|
Two
Oscar-nominated
films on Netflix
share the theme of
a gay man—a
brilliant, natural
leader—who
comes to
prominence at a
time, not so long
ago, when
homosexuality was
The Love
That Dare Not
Speak Its
Name.
(It still is, if
you look at
what’s
happening in state
legislatures
across the
country, but
that’s
another
topic.)
Bayard Rustin,
played by Colman
Domingo in George
C. Wolfe’s Rustin, suffered
far more for his
gayness than
Leonard Bernstein,
played by Bradley
Cooper in his own
film Maestro. But
both men walked
personal and
professional
tightropes.
Rustin faced not
only racism and
homophobia, but
also the hostility
of many of his
colleagues in the
civil rights
movement.
The bisexual
Bernstein
presented himself
publicly as a
devoted family
man, which was
true, but his wife
Felicia (Carey
Mulligan) was
angry and
humiliated at what
was also true.
Rustin, the chief
organizer of the
1963 March on
Washington, has
lagged behind
Martin Luther King
and other civil
rights leaders in
public
recognition.
Wolfe’s
movie—written
by Julian Breece
and Dustin Lance
Black and produced
by Higher Ground,
Barack and
Michelle
Obama’s
production
company—explains
why this was, and
strives to restore
Rustin to his
proper place in
history.
It wasn’t
any lack of zeal,
intellect or
charisma that kept
Rustin back, as
Breece and
Black’s
screenplay and
Domingo’s
performance make
plain. It
was, rather, his
enemies in the
movement—self-righteous
Roy Wilkins (Chris
Rock) and
backstabbing Adam
Clayton Powell Jr.
(Jeffrey
Wright)—who
ran a campaign of
rumor and innuendo
against Rustin
that forced even
the young Dr. King
(Aml Ameen) to
back away from
him.
Arguably
that was still
better than the
viciousness of the
enemies of civil
rights, such as J.
Edgar Hoover and
Strom Thurmond,
the latter of whom
outed Rustin in an
attempt to
discredit the
March.
Rustin’s
personal life,
though perhaps not
as troubled as his
public one, was
complicated.
Firebrands within
the movement were
infuriated that
Rustin had a White
lover, union
organizer Tom Kahn
(Gus
Halper).
Rustin’s
life became
further tangled by
his series of
closeted lovers,
represented in the
film by a
composite
character, the
young, married
Black minister
Elias Taylor
(Johnny Ramey).
Rustin is essentially the story of how Rustin confounded his enemies and
fought his way back to prominence within the movement, resulting in the
triumphant scene by the Lincoln Memorial that led directly to passage of
the Civil Rights Act. The film is at its best showing an impassioned Rustin
engrossed in the minutiae of organizing the March. (In one funny scene, he
must explain to his staff why you make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
not cheese, for the lunches of people marching in a Washington summer.) Rustin also deserves credit for portraying the contributions of women
activists neglected by history, such as Ella Baker (Audra McDonald) and
Dr. Anna Hedgeman (CCH Pounder).
The cast of Rustin is strong, especially an underused Jeffrey Wright. It is
Domingo’s performance, however, that makes the film a must-see. His
Rustin is a many-faceted individual who is forever frustrated by a world
that hates him for what he is. Domingo’s greatest moment is when he
speaks to MLK about Wilkins, Powell and other homophobes within the
movement. “The day I was born Black, I was also born homosexual,” he
says. “Either they believe in freedom and justice for all, or they do not.”
Maestrohas been condemned in some quarters for not portraying the social
activism of Leonard and Felicia Bernstein. (They were mocked for it while
they were alive, particularly by Tom Wolfe in his famous New York
Magazine article, “Radical Chic.”) Critics have been assiduous in finding
any number of excuses to hate Maestro. Some hated Bradley Cooper’s
decision not to emphasize Bernstein’s tenure at the New York
Philharmonic; many excoriated Cooper for wearing a prosthetic nose,
which they referred to as “Jewface.” I too was put off by the early stills I
saw from the film, until I saw pictures of the young Bernstein which looked
exactly like Cooper’s Bernstein. In the film itself, Cooper just looks like
Bernstein, and his performance cancels all doubt.
Maestro begins with a sad Bernstein, sitting at the piano, being interviewed
about his late wife. The film—photographed by Matthew Libatique-
-switches from color to black and white, and to the moment in November
1943 when the twenty-five-year-old Bernstein, asleep in his bedroom,
receives the call to replace an ailing Bruno Walter in that evening’s
performance of the Philharmonic. He slaps his lover David Oppenheim
(Matt Bomer) on the buttocks, throws on a suit coat, and—still barefoot and
in his undershorts—strides down a long corridor that leads to Carnegie
Hall.
This section of the movie, comprising roughly its first third, is the most
stylized and the most exciting, charting the beginning of both his star
career and his relationship with Chilean actress Felicia Montealegre (Carey
Mulligan). The high point is a rehearsal for Fancy Free, Bernstein’s early
collaboration with Jerome Robbins and his first big compositional success,
during which Bernstein and Felicia are suddenly transformed from
spectators to dancers. The swirling elegance of this sequence is
breathtaking both choreographically and thematically; it’s obvious Cooper
knows not only his Jerome Robbins, but also his Gene Kelly and Michael
Powell.
The rest of Maestro is mostly in color and more conventional in style, but
essentially the film remains a dance movie, swirling with movement as it
portrays the elaborate dance Bernstein did with his wife, his children, his
lovers, his colleagues, and his fans. Although Bernstein didn’t suffer a
fraction of the prejudice Bayard Rustin did, he had more to worry about
than being outed. He met anti-Semitism with stubborn courage. Serge
Koussevitsky (Yasen Peyankov) advised him early on to change his name
from Bernstein to Burns; Bernstein replied that he would be Bernstein or
nothing.
Bernstein proudly acknowledged his Jewish heritage, but there were other
things he couldn’t acknowledge, and Felicia felt the brunt of that. This is
seen clearly in her reaction to Tommy Cothran (Gideon Glick), a young
musicologist whom Bernstein meets at a party and is immediately smitten
with. We also see it when Felicia asks Bernstein to talk to their daughter
Jamie (Maya Hawke) about rumors she has heard, admonishing him not to
tell Jamie the truth. The matter comes to a head in an argument one
Thanksgiving, with the balloons from the Macy’s parade floating past the
Bernsteins’ Fifth Avenue apartment windows. “There’s a saying in Chile
about never standing under a bird that’s full of shit,” Felicia says. “And I’ve
been living under that fucking bird for so long, it’s actually become
comedic.”
Maestro is essentially a portrait of the Bernsteins’ marriage, with Leonard’s
career as an admittedly spectacular backdrop. The film is of course awash
with Bernstein’s music, especially Candide and Fancy Free (West Side
Story is heard in only one short clip, at a point of marital discord). But the
main focus, especially in the film’s last half, is Bernstein’s life with Felicia
and their children, which is portrayed as warm and loving despite his
infidelities. (Maestro is dedicated to the Bernsteins’ children, who fully
cooperated with Cooper.) Some of the film’s juxtapositions between the
Bernsteins’ public and private lives are truly heart-piercing. One of the
most triumphant moments of Leonard’s career, conducting Mahler’s
Second Symphony at Ely Cathedral in England, is followed immediately by
his sitting beside Felicia as her doctor tells her she has terminal cancer. (In
the film and in life, neither Leonard nor Felicia was ever without a cigarette
and both paid for that with their lives.)
The performances in Maestro are first-rate, especially those of Cooper and
Mulligan. Cooper’s Bernstein looks magnificent on the podium (reportedly
he spent six years rehearsing his conducting moves, with Yannick Nezet
-Seguin as his coach). Even more, he captures the tension in Bernstein’s
life. The self-intoxicated genius, the loving family man, and the semi
-closeted gay man were all there, all the time, and Cooper presents those
warring impulses movingly. Yet as good as Cooper is, Mulligan is even
better. Her Felicia is a strong, witty woman frustrated by the tension
between her love for her husband and her being forced to play second
fiddle to him in every conceivable way. She fights back as best she can,
such as when she catches Leonard kissing Tommy Cothran. “Fix your hair,”
she tells him. “You’re getting sloppy.”
|
