In a way, it seems as if Angelina Jolie has been preparing to play Maria Callas for many years. Once the biggest, most bankable star in the world, who starred in blockbuster after blockbuster, was splashed across magazine covers, and had steamy relationships with the rare celebrity of her stature, Jolie has long sequestered herself from the limelight. When she does act, it’s only once in a blue moon; her last starring roles both happening three years ago with the forgettable Those Who Wish Me Dead and the divisive Marvel film Eternals. She still does voices for Kung Fu Panda, though, can’t forget that. But this Jolie, who has become more of a sheltered activist than a superstar actress, is still a screen legend and when she emerges we all can’t help but gawk and stare, hoping that some of the old magic is still there for us to take in.
Maria, Pablo Larrain’s third film in his “20th-century iconic women” trilogy (preceded by Natalie Portman in Jackie and Kristen Stewart in Spencer), is as stately and gentle as the others. The difference is Callas herself, the Greek prima donna opera singer whose voice captivated the world, is such a bold character who always sees herself as the star of this grand story. Jolie’s performance is the best of the three, even if the film is the weakest. Although, to be fair, none of them are particularly great. Larrain shed the gritty Chilean dramas of his early career for a trio of dramas so light and elegant they feel they might float away. Even the depictions of the subjects are so quiet and removed that they are hard to connect with as if they exist to create an image of the person rather than to gain any insight.
Jolie’s is the exception. The opulent Maria follows Callas in the last stages of her life in 1970s Paris. She lives in her apartment barking weird orders at her exasperated staff (Alba Rohrwacher and Pierfrancesco Favino), such as forcing them to move a heavy grand piano repeatedly. The pill-popping diva hasn’t performed an opera in four years, her health is failing, and she may or may not be suffering from dementia. But she still demands an audience, going to cafes to be adored by fans (who she then yells at), and gives a walking interview to a journalist (Kodi Smit-McPhee) whose name happens to be the same as her drugs of choice. Probably not a coincidence.
Larrain struggles to home in on his subject. All three of these films have played with the idea that these powerful, intensely private women whose adoration by the world is both a gift and a curse. Callas seems largely to be trapped in a prison of her own making, though. Every interaction is high-drama, meant to place her either in the position of victim or unknowable enigma. When asked about the number of pills she took that morning, Callas responds “I took liberties, all my life, and the world took liberties with me”. It’s a wonder that anybody puts up with her other than she’s Maria Callas. But that’s also what makes her kind of fascinating. She holds a power over everyone she meets, even as they know she’s a fading star and probably a bit looney. Flashbacks take us back to her youth in wartorn Athens during WWII, where her singing talent spared her from some Nazi cruelty. In something of a tie-in with Jackie, we see her won over by the love of her life, wealthy magnate Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer). She also has a sorrowful encounter with her sister (the great and still-lovely Valeria Golino), which feels like a goodbye that was a long time in the making. Callas is a mess, attempting her version of a comeback while hoarding depressants in her coat pockets and acting every bit like an old lioness who knows that winter is looming. She’s often late for appointments (“You’re not late, everyone else is early”, the piano player says), but never late to be showered with praise.
Jolie is amazing and looks incredible as Callas, creating a full-bodied portrayal of the diva. She’s poised, sometimes campy, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. There’s a defiance in her that’s intoxicating, and you can see why so many men wanted to pursue her. It also makes her frailty so much crueler to witness. In preparation, Jolie spent months learning to sing opera so that her voice could accompany Callas’ through most of the vocal performances. Larrain worked with production designer Guy Hendrix Dyas and cinematographer Edward Lachman to create a gorgeous vintage portrait of bourgeois 1970s Paris. Maria is a stunning film to behold, with Larrain adding the occasional surreal flourish like an orchestra performing in her living room. Depicting Maria Callas’ last days as a Greek tragedy isn’t a bad idea, but for it to work Larrain needed to show a lot more of her life, the joy that others gave her, and the happiness she brought to others with her music. As it stands, only Jolie is memorable enough to call out for an encore.
Maria opens in select theaters on November 27th, followed by Netflix on December 11th.
