by Elisa Giudici
Bradley Cooper as Leonard Bernstein in "Maestro"
In this entry of the Venice Diary, we delve into the world of music, exploring two titles that defy expectations by focusing on the personal lives of musicians rather than just their artistic endeavors.
MAESTRO by Bradley Cooper
Bradley Cooper, it's clear, isn't content with being just a good director. He aspires to be a legitimate auteur, a distinct voice in American cinema. Maestro boasts numerous scenes seemingly crafted to showcase his directorial prowess. However, what truly defines Cooper as an artist to date is his ability to captivate audiences, to touch their hearts and create a seamless cinematic experience...
Maestro is undeniably a more ambitious project than Cooper's directorial debut, A Star Is Born if less successful. The stakes are higher, the lead character's quality elevated from a pop star to the first American orchestra director to command the elite realm of classical music. Maestro defies the traditional structure of biographical movies by placing Bernstein's marriage at the forefront. It explores his relationship with a woman who understands his attraction to men yet chooses to stand by him, love him, and be loved in return.
It's a genuine love story set in an era when people with unconventional lifestyles often hid behind conventional facades. Or at least, that's the facade Bernstein constructed while ascending to musical superstardom. His marriage faces trials due to deceit and eventually the revelation of truth, but it endures.
As a love story, it's the type of delicate drama I would watch with my mother. However, as an overall film, it feels somewhat underdeveloped, perhaps unwilling to expose the hypocrisy of its protagonist or at least consider the possibility that, in another time or with more courage, the central love story might not exist.
The main issue with Maestro is that it inevitably brings to mind TAR, a fictional story set in a similar backdrop (a queer individual in the classical music world striving for recognition) which is significantly more intricate and insightful, offering a deeper understanding of its conflicted protagonist. TAR feels more real than a biographical movie and will be remembered much longer than Maestro. The most disheartening aspect of Maestro is that, after leaving the screening, you'll likely have gained little insight into Bernstein himself, as the entire plotline resorts to clichés.
Nonetheless Cooper, both as a director and actor, delivers a Performance. One standout moment features Bernstein conducting a massive chorus and orchestra, his passion and emotions channeled through his body and expressions during a powerful classical performance. It serves as Bernstein's triumph and a moment of reconciliation with his wife, portrayed by Carey Mulligan, who could also be a contender in the Oscar race.
Opus (2023)
RYUICHI SAKAMOTO: OPUS by Neo Sora
Following Coda, Ryuichi Sakamoto offers his audience a wordless farewell through the language of music in Opus. This posthumous performance encapsulates five decades of his illustrious career within a concise collection of 20 songs, all rearranged and masterfully played on the piano by Sakamoto himself.
Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus transforms the conventional concert movie format into an intimate and profound experience. Shot in lavish 4k black and white, the film features Sakamoto playing solo in a Tokyo studio, surrounded by a forest of microphones and music sheets.
Notably absent from the visuals but profoundly present in spirit is Neo Sora, Sakamoto's son, who serves as both the director of the documentary and a silent witness to this profoundly personal performance. Just months before his father's ultimate departure, Neo shares this intimate concert experience while simultaneously working to convey the depth of artistry and intimacy to strangers who will later watch the film.
The direction alternates between conventional shots of the composer at the piano and close-ups that caress and embrace him, offering viewers an intimate glimpse into Sakamoto's world. As a result Opus exudes both the admiration of a devoted fan and the affection of a loving son.
The music itself is both soothing and deeply emotional, with no dialogue to interrupt the emotional connection. The facade of the perfectly efficient piano player is momentarily shattered when Sakamoto requests a break, acknowledging the physical toll the performance takes on his ailing body.
Opus may be classified as "just" a concert film, but its intensity is a rare and remarkable experience. It evokes memories of another emotionally charged musical documentary, One More Time with Feeling (2016) by Andrew Dominik.