One morning in September, we kindly hang around in the drafty corridors of the Hotel Excelsior, in the Lido of Venice.
It's the Mostra, and Cate Blanchett is presenting
Tár
there , a film by Todd Field, a cult director who hasn't shot for fifteen years (
Little Children
) and which he wrote for her.
The Australian star shines there as an overpowered and admired conductor (Lydia Tár, fictional character), but caught in her own trap, predatory then expiatory victim of a system that has brought her to the pinnacle.
His interpretation of a complex character in a film that imposes impresses: a nomination for the next Oscars is a done deal.
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On video, Trailer, Tár with Cate Blanchett
Cate Blanchett finally opens the door for you and invites you to sit on the floor – she precedes you, courtesy and simplicity perfect – on the thick carpet, the bedroom having been emptied of its furniture to make room for the cameras that follow one another.
Stentor voice, radiant charisma and crazy elegance, almost from another time – that of the golden age of Hollywood –, Blanchett, 53 years old and two Oscars, is the epitome of the star: a creature cut out for the cinema , with her alabaster complexion and her steely blue gaze, impenetrable or distraught according to the will of the great directors for whom she has shot (Todd Haynes, Terrence Malick or Woody Allen; an advanced project with Pedro Almodóvar has just dropped in the water).
She's probably the best actress right now,
frozen and fascinating object of reflection, raises it still further.
Encounter.
Miss Figaro. – How did you approach this complex film, both hermetic and fascinating?
Cate Blanchett.
–
It is a film that questions, an existential film, metaphysical in a certain way, even if it is carried by the concrete itinerary of a very anchored heroine since she is a conductor, an adored artist, all first woman to conduct a large German orchestra, mother in a relationship with a musician.
I was gripped by the screenplay, exquisitely written and laser-cut by Todd Field.
And even floored: how to talk about all this and play it?
It is a multidimensional film.
On the creative process, here in the field of classical music, of course, but not only.
Tar
talks about power, abuse of power, what happens when you are too close to the epicenter of power, how it can change the people to whom you have entrusted it, but also those around you.
Because it is a whole system that is in question here.
Is Tár
a women's film?
Here, it's a woman and a single woman who authoritatively regiments an entire system…
Women's film?
I never think about that.
As an actress, I don't think a character has to be absolutely gendered, it's more subtle than that.
Besides, a priori, no one in life asks himself this question: am I a man?
Am I a woman?
Except for those who society didn't allow to be what they wanted to be: in those cases, of course, gender qualifications are incredibly important.
I obviously think that it is urgent that these questions are no longer issues, that they are no longer debated, that they become immaterial and that
I love the metaphor of the orchestra needing to be unified in perfect harmony to bring forth something beautiful.
Cate Blanchett
Politics and society separate us too often, when we should stick together as individuals of the same species.
Besides, I love the metaphor of the orchestra that needs to be unified in perfect harmony to bring out something beautiful.
Implicitly, the following question obviously arises: who conducts the orchestra?
In the film, Tár, my character, is the right person at the wrong time.
In Karajan's time, she might have been able to rule autocratically.
It aspires to excellence, but in 2023 music is a democratic process.
The film also raises another question: how to impose an artistic vision without collateral damage?
How to create freely while respecting others and
inclusiveness?
How to handle the cancel culture
when working with classical artists in contexts that have evolved?
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Tár
is an enigmatic character, a lesbian conductor who presents herself as "
the father of her daughter
", sovereign, manipulative.
How did you imagine it?
It was all contained in Todd Field's screenplay, a terribly audacious narrative.
And for an actress, it's full of little details that seem homeopathic, but that I clung to to build the texture of the character.
For example, Tár is the daughter of deaf parents.
It's not anecdotal, we deduce that it was built in silence and that music is its epiphany.
It is said that she will be 50 years old, an age where one wonders – and particularly women –: what have we accomplished?
How much time is left ?
Did we make the right choices?
And then in the second half of the film, Tár's career falls apart.
The film directly confronts the issue of downfall, downgrading, and even infamy as Tár is accused of sexual abuse.
It's hard not to think of the
MeToo
surge when watching the film.
Could Tár have been a man?
First, what is certain is that conductors, men or women, embody a physical power generally attributed to men.
They are perched on their podium, the eyes of the members of an entire orchestra are fixed on their sticks.
A conductor, a maestro, cannot flinch or show any sign of weakness, because he embodies leadership.
What is interesting in the fact that Tár is a woman is that the problems linked to identity and to the games of power and domination appear from another angle, almost more raw.
The question of the abuse of power arises without the film giving a clear answer.
In the same way, I approached the character without judging him.
It is what it is, but it is above all the product of a system and of situations.
Tár is an all-powerful artist. What value does power take on when you're an acclaimed star like you are?
I am that?
I never think about it, I'm always waiting for the next role.
The power of fame is fleeting.
To me, it is insignificant.