In the classical music realm, Lydia Tár is an artist of renown. She was mentored by Leonard Bernstein; she’s a virtuoso pianist; she’s traveled the world, reached the pinnacles and mastered her craft.
This exquisitely gifted woman has won an Emmy, a Tony, an Oscar and a Grammy. And now, as the first-ever female chief conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra, she’s about to conclude a cycle of Mahler symphonies—a project she’s been working on and a goal she’s been striving toward for years.
As she goes about applying her brilliant interpretive skills during rehearsals, it feels as if nothing can stop Lydia from becoming the greatest classical conductor of her generation, if not of many generations before her.
But there is a small problem.
Lydia’s assistant, Francesca, mentions some disturbing emails they’ve received from a former student of Lydia’s named Krista. (And if the rumors are true, Krista is more of a former lover than student.) But Lydia treats the messages like she always does: She simply ignores them.
The fact is, Lydia Tár has long been able to manage her … proclivities and keep them from her wife, Sharon, and daughter Petra. Female admirers come and go. It’s been the same with famous conductors for years. In that sense, Lydia Tár is no different from many other famous artists. In fact, the problem of this woman named Krista shouldn’t be a problem at all.
But when Krista commits suicide, it becomes one.
And unfortunately, there is so much to juggle this time around: a new book. Management of the orchestra. The Mahler recording. Her composing schedule. That pretty new cellist Lydia has her lustful eye on …
How can she be expected to do all of that and squeeze in some silly deposition over a woman’s unfortunate death?
Don’t people understand what it takes to achieve great art?
Lydia Tár is unquestionably intelligent and insightful. And her ability to voice her music knowledge, creatively guide an orchestra and interpret great musical works of art is on display here, front and center. In fact, Lydia preaches the need for artists to apply their own personal interpretation to great music as a way of helping the world hear classics with new ears. In that sense she is an inspiration for young artists worldwide. (In other areas, not so much.)
It’s also made quite plain that she adores her adopted daughter, Petra. She’s often busy or traveling, but when she’s home, Lydia takes time to care for Petra and express her love. And she doesn’t demand anything in return. In fact, Lydia’s partner, Sharon, says that Lydia’s connection with Petra is the only “non-transactional” relationship she has.
Lydia references a Hebrew word during an interview. And she mentions being asked if she was Jewish because of some of her music choices.
Lydia approaches a young girl who’s bullying her daughter and tells her in German, “God watches us all.”
It’s implied that one acquaintance of Lydia’s is is gay, and Lydia makes it very plain that she is a lesbian. In fact, Lydia publicly calls herself a “U-Haul Lesbian.”
It’s also a pretty commonly known “secret” among orchestra members and other people in the music business that Lydia regularly has affairs with younger female musicians, despite the fact that her partner is a member of her Berlin-based orchestra. (None of these physical affairs are seen by us. But we do see a gift that Lydia receives after a casual affair, as well as emails sent from a former lover.) A video of Lydia and a young woman labels the woman as Lydia’s “fresh meat.” We see Lydia hug and kiss Sharon. And in a dream, a woman hugs Lydia and kisses her neck.
Lydia makes straightforward overtures toward a young woman named Olga, but Olga ignores her flirtations. In fact, we later see Olga going out with a young man her own age.
In a class setting, a college student identifies as non-binary and talks of his disdain for “white cis-males” of the present and past. Lydia pushes back against his set-in-stone gender ideas, stating that the “music supersedes our social media identity.”
We hear a reference to a famous composer’s “misogynistic” reputation. Several people speak of the need to promote women over men in the classical music world, but Lydia disagrees with gender-based quotas.
Lydia mentions masturbation. A news article states that Lydia was grooming young women for her sexual dalliances.
Lydia is called upon to help lift a naked, excrement-covered old woman up onto a toilet. Afterward, Lydia quickly removes her soiled clothing to wash herself (which we see from a distance.)
While running from a growling and threatening dog, Lydia slips on some stone stairs and hits her head. We later see her badly bruised face and broken nose.
Lydia dreams of lying in bed and catching afire. She also angrily rushes a man on stage, punches him and knocks him to the ground. She’s then dragged away by security officials. While out for a run, Lydia hears a woman scream several times in a local park. But she can’t locate the woman.
We (and Lydia) hear about a young woman’s suicide.
There are five f-words and a single s-word in the dialogue mix, along with several uses each of the words “h—,” “b–ch” and “a–hole.”
Jesus’ name is misused twice. The male anatomy is crudely referenced once.
As the movie plays out, it becomes evident that Lydia is addicted to Sharon’s prescription medication. She regularly pops those pills, especially before a public event. Lydia, Sharon and others drink glasses of wine throughout. A doctored video is used to hurt someone.
Lydia intimidates a young schoolgirl with threats to “get her” if she doesn’t leave her daughter alone. We also find out that Lydia purposely sabotaged a younger musician’s career.
As accusations about Lydia’s sexual affairs increase, she tells lies to turn them aside. She also manipulates several situations while working for a new sexual conquest. At the same time, Lydia’s assistant betrays her and releases private emails. Someone steals Lydia’s penciled scores.
Director Todd Field’s Tár is an impressively crafted character study that presents the world of a fictional, ground-breaking orchestral conductor—brilliantly given flesh, force and flaws by actress Cate Blanchette. And it’s easy to appreciate this arthouse film on those merits alone.
But there’s a message here, too.
Early on in the movie, the highly lauded Lydia Tár teaches a guest class at Julliard. And she dismantles the cancel-culture sensibilities of a student who refuses to listen to, or appreciate, the music of “white, male, cis composers of the patriarchal past.” With measured eloquence, the lauded conductor and composer demonstrates that gender and personal flaws do not negate artistic greatness.
However, over the course of the film, Lydia then proceeds to tragically negate her own artistic grandeur by falling on the cutting edge of foul personal actions, sensual lusts and manipulative power plays.
If looked at through a lens of faith, Tár then becomes a clear illustration of the fact that it’s not power, greatness or gender that corrupt us, it’s our own immoral choices and sinful natures.
Of course, to get to that lesson—and then appreciate this piece of secular art over a post-movie cup of coffee—one must sit through many of those immoral choices. While not depicted graphically, for some moviegoers, that may be an uncomfortable price to pay to get to this film’s moral takeaways.
After spending more than two decades touring, directing, writing and producing for Christian theater and radio (most recently for Adventures in Odyssey, which he still contributes to), Bob joined the Plugged In staff to help us focus more heavily on video games. He is also one of our primary movie reviewers.
