Beautifully shot, the film “Maria” explores the great Greek American soprano Maria Callas during her final days in 1970s Paris, as she tries to come to terms with her life and fame. It is a psychological drama that artistically shifts between biography and fantasy, as Callas grapples with the loss of her magnificent voice.
The film, playing at the M.V. Film Center, is directed by Pablo Larraín and written by Steven Knight. It is Larraín’s third portrait of a 20th century female icon, the first two being “Jackie” and “Spencer,” about the troubled lives of two other legendary 20th century women.
As “Maria” opens, the camera pulls back, revealing a drama in a room of people set in an elaborate, old-world-charming apartment. When two men enter bearing a stretcher, it becomes clear that someone has died. This is the setup. The story begins a few moments later with the note that it is occurring one week earlier.
We meet Callas, gorgeously played by Angelina Jolie, who has the regal bearing of the great singer herself. She slips between being divaesque and heartwarmingly kind to her closest, thoroughly devoted companions, Ferruccio, her butler, played by Pierfrancesco Favino, and her housemaid Bruna, played by Alba Rohrwacher. Caring for her in resplendent opulence, they worry about Callas’ declining physical and mental health and reliance on a cocktail of deadly medications, which appears to make her hallucinate. Is the supposed film crew that has come to interview Callas about her life real or imagined? Her walks through the streets of Paris seesaw between grand opera and reality. What we can count on as fact remains out of reach, so we must just go along for the ride.
In flashbacks from her career, we see Callas in all her magnificent glory. Asked how it felt to be on stage, she replies, “An exaltation. And intoxication. Some days, I thought the stage would burn.” But in a few beats, she continues, “Audiences expect miracles, and I can no longer perform miracles.” We see the result in painful moments when Callas, urged by her pianist, stands on stage in an empty concert hall, pouring her heart out in the vain hope that she may, just possibly, still have what it takes to be at her top. But even an untrained ear can hear that she has lost the golden spark.
The loss of her voice is not Callas’ only demon. She dreams of her rocky romance with Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilgin), who wooed her but, according to Callas, lost her by forbidding her to sing. Still, his choice of Jackie Kennedy over her as his wife clearly left a searing mark. We catch glimpses, too, of her painful childhood in German-occupied Greece.
“Maria” is lushly directed and visually rich. Larraín intersplices scenes of Paris in splendid fall colors with Callas’ black-and-white remembrances of her stunning performances. He braids mostly full arias into the narrative, ranging from Bellini to Puccini to Donizetti.
Although we know from the beginning that the story will end back in that luxurious apartment with Callas’ death in 1977 at the young age of 53, the film is about the toll it takes on one’s soul when losing the very thing that defines you. When the imaginary film interviewer says to Callas, “Perhaps we can speak about your life away from the stage,” she revealingly tells him — and us — “There is no life away from the stage.”
For tickets and information about “Maria,” visit mvfilmsociety.com/2024/10/maria.
