![]() ![]() In opening with the credits, he pays homage to the pre-1970s cinematic ‘golden age’, when this was the norm. Questions of legacy, tradition and emulation are tied up in the temporal concerns of Field’s film. On the other, it speaks to the hierarchies of production: where is the director – the ruling creative force – positioned? At the very beginning or the very end? Can the film start without him? On the one hand, it situates the labour and talent of the filmmaking team as foundational. ![]() ![]() For Field, the siting of the credits at the beginning of the film is an exercise in power, too. ‘You cannot start without me,’ she says of conducting during an early interview scene with New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik (playing himself). Tár’s prestigious career at the helm of several major orchestras around the globe has laid time at her fingertips. With every passing minute, the threat of temporality presents itself: its infiniteness, its capacity for revelation. The film opens with a full set of credits: the understood, inevitable closure to most cinematic projects. His creation here, the famed conductor Lydia Tár (a ferocious Cate Blanchett), hovers on the precipice of public and personal downfall as time creeps forward in the narrative. TÁR, American director Todd Field’s first film in 16 years, is consumed by the inevitability of time. ![]()
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