#but whatever. i'm done now. going back to bed. if this has 1000 SPaG mistakes and/or makes no sense blame it on the fever

[booksandabeer]

Okay, so... Maestro

I know it’s the cool thing right now to shit on Bradley Cooper and his increasingly desperate attempts to win that damn Oscar, and at this point it feels a bit like kicking someone when they’re already down, but oh boy, he makes it so easy. Still, let me preface what I’m about to say by assuring everyone who might be inclined to think that this is just me piling on, that I truly, sincerely wanted to like this movie. It’s about Leonard Bernstein!!! Of course I wanted to like it!  

With that out of the way…if you already thought Bradley Cooper was a bit much in A Star Is Born, wait until you’ve seen him act at you for two hours in this never-truer-to-its-name vanity project in which producer Bradley Cooper produces director Bradley Cooper who directs leading man Bradley Cooper as he recites lines written by, you guessed it, screenwriter Bradley Cooper.

First of all, the movie looks gorgeous. It sounds wonderful. Everybody in the so-called “below the line” departments brought their absolute A-game to this. It’s a Vogue coffee table book come to life. And that is precisely where the problem lies: This is supposed to be a movie, but what it actually is is the epitome of style over substance. It is completely devoid of any meaningful insights into the man or the time or the culture it depicts. It’s not a movie about Leonard Bernstein, the artist. Which isn’t a problem per se—different approaches to biopics are perfectly valid. The real problem is that it’s not a movie about Leonard Bernstein, the man, either. It’s Bradley Cooper spending almost 100 million dollars cosplaying as The Great Artist—beloved by intellectuals and the common folk alike—that he so desperately wishes to be himself.

Cooper's performance is A LOT. From the many affectations to the sweaty mania that is constantly turned up to 11 to the extremely nasal intonation (that seems to come and go) to, yes, the stupid and entirely unnecessary prosthetic nose—he does The Most in every single scene. Now, you might say I’m biased by my recent love for Fellow Travelers, but still, what Matt Bomer—in a small part as Bernstein’s lover and collaborator David Oppenheim—does in one scene that shows him smiling through the pain of being casually cast aside by his lover, moved me more than (almost) anything Cooper does in the entire movie. They also share a moment later that is almost unbearable to watch because of the pain seeping out of these two men who are, due to a mix of self-denial and societal oppression, not allowed to (or allowing themselves to) live life as their true selves. Finally! Some real human emotion! That is the movie I want to see. And it is so telling that this moment of actual tangible humanity happens when Cooper finally calms down for five fucking seconds.

All that isn’t to say that there aren’t any scenes here that have true charm and flair; at times the movie even comes close to moments of true beauty and grace that could be poignant, even devastating in the best of ways—were they not ruined by some “eccentric” directorial choice, baffling camera placements, shots that either linger on forever or are abruptly cut short. I was practically waiting for him to turn to the camera and ask “see what I did there?” Yes, we see it. We see it in the fantastical dance sequences, the 40s noir inspired shots, the shift from black and white to color halfway through the movie, the classic 4:3 aspect ratio, and the many many many allusions that do not serve this story and these characters at all but make it very clear to the audience that Cooper has seen a lot of movies. He’s a student of Cinemah, didn't you know? Anyway, all of these things aren’t bad ideas in and of themselves, but he does not know how to edit himself (or his movie) and so it’s just all too much, all the time, and it goes on for way too long.  

Let’s talk briefly about the Felicia of it all. Briefly, because for all the noise that Cooper has made about this being a movie that is just as much about Bernstein’s wife and their love story as it is about the man himself, I could not tell you who this woman was any more than I could before I sat down to watch two hours of Carey Mulligan reacting to Bernstein’s genius. Mulligan tries her best but she’s really only allowed to play two modes: swooning with adoration or vibrating with repressed anger. That’s it. I have no idea who Felicia Montealegre was beyond her husband’s wife. What did she want her life and her career to be? Was she truly passionate about acting or was it just a fun hobby to pass the time? And what did she hope to get out of this marriage, which—the movie makes it very clear—she entered into with the full awareness that there were parts of her husband’s life and heart that would remain forever inaccessible to her? Who knows. I certainly don’t.

Despite all claims to the contrary, this movie, and therefore I must assume the man who made it, is deeply uninterested in actually exploring this woman’s inner life. There’s no small amount of sad irony to be found in the parallel of Felicia serving as a shield of respectability for Bernstein (not only as that, because I do not doubt that they loved each other, but it was certainly one of the reasons for why he married her) and Cooper using his supposed interest in her (and to a lesser extent his lead actress) all these years later as a kind of preemptive measure to ward off criticism that he’s only interested in the Male Genius.  

Finally. What’s actually worse than all of the above is that somehow Bradley Cooper managed to do the impossible: He made a movie about Leonard Bernstein that is both utterly exhausting and—the true cardinal sin—terribly boring.