Maria (2024)

Maria is a cinematic aria that hits some soaring high notes but ultimately falls flat in its attempt to capture the essence of opera’s most enigmatic diva.

Pablo Larraín, the Chilean auteur known for his unconventional biopics, takes on the legendary Maria Callas in this visually sumptuous yet emotionally muted portrait. The film zeroes in on Callas’s final days, using them as a prism through which to refract her tumultuous life and career.

Angelina Jolie slips into Callas’s skin with chameleon-like precision, nailing the singer’s distinctive accent and regal bearing. It’s a performance of quiet intensity, all simmering emotions beneath a carefully maintained façade. Jolie captures the fragility of a fading star, her eyes conveying volumes of pain and longing that the script often fails to articulate.

Larraín’s direction is typically stylish, employing a muted colour palette and claustrophobic framing that mirrors Callas’s increasing isolation. The cinematography by Edward Lachman is breathtaking, each frame composed with the care of a Dutch master painting. Yet this visual opulence sometimes overwhelms the narrative, leaving the audience admiring the scenery while the emotional core of the story remains frustratingly out of reach.

The film’s pacing is deliberate to the point of lethargy, mimicking the slow fade of Callas’s final days. While this approach lends a dreamlike quality to the proceedings, it also risks losing viewers who might yearn for a more dynamic exploration of the diva’s life.

Where Maria truly excels is in its use of music. Callas’s recordings are woven seamlessly into the fabric of the film, serving as both soundtrack and narrative device. These moments, which always contain some of Jolie’s own singing interwoven with Callas’s immortal voice, are electrifying, offering glimpses of the passion and artistry that defined the singer’s career.

The supporting cast, including a brief but memorable turn by Pierfrancesco Favino as Ferruccio, is uniformly excellent but underutilised. The film’s focus remains squarely on Jolie’s Callas, for better or worse.

Thematically, Maria grapples with weighty issues—the price of fame, the ephemeral nature of artistic greatness, and the conflict between personal happiness and professional success. Yet these ideas often feel more gestured at than fully explored, leaving you hungry for deeper insight into Callas’s psyche.

The production design is meticulous in its recreation of 1970s Paris, though at times the period details threaten to overshadow the human drama. Larraín’s use of symbolism, particularly in his deployment of mirrors and reflective surfaces, occasionally veers into heavy-handedness.

Compared to recent musical biopics, Maria lacks the pizzazz of Elvis or the emotional depth of Judy. It’s as if Larraín, caught between his arthouse sensibilities and the demands of a mainstream biopic, couldn’t quite decide which way to jump.

In the end, Maria is like an imperfectly performed aria—technically impressive but lacking the spark of true passion. It’s a film that will likely divide audiences, thrilling some with its visual poetry while leaving others cold with its emotional distance.

For cinephiles and opera buffs, Maria offers a feast for the eyes and ears, if not always for the heart. For casual viewers, it might prove a bit of a slog. Either way, it’s a film that demands to be seen on the big screen, where its visual splendour can be fully appreciated.

So, should you buy a ticket? If you’re up for a visually stunning but emotionally challenging cinematic experience, Maria might just hit the right note. But if you’re after a more conventional biopic that gets to the heart of its subject, you might want to give this one a miss.