My memories of Leonard Bernstein had mostly to do with a disparaging description by author Tom Wolfe in his scathing social commentary “Radical Chic.” After watching “Maestro,” about the life and times of the famous conductor and composer, and directed by Bradley Cooper, I suspect there’s quite a bit of truth to Wolfe’s description of Bernstein as an insufferable windbag. Except for two brief scenes, the movie bored me senseless.
However, credit must given where credit is due. It’s a massively daunting achievement to be able to step in front of an orchestra composed of alpha-musicians—the absolute best of the best—who, like the fighter pilots in Tom Wolfe’s book “The Right Stuff,” have ascended the great ziggurat of competition, talent, and tenacity and have the ambition and ego to back it up.
Bernstein rose to fame on Nov. 14, 1943, when, after a night of carousing till 4:30 a.m., he got a call at 9:00 a.m. to come in and replace flu-ravaged New York Philharmonic guest-conductor, the great Bruno Walter—that afternoon, with no rehearsal.
Bernstein hightailed it to Walter’s apartment, got himself some last-minute, crash-course-tutelage from fever-ridden Walter, who was wrapped in a blanket, then rushed to the performance, stepped in front of the abovementioned group of master instrumentalists—where one false step, at least in rehearsals, will produce instantaneous, cacophonous, cat-herding mutiny—and delivered a flawless performance.
At the age of 25.
The Movie
Nine-time academy award-nominated actor Bradley Cooper (nominated in various capacities, such as lead and supporting actor, producer, and scriptwriter) is clearly gunning for an Oscar with “Maestro.” He’s going all in with this biopic; after all, it’s the most frequently Oscar-rewarded subgenre. Mr. Cooper here directs, writes, produces and plays the lead. He’s also got a couple of decent producers named Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg.
Mr. Cooper lavishly honors the celebrated conductor-composer. But, perhaps due to Netflix’s influence, he forgoes depictions of one of the things Bernstein was most proud of: the Civil Rights and anti-war activism so rudely (and deliciously) skewered by Tom Wolfe. (Wolfe felt he heard a jangling, discordant note of self-aggrandizement therein.)
This activism, it must be said, while misguided (1960s’ liberals were clueless of their assigned roles as “useful idiots” for liberalism-socialism-progressivism’s minutely incremental, “boiling-frog” movement of America towards communism) was heartfelt and compassionately intended. Bernstein’s political activism would have been a welcome topic, as opposed to Mr. Cooper salaciously focusing instead on Bernstein’s sex life.
Felicia
Behind every great man is a great woman, and, in this case, that would be Bernstein’s wife, Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan). Felicia’s career as a successful TV actress, as was often the case in the 1960s, takes a backseat to her husband’s outsized ambition.
Knowing full well that her romance with him would likewise take a backseat to his multiple, not terribly discreet affairs, she tells herself for years that she’s strong enough to handle an unrequited love. Until she can’t anymore.
Cooper’s Acting Maestro Moment
Anyone who’s studied enough acting craft knows that tension and conflict are the necessary ingredients in any theatrical or cinematic production and will be able to note, tangibly, that the lack of it produces an immediate state of drowsiness. And also a state of not being able to breathe. “Maestro” clocks two hours and nine minutes. I endured an hour and a half of feeling a lack of oxygen, until a marital spat cropped up, where Ms. Mulligan gets to chew the scenery, which she does admirably.
I will say, though, that there is a real gem here: If you’re a fan and student of acting craft and technique and of the actor-talent of mimicry, fast forward (when the movie is available for streaming) to Mr. Cooper’s portrayal of Leonard Bernstein conducting. This is a virtuoso piece of physical acting. Mr. Cooper clearly spent hours and hours studying and practicing all of Bernstein’s conducting gestures and language; it’s fully embodied—every movement radiates understanding, intention, and ownership, and all of the above as it relates not only to Bernstein, but also to the music.
For that, for three minutes or so that I was on the edge of my seat, eating up that scene, I’d happily give Mr. Cooper the Oscar.
