As a long-time opera enthusiast and film critic with a soft spot for biopics, I found “Maria” to be a captivating and unconventional portrayal of the legendary soprano Maria Callas. Director Pablo Larraín masterfully uses passages from celebrated operas to weave a narrative that is both haunting and thought-provoking. Jolie’s performance, blending her own voice with Callas’ iconic recordings, is nothing short of mesmerizing.
In Pablo Larraín’s film Jackie and Spencer, he stripped away any formalities from historical biographical dramas to closely examine, with great emotional depth, well-known women in intense emotional turmoil under the harsh glare of worldwide attention. This level of intimacy is missing in the third part of his unofficial trilogy, Maria. Starring Angelina Jolie as the acclaimed opera singer Maria Callas during her final week in Paris, the movie presents itself like a dazzling jewel in a display case, inviting you to admire but not interact.
Just because Jolie’s performance isn’t dull or unimpressive with its technical precision doesn’t change the fact that there’s a conflict between her fame, which outshines her acting prowess, and her character who cultivated an imposing persona. This makes it difficult for her to fully embody a role, as she herself is always present, even when not on stage or screen.
Giving more emphasis on iconic portrayals can add significant depth to a role, but it may lead to a sense of detachment between the actor and the character as opposed to an intimate connection. Instead, it becomes more about analyzing the character, which can feel somewhat cold and distant, rather than creating a vivid, lifelike representation.
The film is skillfully made, adorned with rich visuals by the renowned cinematographer Ed Lachman. He masterfully portrays Paris in 1977 using gentle autumnal tones that perfectly reflect the era, and switches to black-and-white or grainy color for Callas’ numerous flashbacks to the past. Lachman, who was nominated for an Oscar for his stunning chiaroscuro work on Larraín’s previous film, “El Conde”, filmed “Maria” using a blend of 35mm, 16mm and Super 8mm, along with vintage lenses.
The DP’s outstanding work enhances the refined contributions of production designer Guy Hendrix Dyas and costume designer Massimo Cantini Parrini. The latter’s stunning gowns include chic ensembles worn at public occasions and exquisite costumes for Callas’ famed stage roles, some of which the singer is seen burning as she separates herself from the past.
“Callas tells the Paris waiter, ‘I’m feeling quite fond of admiration.’ She explains that she prefers restaurants because they offer a place to be appreciated.”
As a gamer, I can relate to the experience of diving deep into a character study game that’s crafted by Larraín and screenwriter Steven Knight, who previously worked on Spencer. Their creation is a solemn tribute to an iconic diva, whose grandeur and elaborate persona sometimes veil her as a fragile, human character. Despite the fact that Callas’ physical being is failing and she’s grappling with doubts about her voice before another performance, four years after her last one, it’s challenging to connect with her as a relatable individual. At times, it seems like the game developers are examining Callas under an intense magnifying glass, creating a disconcerting effect.
The discrepancy in feelings is evident, as your affection appears stronger towards the devoted household staff who care for her, rather than the woman found deceased on the carpet next to the grand piano. This scene initiates the movie, following merely a leisurely tour of Callas’ opulent residence.
In this scenario, Knight uses a straightforward interview setup where a TV arts journalist (played by Kodi Smit-McPhee in a less significant role) and his cameraman visit Maria’s home. The character’s name, Mandrax, serves as a hint that he may be a creation of Maria’s mind because it’s also the nickname for the drug she’s heavily reliant on, often known as Quaaludes in the U.S.
For quite some time, it appears Maria’s butler, Ferruccio (Pierfrancesco Favino), consistently follows a routine of safeguarding her by taking pills from her dressing table, handbags, and various pockets scattered throughout the room where she has secreted them. In addition, she has abstained from eating for several days, instead providing meals prepared by her housekeeper Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher) to her poodles.
She grows irritable at the grim prognosis given by her doctor, Dr. Fointainebleau (Vincent Macaigne), who warns that her heart and liver are severely damaged, and that the strain of performing combined with the medications needed could potentially be fatal for her.
The main focus shifts from the troubled final week, marked by unsuccessful rehearsals accompanied by a patient mentor (Stephen Ashfield), to the singer’s psychological explorations of her past. This journey takes us from her miserable childhood under a manipulative mother (Lydia Koniordou) to her romantic entanglement with Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer), whose charm instantly pushed aside her husband. Since Onassis eventually left her for Jackie Kennedy, there’s a satisfying resolution that ties back to the protagonist of Larraín’s initial film in the trilogy. However, don’t anticipate a guest appearance from Natalie Portman, who starred in the movie Jackie.
Maria’s recollections are also filled with her achievements on the stages of renowned opera houses such as Covent Garden, The Met, La Scala, adding an air of magnificent melodies to the film. The raw emotion and heart-rending sorrow of these eternal operatic heroines serve as a poignant backdrop for Callas’ late life narrative, providing a contrast to her polished demeanor and distant persona in this portrayal. The impact of works by Verdi, Puccini, Bellini, Donizetti, Catalani, and Cherubini greatly enhances the emotional depth that sometimes appears subdued in Larraín’s direction.
As a passionate gamer, I can say that the captivating selections from renowned operas serve as an alternative to the traditional score in this film. The movie’s opening and closing musical pieces are deeply moving; beginning with Desdemona’s heartfelt prayer, “Ave Maria,” from Otello, and concluding with “Vissi d’Arte” from Tosca, a song about a woman who lived for art and love, feeling forsaken by God. Opera lovers will find themselves immersed in a feast of nostalgia when this movie becomes available on Netflix, with the release date yet to be announced.
I spent over half a year dedicating myself to intense vocal coaching, honing my breathing techniques, maintaining proper posture, and nailing down the perfect accent for my role in Maria. The singing you hear isn’t just Callas recordings; it’s a fusion of her timeless Arias and my own voice, which had grown older and less polished after years of vocal strain and stage absence. It’s not lip-syncing or karaoke, but rather a complex blend – a unique hybrid performance.
In several poignant scenes, music serves as a bridge between memory and imagination, blurring the lines of reality as they become increasingly tenuous for Callas. For example, Maria walking through the city with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop, imagining a chorus of ordinary Parisians singing the “Anvil Chorus” from Il Trovatore in her mind; or an entire orchestra on the steps of one of France’s grand historical buildings, playing in the rain while a troupe of geishas enact the “Humming Chorus” from Madama Butterfly. This particularly moving passage of music, symbolizing Butterfly’s patient vigil as she awaits Pinkerton’s return, amplifies the emotional weight of the impending tragedy in Maria’s life.
Tension arises when a music journalist from Le Figaro plays an underhanded trick and then challenges Maria near the rehearsal hall, claiming her voice is beyond repair. However, Knight’s script doesn’t use this instance for self-reflection, instead focusing on it as an uncomfortable intrusion of privacy.
This film intends to showcase a renowned female character whose existence embodies both sacrifice and triumph, striving for autonomy as she confronts the truth in her final moments. However, its instances of clarity are somewhat blurred. It doesn’t quite capture the empathy and understanding that Larraín displayed in his portrayals of Jackie Kennedy and Princess Diana, yet it shares similar themes with those films.
The gentle moment when Valeria Golino, Maria’s sister, encourages her to move past her troubled past (“Close the door, little sister”) subtly highlights the limited chances we usually have for a similar level of intimacy with the main character.
Indeed, what struck me most deeply was the final scene, where the movie revisits the day when Callas passed away at age 53 due to a heart attack. Initially, a piercing wail that seemed like an unusually high note from an aria turns out to be one of her poodles in distress. This heart-wrenching bark from the dog echoed the silent sorrow displayed by Ferruccio and Bruna, as portrayed beautifully by Favino and Rohrwacher, as they comforted each other.
Nevertheless, Maria presents a significantly bolder and less traditional portrayal of the final chapter in the life of the renowned soprano compared to Franco Zeffirelli’s standard 2002 biopic, Callas Forever, with Fanny Ardant in the lead role. Interestingly, as the heartwarming archival footage of Callas during the closing credits unfolds, showcasing her vibrancy at the pinnacle of her career, it offers a broader view of her tragic, swift descent.
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2024-08-29 20:55