In 1943, Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper) made his debut conducting the New York Philharmonic at only 25 years old.  At the after-party celebrating him, he meets Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan), an aspiring actress, and the two fall madly in love.  They quickly get married and have three children, all the while, rising in the ranks of their preferred arts.  The strain from their respective fame, as well as Leonard’s addictions and infidelity with other men, lead to cracks in their relationship, but the conductor stays by Felicia’s side through a terminal cancer diagnosis until her ultimate death. 

Maestro, written and directed by Bradley Cooper with assistance on the page from Josh Singer, forgoes the standard biopic treatment, shrinking at the distillation of facts and instead, charts the decades-long romance between its subjects.  Long in gestation from Netflix, the 129-minute film finally made its debut at the 2023 edition of the Venice International Film Festival ahead of a limited theatrical run and a subsequent wide release on the streamer.  It garnered a handful of nominations and wins across the fall festival circuit, but because of its unconventional approach, the praise is far from unanimous and the same showy filmmaking techniques that have garnered it these accolades are also the major source of ire from its detractors. 

The film undergoes many visual and stylistic changes as the narrative progresses through the decades, opening first on a heavily aged Cooper as he sits at a piano talking to an interviewer before switching from wide screen and color to a tighter aspect ratio and black and white.  Cooper is hardly the first to convey a sense of period by utilizing the style of the time, but coupled with the frantic way in which he cuts between fantasy and reality in the whirlwind beginning of the romance, it is Capital E Editing (by Michelle Tesoro) and Capital C Cinematography (by Matthew Libatique) to highlight his Capital A Acting, culminating in a truly egregious and ego stroking shot of Cooper coming up from a bow with the camera tight on his smiling face filling the screen, hoping that he has come close enough to replicating that old-time Hollywood magic so audiences will begin to welcome him into the hallowed halls of those bygone stars and showmen.  It is nauseating and insecure, and while some may hail it as Capital B Bold, there is another adjective that works just as appropriately here: Bad.  This is through no fault of Libatique or Tesoro who were working to bring Cooper’s vision to the screen, the problem is that they were saddled with working on a manic and self-aggrandizing exercise, conceived out of narcissism, and though the film does not paint Bernstein as a benevolent figure, the trials which he endures on screen are all just thinly veiled comparisons to how tortured and complicated Cooper feels his own artistry is. 

There is, however, a glimmer of grace in the film and Cooper thankfully has enough sense to secede the spotlight to Mulligan who takes an underwritten and poorly paced wifely role and makes it the one emotional arc we can actually follow and makes it into something captivating. The script is handicapped by history keeping Felicia on a predetermined arc in the film, but Mulligan’s performance is much more palatable than Cooper’s and her character is far more interesting that the film could and should have been retooled through her point of view and for its own benefit. Forging a successful career for herself during her life, you would hardly get a sense of that in this portrayal as Mulligan’s Felicia is framed more like a shrew scolding and nagging Leonard when he comes home from his flings, still dazed from drugs and reeking of alcohol. We do not get a solid sense that she is his muse or that she even really still loves him, and because the film keeps pushing her to the margins, we never get a chance to understand her motivations for staying in this unfaithful marriage. Perhaps she stayed with him out of love, but also maybe she wanted to keep the family unit together or shield her own career from scandal, and while that is not to lessen the personal tragedies for which Bernstein’s life was framed by, the script does not punch down on her legacy as it does Bernstein’s makes her a more natural entry point into a film that wants to subvert the standard trappings of an encyclopedic biopic. 

The lack of introspection into any of these characters is the biggest and most frustrating flaw of the script. Cooper is afraid to get too close both narratively on the page and physically in the framing. Kevin Thompson’s production design, especially in the second half when the film switches to color, is beautiful, but as an audience we can seldom enjoy it because Cooper instructs Libatique to keep his camera at a distance, shooting from around corners or from behind obstacles. Like the flights of fancy in the opening half, these choices are noticeable not because they are expertly constructed, but because they are distracting. There are certain time-tested conventions – such as starting wide to establish a location and then coming in close to capture the performance – that when broken can add to the impact of the scene or the film overall, but they must be broken with a purpose and Cooper is totally aimless in his construction here. This distance from the characters only alienates audiences who may still have good will and investment in the characters come the second hour. A prime example of this is when the couple are fighting on Thanksgiving morning, a pivotal moment in the film and both of their lives, but because of that spatial distance, Cooper and Mulligan just blend into the upholstery and architecture of the room, denying us the grit of their performance.  

That scene is key to understanding this script and it is filmed with such unimportance that it is shocking that it made its way into the final cut in this form. What little narrative movement there is in Maestro, it is almost always being propelled by Felicia, so much so that Leonard becomes more of a supporting character that unfortunately is present in almost every scene because his name is in the title. If the title is actually a reference to Felicia, indicating that she is the one with control over the relationship, that dynamic is not explored with enough nuance to have that claim supported. The only tangible hint at this comes in the conclusion of the next scene when Leonard throws himself at Felicia’s feet after his legendary performance of Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony at the Ely Cathedral, played by the London Symphony Orchestra for the film.

Other than this bravado sequence, Cooper seems wholly uninterested in the act and art of conducting. Credit where it is due, the sequence is impressive to watch and the music is intense, but the emotional reunion with Felicia at the end is ultimately unearned because we have no real sense of where these characters are in their feelings. The onus should not be on the audience to make these narrative excuses to maybe start honing in on a thesis. Further, if it is to serve as an apology on behalf of Lenoard to Felicia, it is a selfish one which makes Felicia’s acceptance of it all the more beguiling. 

The elevator pitch for Maestro, taking a peek behind the curtain at the man behind the myth, is an interesting one especially as we begin to reassess the brash and sometimes ruthless nature of leading figures in the arts that have been previously written off as a genius at work and rightfully labeled as the abuse that it so often was. Cooper certainly delivers on that promise as he and Singer seemingly base their research more on tabloid reports than revered accounts of the conductor’s life, but in the performance, Cooper insulates his own image as he is afraid to really push himself to show anything transgressive. This thorns and all approach is not necessarily bad – though, it is in poor taste that the major thorn in Cooper’s tale is Bernstein’s sexuality more than anything else – it does make one wonder what drew Cooper to this character because he does not seem to be approaching him with even a disillusioned reverence. He is simply donning the conductor’s name and a prosthetic nose to force some conversation and recognition around this project like a studio executive shoehorning an original pitch into a reboot or sequel of existing IP to help get butts in seats. In this case, Cooper is embarking on an even more vain pursuit as he vies for an Oscar.