Maestro

Leonard Bernstein is a figure I’m not particularly familiar with. I’ve heard his name of course (and not just in that R.E.M. song). I knew he was both a composer and conductor, and presumed he was Jewish based on his surname, but that was about it. I had no idea he was the first internationally recognized American conductor, nor how young he got his start, nor anything about his sexuality. So I approached this film as I do many biopics: here’s the shape of a person, with a bunch of details filled in that may or may not be accurate. Which means by necessity, my evaluation cannot be informed by accuracy to real life, for better or for worse.

Propelled to fame at twenty-five on the occasion of being tapped to fill in for the conductor of the New York Philharmonic who had fallen ill, Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper) never got the chance to truly live his own life. We get the sense of his existence being one of frivolity and parties and sex, interspersed with brilliant piano playing and conducting. But his celebrity came about the same time as meeting Felicia (Carey Mulligan), to whom he was soon married. We never fully understand the complexities of their marriage, but we do know that it produced three children, and that prior to it Bernstein was more taken with men.

The movie takes us through a bunch of moments in their combined lives, mostly from Bernstein’s perspective. We see parts of that first concert, of the theater work he’d been doing previously, of Felicia’s own acting pursuits, of the lavish parties they hosted, and of the stress caused by Bernstein’s inability to stay faithful in the presence of an attractive younger man. As first presented, when she comes upon him kissing Tommy (Gideon Glick) at one of their parties, you may expect this will form the central conflict of the film. And it does wear on her, as we see by her exasperated reaction. But much like Passages, we’re not here to watch a marriage fall apart. Instead, we’re here to watch them navigate the messiness of Bernstein’s life, as he tries his damndest to stay engaged with his profession as he expands its scope. And as he deals with the rumors of his extracurricular love life reaching the more judgmental ears of his eldest daughter Jamie (Maya Hawke).

The two lead performances in the film are truly remarkable. They break my brain with how good they were. I’m quite familiar with Cooper and Mulligan, and am a fan of both (the latter more than the former, admittedly). Yet both found a new gear.

Bernstein’s personality is huge and bombastic, the life of the party, speaking with a voice somewhere between radio announcer and Carey Grant. And Cooper plays it perfectly, coming alive in scenes full of other people and embodying the quiet struggle with depression and lack of confidence in the smaller moments. He is passionate and buoyant, yet still able to bring down the energy when needed.

Mulligan has the more difficult role, needing to hold her own next to this overwhelming figure. One shot literally has Felicia standing in the shadow he casts on stage - an effective image, no matter how obvious. I can’t quite pinpoint how she does it, but Mulligan’s Felicia stands almost as tall as her husband, with so much more depth. Whereas Bernstein is allowed to be himself (in the movie, if not in public), Felicia must wear so many masks, varying them by situation, all with the goal of supporting her cavorting husband. To make it even harder, Mulligan needs to every so often let it slip, just a smidge, so the audience can catch a glimpse of the real Felicia, to let us inside her head. Because so little of this movie explains the dynamics between characters, the actors must convey it, and Mulligan is the Rosetta Stone. In that way, she reminds me a bit of Emily Blunt’s Kitty in Oppenheimer, although Mulligan has far more screen time and so must sustain it for far longer. And she absolutely nails the role.

So why didn’t I feel connected to either of them?

With all the rapturous praise I just heaped on the movie, you may have expected me to declare this amongst my favorites of the year. Not so. Sure, Cooper and Mulligan absolutely deserve Best Actor/Actress nominations (and got them from the Golden Globes). But I found myself fairly disinterested in the characters nonetheless, and even less invested in the story being told.

Why?

For one, the pacing. Like another recent biopic, this script attempts to cover all of Bernstein’s life following his conducting debut. Instead of picking a handful of important events and digging deep, we’re subjected to a truly dizzying array of scenes in quick succession. It feels like we’re never able to quite get a handle on what’s going on. While this could be seen as an asset, in the way it reflects how it must have felt to be called upon to lead a prestigious orchestra on no notice and with no rehearsals, and the following meteoric rise for a kid from Massachusetts, it refuses to settle down until very late in the film, long after Bernstein would have had to make peace with his life being a sort of organized chaos. As such, rather than serve to emulate the feeling of being Bernstein, it keeps us alienated from him. This distance means that as the tension builds between him and his wife, we see it rather than feel it.

There are also a handful of scenes from the perspective of Felicia, who seems much less overwhelmed by the fame and more exhausted by Bernstein (understandably). Which puts on display that the movie is a bit split between investigating the effect fame had on Bernstein and portraying their relationship dynamics. The emotional toll of the relationship comes through much more strongly than the cost of celebrity. In fact, the latter theme only clicked for me after the movie finished, as I thought about some key moments.

The visuals help strengthen that impact. After a brief framing device, the film begins in black & white, with some absolutely stunning cinematography from Matthew Libatique (best known for his work with Darren Aronofsky). But at the emotional turning point of the film, as the realities of marriage are to rise to the surface, we switch to color, and stay there until the end. At the same time, everything flattens out. Which sounds contradictory, I know. With color, it's often easier to make out details, owing to the way varying hues play with each other. There’s more nuance, more which becomes clear, both beautiful and ugly. In other words, it was a very deliberate and thematic choice. However, just like with the pacing, I contend it doesn’t quite work, as it sacrifices the sharp beauty of those early shots.

The one truly poor aspect of the film is, ironically, its sound. Specifically, the choice to constantly employ overlapping dialog. Especially when combined with Cooper’s tendency to project for one line then mumble the next, all while he’s talking over one or two other people, and the background score (consisting of Bernstein’s music) is playing. I found myself rewinding a handful of times, even turning on the subtitles in order to decipher a few lines, which is not something I tend to do. It was Nolan levels of muddled and unintelligible, which does not make for an engaging experience.

Despite all of this, it does manage to leave me with an impression of Bernstein. Again, it’s a biopic: take it with a grain of salt, view it as an emotional portrait, and use it as a jumping off point to learn more about the subject. But I have a much clearer image of the man than I did before. While far from complete, it’s enough to call to mind an image and a vibe, which will serve me plenty well when his name comes up.