Few adages have been more persistent than “behind every successful man there’s a great woman” (along with its multitude of variants), which has essentially become the foundation of entire narratives on the importance of domestic partners in the development of highly successful individuals. In the case of Leonard Bernstein, the woman who stood behind him was Felicia Montealegre, his faithful wife of nearly three decades, with whom he spent arguably the most important years of his life, and despite the challenges they encountered over the course of their marriage, they stood by each other throughout the years, even when it was extraordinarily difficult to reconcile their enormous differences. This is the approach Bradley Cooper took when deciding to make Maestro, his long-gestating biographical account of arguably the finest composer to emerge from the United States. Considering the exceptional work he did in his previous directorial outing, the wonderful A Star Is Born (which is a film that only becomes better with age), it seemed likely that whatever he chose to follow this audacious debut was going to be even bigger and far more unique – and while the idea of a film that traces the life and times of an iconic composer does not sound like it will stir much enthusiasm, Cooper proves that this is more than just an opportunity to expand on his cinematic repertoire, and he earnestly sets forward to construct a story that pays sufficient tribute to two incredible artists who may have only spent a short amount of time together (at least compatively), but who influenced one another in astonishing ways, which the director sets out to explore through the process of breaking down their relationship to its foundation and investigating just what it was that made Bernstein such an incredibly important artistic figure, and an even more fascinating individual in his personal life, which was mired in scandal and controversies that never quite travelled too far out the walls of their various homes, but yet still caused a strain to develop between these two people who were clearly made for one another.

There were certainly many angles from which Cooper could have approached Bernstein’s life, and considering how he was essentially handed a blank cheque to make whatever film he felt was most appropriate with the material, it’s intriguing that he chose to look at his career primarily through the lens of his marriage. Far too often, we find films about tortured geniuses and their domestic life being far too placid in terms of how it defines their spouse or romantic partner, almost as if they become devices used to show how challenging life is for this supposedly brilliant individual. To look at Bernstein’s life through such a conventional lens would not only be an immense disservice to his relationship with his wife, but also factually incorrect – the fact remains that “Lenny” would not be anything without his beloved Felicia, and the film makes sure to show that she was not only supplementary to his life, but in many ways the driving factor behind his growth as an artist. He was certainly gifted, and he had enough confidence to make anyone genuinely believe him to be worthy of attention, but it was his wife who made Bernstein a cultural icon, primarily through her persistent efforts to have him be the best possible artist he could be, even given some genuinely challenging circumstances that they faced alongside one another. More than anything else, Maestro is an incredible love story, a showcase for the genuine connection formed between these two people, and how their relationship defied their urges, but it was incredibly important that they had each other on which they could undoubtedly depend. This aspect likely appealed the most to Cooper, who has a fondness for tender but still original stories of romance, which is the perfect description for this film, which seems traditional at a cursory glance, but gradually reveals its more complex side, and the director vividly captures in this heartbreakingly beautiful ode to a very special relationship that saw countless challenges, but yet still emerged stronger than ever, at least when it came time to depend on one another when confronted with some truly intimidating obstacles, which were scattered through the lives of Bernstein and Montealegre, who form the basis for all of the most striking moments in this film.

Cooper has had quite a peculiar journey as a leading man, but one that is undeniably very interesting. His growth from the dashing star of blockbusters to one of the most versatile actors who has proven that he can do just about anything has been quite compelling, and even my feelings of being agnostic to his style of acting have begun to erode as it becomes increasingly clear that he is genuinely very talented. Maestro is yet another opportunity for him to show his growth as an actor, and while he is still clearly at the very peak of his career (which only seems to be on the ascent), this could end up being the best work he ever does. He commits wholeheartedly to the role, and while he may not be the most appropriate fit for Bernstein in terms of both physical appearance and ethnic background, it never seems inauthentic, since the sheer devotion he shows to exploring the life of this man is clear from the first moments. Cooper plays Bernstein from his earliest days as an audacious young conductor, to his final moments as an old man reflecting on his life, and there isn’t a moment where it feels anything less than entirely convincing. It’s a beautiful performance from an actor who has finally started to prove his popularity is not without merit, using his status within the industry to turn in some extraordinary performances. However, Maestro is a two-hander, and Cooper is only as good as the person acting across from him – and in this case, it is Carey Mulligan, who plays his wife, who is devoted to their marriage, but not enough to sideline her ambitions. The pair have extraordinary chemistry, and they prove to be an incredible screen duo, navigating the challenging nature of this narrative with such honesty and precision, that the entire film is elevated to the point of being a near-masterpiece, solely because of the exceptional work being done by both actors. Raw, unfiltered and honest performances that speak not only to the incredible story of Bernstein and Montealegre, but to the very nature of love, and how it can overcome all boundaries to be something far more special and complex, which is emphasized in absolutely every moment we spend with these characters.

Considering the extent to which Cooper was insistent on exploring the life of Bernstein through the lens of his marriage, there was quite a bit of work to do in terms of how we view this relationship. Both narratively and tonally, there was a need to craft a film that was complex enough to capture the multitudes contained within both of these individuals, but still simple enough to convey nothing but the most human emotions. The purpose of this film was to take a world-renowned, larger-than-life figure that is etched permanently in 20th-century culture, and show that he was still just a man, with desires and shortcomings, which were initially softened by his marriage to perhaps the only woman willing to overlook these flaws, but which took a toll on her psychological state to the point where the tension between them grows unbearable. Maestro is a film about the persistent, neverending tug-of-war between two individuals who are deeply in love with one another, but not foolish enough to commit themselves wholeheartedly to the idea of a fairytale marriage, knowing from the very start that the flaws that they overlook will eventually manifest into something much deeper and more unsettling. One of the more sincere criticisms we found levelled against Cooper in his previous directorial effort was that the movement between major emotional moments, while impactful and authentic, felt slightly uneven and came across as being rushed in some parts, and overly didactic in others. This is suitably rectified in Maestro, which navigates some enormous emotions with incredible ease, exploring the lives of these two characters, both their triumphs and tragedies, and allowing their story to speak for itself, which is an incredible example of love overcoming many obstacles – and in terms of both the internal quandaries and external challenges they faced (many of which had to do with Bernstein’s sexual identity and proclivity for expressing it whenever the urge arose), the film presents a complex and nuanced portrait of a man who fell victim to his desires on more than one occasion, and the woman who stood by him during his darkest moments, and who turn benefitted from his sense of compassion when she required it the most. The ebb and flow of this relationship is beautifully captured on film, and Cooper shows his sincere appreciation for this subject matter with this nuanced and multilayered portrait.

Credit should be given where it’s due, especially when it comes to noting the effort that went into the creation of a particular film. Cooper is not someone who we may have expected to make a film that feels so profoundly cinematic and bold – many actors-turned-directors are capable of making great films, some of which are very bold and exciting. Yet, it is rare for someone like Cooper, in only his second directorial effort, to make something that could easily be considered one of the most profoundly cinematic films of the year. Not only does it feel tonally very complex, it looks like a major achievement, plucked directly from the 1970s, both visually and in terms of how it examines the lives of these characters. A cinematographer is always vitally important to the production of a film, and a good relationship between a director and the person tasked with bringing these images to life can only have positive effects – and there are several moments where we are witness to some of the most stunningly beautiful images curated by Matthew Libatique, who has been considered one of the most inventive artists in the profession for a while, and who continues to push the boundaries of what a camera can capture. It isn’t even a matter of the most over-the-top cinemtagraphy, but rather how Cooper and Libatique work together to create images that are simple but impressive – the rich, vibrant colours intertwine with various framing choices (such as the choice to have the centrepiece argument scene between the two leads take place from a distance in a single static shot, which creates the feeling of the audience being voyeurs into this extremely personal moment between a married couple at the exact moment their relationship crumbles), and the way the story weaves its way through the years, with the most subtle changes in terms of both the characters’ appearances and the world in which they inhabit create a smooth, complex exploration of not only their marriage over the years, but the small changes that occur around them, which is especially notable considering how much of the story is about Bernstein going from a rambunctious, ambitious young man looking to make his mark, to the very epitome of the system to which he aspired to become a part. It’s a vivid, complex examination of the lives of these characters, rendered in incredible detail by the director and his team of talented collaborators.

Maestro is an astonishing film, and the kind of biographical work that feels genuinely impactful, like it is contributing to the genre rather than just borrowing elements. Simultaneously epic in scope and intimate in intention, the film offers fascinating glimpses into the lives of two people who are drawn together, and who decide that the love they feel for one another is authentic enough for them to pursue a life with one another, a connection that helps them navigate all the challenges that face them on the road ahead. In between these moments in which Cooper paints a vibrant portrait of this marriage, he engages in a range of other discussions, which include exploring the concept of sexual identity, with Bernstein’s fluid sexual endeavours being the subject of some of the most complex moments in the film, as well as the process of ageing and how one holds onto the past while remaining relevant in the present moment, something that Bernstein himself struggled with in his later years. Beautiful and poetic, and never anything but thoroughly moving, the work done to bring this story to life is incredible. Cooper is a genuinely gifted artist, and his insistence on developing this film from the start, which includes co-writing the screenplay with Josh Singer, to producing and directing it, as well as playing the central role, proves that he is extremely hard-working and willing to put in the effort to have his vision realized. There isn’t even a single moment where we can argue that this film is a vanity project since Cooper not only proves that there is a lot more to his skills than just self-promotion, but that he is willing to put in the work to tell a story that means something to him (and he has noted that the idea to tell this story has existed from the very start of his career, proving that he has a sincere affection for this subject), which is the overall propellant that makes this film so extremely fascinating. Complex, daring and layered in a way that is quite remarkable, Maestro is one of the year’s most insightful masterpieces, an artistically resonant work that celebrates a great artist while still exploring his shortcomings, and how they were often balanced out by his marriage to a woman who is perhaps most responsible for the person he is – Montealegre was not only his muse, she was his inspiration, and with this film, Cooper and his cohorts weave together a beautiful portrait of this relationship, leading to a timeless, reflective artistic and philosophical odyssey that is positively bursting with heart and soul.