topics of sexual assault, suicide and racial abuse.

Cate Blanchett continues to cement herself as one of this generation’s best actors in her latest role as Lydia Tár – an incredibly masterful, yet insufferably egotistical and offensive music conductor at the peak of her career. She is about to record a live rendition of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony, but in the weeks prior, she is faced with a slew of problems: the suicide of her former student Krista, sexual assault allegations, and an (edited) viral video that depicts Tár as a predatory and racist teacher during a class at Julliard (though it was edited, a lot of her behaviour was inexcusable).

Systemic Abuse

It is clear from the beginning that Lydia is an extremely intellectual woman, to a point where it’s quite snobby. The several long one takes throughout the film demonstrate her expansive vocabulary and encyclopaedic knowledge of classical music. Initially, it’s extremely impressive and in some scenarios where she is speaking to a peer or colleague, it’s rather charming. But as the film progresses, we see its capabilities as a weapon that cuts.  

The scene where she is guest teaching a Juilliard class is where her charming articulation pivots to something more sinister. She zones in on a young Black man named Max where it starts out somewhat jovial and light-hearted, until Max (nervously) says to Lydia that he’s “not into Bach” because of his misogynistic character. He is completely uninterested in white composers who led problematic lives, despite their impactful and impressive music. This touches a nerve in Lydia, who starts to sling a bunch of insults towards Max, including racist slurs. In a matter of minutes, Max turns from an anxious student (constantly shaking his knee) to a defiant individual who walks out after calling Lydia a “fucking bitch” (rightfully so).

Again, we see how Lydia tailors her words depending on who she’s with - she’s very flirtatious and alluring when she closes in on her next victim (the Russian cellist Olga and at the beginning of the film, her young assistant Francesca), lethal and intimidating to a young girl who is bullying her daughter, and intellectual and insightful when on a Q&A panel. This gives insight to how she abuses her position of great power.

Further, we can only imagine what she said and did to Krista who committed suicide. We are given glimpses through a thread of emails from Krista to both Francesca and Lydia, detailing that she had been blacklisted and deemed unemployable. Without explicitly conveying, we can see how sharp a tongue Lydia has.

Cancel Culture

The paradigm of cancel culture is also assessed through this film. The question it brings to surface: do we cancel someone (particularly from a different era) over their past transgressions, even if their work is brilliant? I think unequivocally yes, and the question becomes even more pressing when allegations of abuse and sexual assault are aimed at Lydia. The character of Lydia begins quite impressive, where the film opens with an interviewer introducing her with her long list of accomplishments at a Q&A. We’re positioned, as the audience, to be in awe of her. As the story progresses, she becomes increasingly dislikeable, and we realise she’s actually an awful person. Bullying a student out of class, defending problematic historical figures, grooming young female students, threatening a young child, abusing Krista to the point of suicide, changing the rules to allow her latest victim audition for a part (and undoubtedly already decided to give her the part before) are all examples of her being horrendous. By the end of the film, it’s hard to remember the excellence of her work. So, for me, in there lies the film’s answer to this question: we absolutely do cancel them.

There are degrees of one’s transgressions, some of which I believe are forgivable and for which one should not be cancelled (for example, saying something ignorant at a young age), and then there are degrees where cancel culture works wonders (racism, sexism, anti-Semitism etc.)

The Representation of Guilt & The Consequences of Evading Accountability

The utilisation of sound is pivotal to Tár. Not only does the triumphant music in the film tell a story in itself, but equally, the diegetic sounds are used to represent guilt and the consequences of a life and career that have evaded accountability. As Lydia’s career begins to spiral, she is haunted with different sounds. In one scene, Lydia is on a run in a large park early in the morning, where she hears blood-curling screams from what sounds like a young girl. Concerned, Lydia looks around to try and identify where the scream is coming from, but eventually gives up and continues on her path. I immediately thought that this scream was hallucinatory and a representation of her guilty conscience regarding Krista. Deep down, Lydia knows what she did and how she abused her position of power to groom a young girl and completely destroy her life. The sounds ramp up, with a nightly routine of only Lydia, despite her partner Sharon sleeping beside her, being awakened by strange, yet rhythmic noises – a metronome in her study, a beeping sound in her fridge. What was Field trying to say here, I thought.

That she’s running out of time.

Back to the start of the film where Lydia is being interviewed, she gives an incredibly insightful breakdown of the notion of time – how she controls it, how it is used in conducting, and as a general philosophy. We did not realise that it was a foreshadowing of how her time was running out. Her whole empire was crumbling after a lengthy career escaping real accountability and consequences of her inexcusable actions.

There is so much more to this film and I have just barely scratched the surface. It’s a movie that crawls under the skin and lingers for days. Cate Blanchett’s performance is extraordinary and does this story justice. And this is a story that needed to be told, and told well.