Film Review — Maria

Pablo Larraín’s biopic of opera singer Maria Callas proves a disappointment

Credit: StudioCanal

Critics have mostly praised Angelina Jolie’s lead performance as opera singer Maria Callas in the third of Pablo Larraín’s unofficial trilogy concerning famous 20th-century women. Frankly, I think Jolie has been overpraised in Maria and was far better in the likes of A Mighty Heart (2007) and Changeling (2008). But she is far from the weakest link in what is easily the weakest film of Larrain’s aforementioned cinematic trio.

I’ve enjoyed operas on the rare occasions I’ve seen them but would scarcely describe myself as knowledgeable on the subject. Clearly, Maria Callas was a great talent, and her death in 1977 was a tremendous loss to the opera world. But Maria fails to get under the skin of its subject in a way that makes her interesting to the unconverted, or to generate any sense of relatability. That’s not the case with Larraín’s previous films, Jackie (2016) and Spencer (2021). The former, about Jackie Kennedy, explores the claustrophobia of grief. The latter, about Princess Diana, concerns difficult in-laws and the misery of being trapped in a loveless marriage.

These subjects are universally resonant outside the trappings of power, wealth, and celebrity, but in the case of Maria, there is little for the viewer to cling to. We can’t relate to her extraordinary talent because such talent is rare. Indeed, almost all the singing is understandably from archive recordings because there’s no way Jolie could replicate her voice.

I expect screenwriter Steven Knight intended us to relate to the heartbreak over her late partner, Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer). Or perhaps to feel sympathy via the eyes of her devoted butler, Ferrucio (Pierfrancesco Favino), and equally devoted maid, Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher). Yet this is a curiously sterile and frankly rather dull affair, depth-charged by risible dialogue intended to lean into the diva-ish attributes of its protagonist but winding up ineffectual clichés, regardless of what Maria Callas may have said in real life. For instance, when asked to be reasonable by a doctor concerned for her health, she drops this clanger: “My life is opera. There is no reason in opera.”

Larraín and cinematographer Edward Lachman frame much of the drama at the threshold of opulent rooms, in doorways, or perhaps through a gap in a curtain, always at a distance. Already alienated by a script that fails to provide relatability, this pushes the audience to an even greater distance, making them feel like intruders in the lives of the rich, famous, and miserable. Yes, it all looks beautiful, with gorgeous interiors decorated with oil paintings, chandeliers, ornate busts, and antique furniture. Autumnal Parisian landmarks also look suitably pretty but they are little more than decorative. The overly self-conscious use of clapperboards announcing the acts as well as switches between colour, black and white, and 8mm draw further attention to the artifice.

As for the music, we get plenty of snippets of famous operas, including Madama Butterfly, Carmen, and La Traviata, but little in the way of a compelling plot. The script focuses on Maria’s final week, including her attempts to rediscover her voice whilst battling drug-induced hallucinations. The latter include the inexplicable appearances of choirs and orchestras, plus an imagined television interviewer named after one of her pills, Mandrax (Kodi Smit-McPhee). Monochrome flashbacks relay incidents from the war and her subsequent relationship with Onassis, but nothing that adds any real dramatic fire to proceedings. Occasionally, a scene temporarily grabs the interest — an encounter with President Kennedy (Casper Phillipson), for instance — but it’s simply not enough to sustain this rather anaemic film.

In the end, my rather limited pleasure in Maria came from spotting links to Larraín’s other films. The Kennedy/Onassis connection to Jackie is obvious, but there’s a more subtle nod to Spencer during the scenes with aggressive reporters. Also, can we please call time on Brian Eno’s wonderful but overused “An Ending (Ascent)”? It didn’t help that when this plays during what is meant to be an emotional moment, I started thinking of Traffic (2000), then 28 Days Later (2002), Beatriz at Dinner (2017), cancer research advertisements, and even an episode of Top Gear. Enough.

(Originally published at Medium.)

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