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Composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper, in a performance so expansive and exuberant that it easily upstages that controversial prosthetic nose) was a man of contradictions. And for Cooper, in his second outing as a director (after A Star Is Born), it’s this sense of perpetually warring sides to Bernstein’s psyche that proves to be central in his approach to this biopic. In a step up in terms of ambition and bravura, Cooper directs with a gusto and showmanship to match that of Bernstein at his most fevered and ecstatic. This style of film-making style can feel overbearing and ostentatious, and as such it won’t be for everyone, but there is much to admire here – in particular Carey Mulligan’s career-best performance as Bernstein’s wife, the actor Felicia Montealegre – and, of course, the heart-swelling, all-consuming music that sweeps through the drama in waves.
With its nonlinear structure, Maestro feels a little like a scrapbook of life moments – glittering career achievements; crackling explosions of domestic tension – and Cooper keeps up a zesty, kinetic energy throughout. It’s another way in which Bernstein’s restless essence is captured in the storytelling. For the most part, though, the picture is all about the conflicting dualities at the heart of this complicated man, which Cooper smartly reflects in the contrast between black-and-white segments and the rich, saturated colour scenes; in the tight, boxy aspect ratio of the early scenes compared with the wide-open opportunities of later life; and in the framing that places Leonard and Felicia together in the same room but also worlds apart.
The most obvious example of duality in Bernstein is his sexuality. There’s no question that he loves his wife. The fact is emphasised from the outset, with one of the picture’s first scenes showing a widowed Bernstein opening his heart in a television interview and expressing his grief over her death. But he also desires and openly pursues a long list of young men, key among them a particularly close and poignant early connection with clarinettist David Oppenheim (Matt Bomer).
Elsewhere, there’s a contradiction in his professional persona, a conflict between his identity as a conductor – a showman to the hilt, giving everything to his orchestra and his audience, basking in their adoration – and his other, more introverted existence as a composer, cloistered away from the rest of the world. Bernstein is also, according to the film, prone to emotional polarities. At times consumed by giddy elation and at others by dark, debilitating despair, he’s portrayed as an effortlessly charming and outgoing public figure, and a guarded private one.
In the middle of this emotional combat zone is Felicia. To call her collateral damage in the battle between warring sides of her husband’s personality would be misleading. As played by Mullligan, Felicia is not a passive presence; she’s an equal partner in this story, taking front and centre stage along with Leonard. That’s not to say that she emerges unscathed from the marriage, which lasted on and off for more than 25 years.
One striking and lyrical moment – a shot that lasts for little more than a second or two – taps into the complexity of their relationship. Husband and wife are superimposed together in the same frame. Leonard’s figure dominates, presented as a huge, dark silhouette. The much smaller shape of Felicia, diamond-bright in her white cocktail dress, glows like a star in the centre of the frame. One reading of this image would be that Felicia exists in her husband’s shadow. Equally, it could be argued that the shot tells us that she is the light that guides him, drawing him away from his darker, self-destructive impulses.
But then perhaps the great love of Leonard Bernstein (apart from Leonard Bernstein) is the music. Cooper blurs the lines between home life and the stage through a slick editing technique reminiscent of Olivier Dahan’s Édith Piaf biopic La Vie en Rose. A scene showing rehearsals for the ballet that would become the movie On the Town unfolds into a fantasy sequence in which Leonard and Felicia dance together. The most powerful use of music, though, is an incredible extended sequence in which Bernstein conducts Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No 2 with a fervour that is exultant. It’s as though he is touched by God. And when he catches sight of Felicia, all but estranged from him at this point but transfixed by his passion, the differences between them fall away. The music, for both, is everything.