On nearly all occasions, I try my best to avoid hyperbole when writing about films. Rarely is anything said that isn’t entirely meant, and the act of speaking in absolutes is not a technique that I tend to use regularly unless it is necessary, which is increasingly sporadic considering the wealth of very good but mostly unremarkable films we tend to encounter at any given moment. However, when these terms are used, they are sincere and come from a place of the most fervent belief in their truth – and I genuinely believe that TÁR is a film that is going to change the way we not only view film, but art in general, which is a stark statement that matches the daring nature of this film, describing exactly the kind of experience the viewer can expect when stepping into this world. It is hardly surprising that a work of such revelatory brilliance comes on behalf of Todd Field, a director who had an enormous breakthrough over two decades ago with the brilliant In the Bedroom, followed by the admirable and very bold Little Children, both of them effective and striking critiques of domestic bliss and eviscerations of the American suburban family structure, a theme that has cushioned far too many films over the past century, and which he sought to actively dismantle in a way that exposed their flaws. After a lengthy hiatus from filmmaking (from which many of us even doubted he would return), he emerges having conceived of one of the most bold and elaborate explorations of both the artistic process and human psychology that we have seen in quite some time, a film that transcends boundaries and develops into an abnormally profound examination of the intersections between the expression of creativity and how it is fueled by numerous different concepts, many of them inescapable aspects of everyday life. Both ethereal and deeply human, and indicative of a sense of deeply provocative complexity, TÁR is a film that challenges boundaries in a way that few contemporary films would even dare, and it only reaffirms the undeniable fact that Field is one of our greatest artists, and a filmmaker whose presence was sorely missed in contemporary cinema.

TÁR is such an immensely layered, complex film that choosing a place to begin a conversation on its multitude of ideas feels almost impossible. How does one possibly begin describing a film that addresses not only the nuances of art, but the entirety of existence as a whole, condensing some intimidating conversations into a single linear exploration of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown? Field is a very smart filmmaker, and we can only assume every element of this film was deliberate, including those that seem out of place, and that this film functions best when we look at it holistically – it is certainly a very impressive achievement even if we take one of its many exciting and revolutionary existential tableaux out of context, but the pure impact of the film is only made when we look at the cumulative power of the story, which is so carefully pieced together by a director whose interest in this subject seemed tenuous at the start, until we realize the true scope of his vision, which we soon learn is extraordinarily expansive and indicative of some very deep curiosities around various themes, each one more peculiar than the one that preceded it. Finding an entry point into TÁR is challenging, and is akin to being confronted with an Expressionist painting – it is undeniably beautiful and always fascinating to look at, but once we get close enough, we become lost in the details, never being entirely sure where to look, since the collision of several ideas manifests in a work that is stunning but chaotic, two disparate concepts that only work together when crafted by a truly brilliant artist. Field is undeniably someone who approaches his work from the same perspective, and puts in the work to ensure that all of the themes that inspire him, both artistically and existentially, are fully represented and detailed in a way that feels genuine but also provocative – and his work is nothing if not entirely based around the idea of unsettling conventions and going in search of a range of deeper conversations that don’t bear much relevance on their own, but take on a wealth of meaning when filtered through his off-kilter and very polarizing perspective.

The subject of art itself is fascinating, and if we divorce every theme that underpins TÁR and look at them in isolation, we can see precisely why Field was so enamoured with this particular narrative. Constructed from a few ideas relating to the different stages of the artistic process, the film investigates a character who has committed her life to not only celebrating the masters that inspired her, but also trying to make her own impact as an artist. Every individual that dedicates their life to a creative pursuit aspires to stand in the shadow of their idols, while secretly hoping to be considered at least a protege, if not a peer. It’s a universal theme that each one of us acknowledges, but will often refuse to express, under the guise of humility and admiration for those who influenced our creativity. Lydia Tár is a woman who has spent her life being eclipsed by those who are deemed more worthy of her position, whether directly or indirectly – the opening scenes of the film establish the central conversation around gender in art, and whether discussing the long (and often quite tragic) history of female conductors and the few women who had to fight laboriously to get a seat at the table, or examining the idea of gender being a needless obstacle when it comes to the subject of artistic creation, TÁR is focusing on a character who has built her entire career, and by extension her broader life, into a role that she somehow still feels is unearned, not in terms of her skills (since the first person to celebrate the protagonist’s achievements will be Lydia Tár herself), but rather in how it was a position that carries a heft that she herself was not prepared to take on. Field has always had a very precise understanding of the theme of gender, and in working closely with his collaborators that helped shape this film, he creates a fascinating exploration of the role of gender in contemporary art, drawing on themes that define both the past and present in his perpetual search for a story that brings up these themes in a way that is natural and nuanced, rather than shoehorning a more liberal perspective into a film that is actively driven by the idea of pushing the boundary of not only social conventions, but also the psychological details that fuel every culture, even if they are not always acknowledged. Filtering these ideas through a story that centres on art is a brilliant decision, since it allows the narrative to be built to quite an impressive, but not any less unsettling, crescendo by the end, the impact of which simply cannot be stated in mere words.

It is easy to luxuriate in the world Field is creating for us, but what really elevates TÁR is the spirit of collaboration, which fuels many of its fundamental themes. The role of Lydia Tár was written exclusively with Cate Blanchett in mind for the role, and the film’s entire existence depended squarely on her agreement to participate. The dynamic between the pair is absolutely integral to the success of the film, especially since they’re dedicated to redefining the director-actor relationship, turning it into something far deeper than what we normally perceive it as being. Blanchett becomes the character, and not since Gena Rowlands’ groundbreaking performance in Opening Night (a film that has many parallels with this one) have we seen a deconstruction of the female psyche – its hardly surprising that Blanchett has shown deep reverence for Rowlands (as well as John Cassavetes, whose spirit lingers in every frame of this film), since her performance is one that carries a similar emotional and psychological weight. In a career that has seen her appear in nearly every conceivable genre and play a wide range of roles, it is honestly surprising that Blanchett has not settled into a particular niche of character. However, her style has always been about reinventing herself and finding new roles that are challenging and push her as an actor, which is an admirable pursuit that she has seemingly used as the bedrock for nearly everything she has done for the past two decades. However, the only downside of this kind of stark versatility is the fact that choosing her defining performance is an impossible task – but there seems to be a genuine argument to be made that TÁR is destined to be seen as one of her peaks. Blanchett commands the screen every moment she appears on it (and considering there are very few scenes in which she is not on screen, this is doubly impressive), and her ability to construct this character as someone who stirs reactions of repulsion and fascination – sometimes even simultaneously – is a credit to her impeccable ability to place a firm grasp on the cultural consciousness, capturing the spirit of a character that is constructed from both broad strokes and small details. It almost seems inappropriate to write in such a way that suggests any sense of surprise that an actor as established as Blanchett delivered an impressive performance – but TÁR is almost revelatory, the point where it often feels like we are watching her evolve into the next stage of her already incredible career. The term “tour-de-force” was conceived for performances such as this, which is only a testament to Blanchett’s interminable commitment to the role and the surrounding film, which is built squarely on the strength of her astonishing work. Credit must also be given to the incredible Nina Hoss, who is the perfect counterbalance to Blanchett’s performance, being her strength and stay, the calmer partner whose purpose is to weather the various storms her wife endures, only to find herself swept up into her growing breakdown, reaching a point where she, much like many of the other characters, simply cannot condone this behaviour, being yet another person who walks away from what is clearly a relationship (both personal and professional) that is being destroyed by hubris and self-importance, two that define Blanchett’s character as she voyages through what is very clearly a crisis of identity and existential dread.

Blanchett’s performance is so intrinsically tied to nearly every theme of the film, which is essentially a psychological character study that focuses on a woman desperately trying to extinguish the spectres of the past that begin to make their way back into her life, only this time carrying enough weight to derail her entire career. The extent to which we can consider TÁR to be a film that carries an important message does depend on whether we agree with the main character (who is never constructed to be a paragon of moral superiority, or even someone who practices the most fundamental human ethics in her daily life – in fact, we are often shown her darker side with the intention of actively trying to show that she is not someone to be admired, but rather feared), and how she is undergoing a crusade against what she sees performative morality, and the role it plays in diminishing art and condensing into a matter of identity politics, which is a conversation that many contemporary artists and those within that world have begun to discuss at length. We see the world through the eyes of this individual who has achieved everything one in her position possibly can, but who feels singularly unfulfilled, primarily because everything she stands for is gradually collapsing around her, which not only represents major changes in an environment that has always offered her and her peers safety, security and consistency by virtue of being built on the established masters that the old guard has always viewed as sacrosanct, but also quite possibly the end of her career as she knows it, both technically (since issues in her personal life begin to blur with professional complexities that soon turn into scandals) and in terms of the reputation she built for herself as a formidable name in her field, which is soon to be entirely taken away from her as a result of choices she made, genuinely believing that what she achieved was enough to conceal the misdemeanours, both tangible and more abstract, that she thought could be suppressed by virtue of her status. Accountability is the enemy of arrogance, and TÁR demonstrates a very start and disturbing depiction of this in motion.

Working our way through TÁR is akin to watching a powerful leader see their entire kingdom collapse – and the details of Blanchett’s performance often reflect this very same sentiment, with the spiritual empire constructed by Lydia Tár slowly but steadily decomposing as she learns that she can no longer sustain this life of excess. The film is defined by the fact that it seems to be taking place in a non-fictional setting – it is a common mistake to think that Lydia Tár was indeed a real person, not only because the film is constructed to hearken back to the complex psychological character studies of immensely important artists, but also through the world-building that Field and Blanchett are fully committed to realizing. As a result of as much time being spent giving this character a feasible backstory, which opens up many questions about her origins (very few of which are actually covered, which only makes the film an even more impressive curio when it comes to its role as a layered character study – a film about someone fabricated that puts us in a position where we want to learn more about them is immediately indicative of a great sense of character-based complexity), as well as her relationship with her artistry, which is essential to her development as a character. TÁR is a film about identity – themes of gender and sexuality are at the forefront of the story, and while it does focus on them enough to consider them vital components of the story, the attention is less on how the titular character navigates more traditional aspects of her identity (whether as a woman in a male-dominated field, or as a queer person, which comes into play at certain points in the story), and more on the negotiation between her role as an artist, and her responsibilities outside of that, whether in the capacity of being a wife, mother, tutor or simply another individual making their way through life, which seems slightly more difficult when you are being haunted by the demons of the past. TÁR uses art as a reflection of human psychology, placing the protagonist in a position where we, as the viewer, can dissect her mental state as we observe her quiet descent into madness, which eventually reaches a terrifying but oddly beautiful peak when she realizes that she has gone past the point of no return, and that her life has shifted in the same way that her position as an artist, whether in the informal or professional capacity, has irrecoverably changed.

Considering all of these ideas, it is not difficult to see that TÁR is a film that requires us to look deeper than we normally would in more conventional scenarios. Field is not someone who simply projects images onto a screen for the sake of entertaining or informing audiences of his worldview. His films do have strong and consistent storylines, and they’re perfectly constructed pieces that can be viewed as insular, objective narratives on their own. However, if this is all the audience receives from one of his films, then it hasn’t achieved its full purpose, which is to stir though through inviting us to step into this world. TÁR is a film composed of an array of human transactions – the interplay between the three major themes (gender, art and social conventions) creates a sense of unease, where we are asked to invest in the story, but not in a way that we make up our mind about its moral themes. In fact, the film brings up many complex ideas that could be viewed as misanthropic, with the references to cancel culture and the importance of accountability being extraordinarily dense, but logical in context. It isn’t always clear what Field was trying to accomplish by telling this particular story – the decision to centre the film on a character that is beyond unlikable and actually deserves to pay the consequences for her moral and ethical misdeeds, was made even more peculiar by the fact that there isn’t even a passing attempt to justify her actions – and for a film that is entirely fictional (but constructed as a biographical account of her life), it is surprising that Field and Blanchett would commit to creating such a character. We are rarely allowed into her head, and in the few passing glimpses that we get to her psychological state (which manifests in many of the film’s most challenging and bewildering elements) we learn very little about her as an individual, while still understanding her journey. TÁR is a fascinating depiction of the rise and fall of someone who possessed the fatal combination of hubris and delusions of grandeur, genuinely believing that not only is she the most gifted in her field, but that she is entirely infallible – and when the story begins to show the small but significant cracks in her psyche, which gradually reveal that this is all her method of concealing the deep insecurities that have been hidden by years of self-indulgence, we start to see the true depths to which this film explores the theme of someone not only combatting the detractors that surround her, but also fighting her own internal demons, which amounts to a challenging and profoundly complex portrayal of human psychology.

TÁR is an undeniably challenging film, a work of purely unhinged artistry that depends solely on the viewer’s ability to not only get on this film’s wavelength, but surrender entirely to its often perverted worldview. Field is an optimist masquerading as a cynic, and the conversations he stirs with this film are certain to provoke viewers into a state of genuine rumination, especially since the narrative doesn’t avoid using contemporary subjects as the foundation for these interactions – the collision between the stoic, old-world traditions of the past and the modern world are sincerely compelling, with the constant reference to the supposed reverance the current generation is supposed to feel towards long-deceased masters, whose only cultural cache is that people like Lydia Tár keep their names in the conversation, being a central theme that the film is actively exploring. TÁR is an expansive masterwork of postmodern provocation – it is relatively accessible (although some of the details contained in the main character’s dreams and delusions do stir enough thought around the more abstract ideas that she represents), and it never spends too much time meditating on themes that it knows are not important, preferring to develop ideas that is is able to resolve for the most part, and in situations where there are loose ends, it is a deliberate choice designed to invite us to look deeper into this story, unpacking its abundance of themes, while still luxuriating in the raging storm that is this film. Anchored by arguably the finest performance of Blanchett’s career, and developed by a director who may have stepped away from the industry for over a decade, but has returned triumphant, handcrafting a film that touches on so many complex issues, each one engaging and compelling. TÁR is quite a dense film, and it challenges the viewer in more ways that would make many of us comfortable – but its distinct worldview, striking sense of self-awareness around certain issues around the construction, consumption and appreciation of art and abstract perspective on contemporary life (which includes themes surrounding identity, which have rarely bene more vital than at the present moment) make for a layered, vibrant existential tapestry that plays much like the symphonies Lydia Tár has spent her life curating and celebrating – some moments rise with an almost poetic, poignant melodies, while others burst in with a resounding cacophony of many different components colliding in a stunning demonstration of humanistic complexity. It’s a film as deeply compelling as it is increasingly disturbing, which is precisely what we would expect from a work of art so incredibly focused on examining and interrogating the most complex themes that relate to the human condition and the many complexities that have confounded artists and philosophers for millennia, condensed into one poignant and captivating masterwork that stands in steadfast contemplation of some truly polarizing but vitally important ideas that define existence and how we represent it in both our personal and artistic lives.