The question of how one summarises the life and work of an artist in a couple of hours is one that Hollywood wrestles with interminably. When trying to put to celluloid the life, work, love, and persona of someone as complex and illustriously careered as Leonard Bernstein, it’s fit to focus on some aspect. In the case of Maestro; director, actor, co-writer and producer, Bradley Cooper has opted to focus on the tragic and beautiful marriage and romance between Leonard Bernstein (Cooper) and his long-suffering wife, actress Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan).
Covering the years since their first meeting in the 1940s until the twilight of his career in the mid 1980s, the film charts a whistle-stop tour of their romance and their married life, while playing on his affairs with other men, her fatal illness, and the other strains his actions have on their family and relationship.
It’s a film that is an undeniable audio-visual delight. Lensed beautifully by cinematographer Matthew Libatique, the film places every era of the story firmly in place by switching to a shooting style, aspect ratio and grading to match the tone, cameras and film stock of that time. Equally, the soundtrack is largely made up with pieces from Bernstein’s own repertoire.
It’s an effective choice that cements the experience into the ages it portrays, while never detracting from the work of the actors. What’s more, it also helps sell the heavy prosthetic work on Cooper, allowing for what might appear a little bit ghoulish were it not so well accomplished. This is however an aspect that has received some criticism from several corners, but the work is so varied and complete, ageing him throughout, and allowing Cooper to vanish into the role of Bernstein completely.
It’s impossible not to laud Cooper for this performance, as his embodiment of the vivacious and delight-filled conductor is all encompassing. There’s never a moment the mask slips, and it’s this above much else that holds the whole together. That’s not at all to throw the work of Carey Mulligan into any shade, but the part of Felicia is by its very nature one which slips into Bernstein’s shadow. And it’s here where the film’s problems arise.
Despite the great craft that’s at work in putting this film together technically, and the script being generally very well honed, with large portions of dialogue being directly quoted from the man himself, it lacks something. Somewhere around the end of the first act, events start being sped through, and there’s such a tizzy of moments and repetitive scenes that the whole film begins to feel somewhat rudderless. While the movie presents itself by opening firmly talking about the relationship between Felicia and Leonard, the film never scrapes much below the surface, and seems either unwilling or unable to find much to work with. It could simply be that their love, while strained by his celebrity and wandering eye, was firm and ultimately largely without excitement. Really, it’s an odd film and one that seems so rapt within itself that it’s hard not to see that it’s all a bit self-satisfied. Simultaneously, it expects the exceptionality of Bernstein’s talent and career to somehow raise up the mundanity of much of the procedurality of his normal life.
That said, there’s no denying the sheer joy that comes from the glorious long takes, especially the crescending moment where the swooping camera follows the orchestra playing Mahler’s Symphony No.2, rapt under Bernstein’s gleeful grin and swooping baton.
In all, the film is much like the man himself; joyously self-absorbed, fun to watch, but above all, fairly banal and without any real malice. It’s one for a lazy Sunday afternoon, a worthy and at times interesting experience which feels deep and flimsy in all the wrong places.
Available on Netflix now