Countless documentaries have been made, and even more biographies published on the life of Maria Callas (1923-1977). She has become a mythical woman upon whom anyone can superimpose a new story. The 10th of January marked the UK premiere of Pablo Larraín’s Maria–yet another take on the opera singer’s life. The third in his trilogy of biopics about historic mid-century women, this film focuses more on the curation of visually beautiful pictures than it does on opera and leaves the audience wondering where the real Maria can be found.
At music college, ‘Callas’ felt like a dirty word. Her vocal technique is not one your teachers would want you to copy – it is admired in Callas and only in Callas. To love her publicly would be to divulge a personal secret – that you too, dream of Teatro alla Scala and the tragic diva lifestyle. However, if asked who the greatest soprano of all time was, most would have to answer Maria Callas.
As one of the most iconic and influential opera singers of all time, she became known for her ‘big ugly voice’, which broke operatic conventions. She sang more gutterally and with a vibrato which oscillated much slower than her contemporaries’. Even towards the end of her career, as her voice began to fail her, every note she sang was steeped in visceral and complex human emotion in a way few singers have ever achieved. Callas turned herself inside out before countless audiences, intertwining herself with total strangers as her greatest gift became her life’s burden.
Depicting the end of her career and her final days, the narrative of Pablo Larraín’s film leans heavily on the physical affliction of her voice. Angelina Jolie, as Callas, combined live singing with lip-syncing to original recordings – both were mostly unconvincing despite seven months of vocal training (that’s 5 minutes in opera terms). In the film’s opening moments, she (badly) sings Bellini’s ‘Casta Diva’ to her housekeeper and is relieved to hear her praise. This depiction is inconsistent with what we know of the real Callas. Mezzo-soprano Grace Bumbry reported: “If I followed the musical score when Callas was singing, I would see every tempo marking, every dynamic marking”. Callas herself, in an interview, explained: “I don’t read the criticisms… I know exactly what I do before anybody tells me”. To suggest she would accept false praise is to discredit her intelligence and musicality.
Though Jolie artfully embodied Callas’ poised mannerisms and obscure Transatlantic accent, her performance couldn’t hide the feeling that this was another Hollywood-grab at ‘high art’ status. Much like Tár used a classical music setting as a trojan horse for a drama about cancel culture, this film used Callas to access a world of operatic imagery without developing a meaningful appreciation for the art form. It is as if they pillaged Callas’ life for dramatic visuals: the grandeur and elegance of La Scala, Aristotle Onassis’ opulent party, and Paris landmarks against autumn leaves. Every frame is like a painting – beautiful but static. Despite Callas calling singing on stage “an exaltation and intoxication”, which felt as if “the stage itself would burn”, the flashbacks to her performances lack the suspended atmosphere of opera as the audience appears unresponsive and portrait-like. As a result, the contrasting shots between her prime and decline are less impactful.
To add insult to injury, the filmmakers directly insert themselves into this narrative. Under the guise of her mandrax-fueled hallucination, Callas is joined by a film crew. Her interviewer (also called Mandrax) appears and disappears throughout to evoke poignant declarations from Callas about her life. These scenes feel clunky and are an insistent reminder of the behind-the-scenes creators of this film – a watermark across Callas’ story.
Despite the saccharine imagery on screen (Callas meeting her younger self and the ghost of her past love), the final scene lends some long-awaited focus to the voice of Maria Callas – a glimpse into the rich emotional experience this film could have been.
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