A whole life in just a few days, and what a life! Pablo Larraín’s trilogy-of-sorts about iconic women of the 20th Century concludes with his biopic of Maria Callas. The grand dame of opera, a woman for whom the term “diva” (which originates in opera) might as well have been invented. A famously difficult figure, Larraín and writer Steven Knight set themselves the difficult task. Effectively, defining and representing her in all her complexity over the span of the final days of her life, and over just a couple hours of screen time. What a life, but what a movie?
Alas, the movie Maria itself is difficult. Such a task requires some degree of reduction. Insofar as a person could ever know themselves over an entire lifetime, what chance has a mere movie of knowing them? Callas’ character was, by most accounts, a few identifiable things. Self-possessed, fickle, prone to flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur, albeit to some extent earnt. Larraín and Knight appreciate the necessity of depicting these things. But their attempt at further excavating her character, largely accomplished through flashbacks, doesn’t so much illuminate it as it does obscure it.
Larraín’s previous two movies in his trilogy, 2016’s Jackie and 2021’s Spencer, sought to understand their subjects through a narrower focus. Situating themselves within tight timeframes in their lives. This perspective thus allowing these women (Jackie Kennedy and Diana Spencer, respectively) to be presented simply as they were, without qualification or justification. Their behaviours and attitudes were portrayed relatively subjectively. These were less portraits of their protagonists, more portraits of periods in their lives, and this non-judgemental subjectivity worked.
Maria’s more objective approach, offering contextual justification for its subject’s actions, only invites further scrutiny into who she was. A scrutiny for which this movie just hasn’t the time. And for which neither director nor writer seem to have the appetite. Had Callas been depicted here as solely the woman she was in the days before her death, it might have been easier for the audience to accept her as this woman, in all her arrogance and capriciousness. But there’s an effort here to explain these qualities. An effort that Larraín’s mannered style cannot accommodate. In explanations that cannot even begin to probe deeply enough into the likely unknowable recesses of such a particular, tortured soul.
And that’s a shame, because there was potential in Maria for a genuinely transcendent portrait of an extraordinary woman. But also because some of that potential has been realized in Angelina Jolie’s lead performance. The casting alone goes some way toward achieving this. Like her study, Jolie has long been the subject of scurrilous media speculation and public scorn, forcing her to retreat from the public eye.
Often mischaracterized as a fiery femme fatale type on screen, Jolie’s true strength lies in her vulnerability. Which she pours into her work here, rendering Callas as a woman mentally on permanent edge, as fragile and delicate as her singing voice and stage presence were vibrant and imperious. Much is asked of Jolie in this part. And she responds with a charming combination of flexibility, capturing Callas’ variable moods with aplomb, and simplicity. Building a core for her character that grounds these swings of mood. If the movie as a whole fails to understand its subject, its lead does not.
Just as Callas resorted to fantastical imaginings to cope with her increasingly isolated, drug-dependent life in its closing stages, the viewer too much resort to finding alternative means of making it through this misguided movie. Jolie is once such means, though there are many others. Edward Lachman’s grainy, sun-dappled cinematography is thoroughly winsome. And the sets and costumes are delectably opulent. While a soundtrack of Callas’ opera recordings and orchestral adaptations thereof complements the sumptuous images very handsomely.
But it all adds up to an unfortunately neat representation of the oft-used phrase “all style, no substance.” And one can only lament the sad unsuitability of this approach for this story. Maria Callas deserved better in life than the indignities and illnesses she suffered. She deserves better than this movie too.
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