There is a moment in Maria (2024) when someone asks Maria Callas (Angelina Jolie)  if he should refer to her as Maria, her given name, or La Callas, her mythic title in the opera world. Maria coyly replies that it is up to him. But, from the look on her face, we know there is absolutely a correct answer and he opts for La Callas. Later, when he asks who he is speaking to, she replies “today it is Maria.” 

In the latest installment of his trilogy of films centered on iconic 20th-century women, Pablo Larraín paints a dreamy dissection of both these identities and attempts to find their intersection within the legendary opera singer. 

The film focuses on the final days of Maria Callas as she attempts to reclaim her lost voice amid her declining health. Her only companions are her dogs, her staff, and a documentary crew that may or may not be real. She’s in a complicated position, wanting to return to the glory of her past while carving a new future for herself where she is in control all in a dwindling present. 

Larraín walks us through Maria’s story like a trip to the museum. He unfurls the story slowly and deliberately, making sure we are marinating in every moment. Yet, he begins his scenes from a distance, oftentimes from across the threshold of an adjacent room as if unsure whether or not it is okay to enter. We are observing from a distance, free to bask in Maria’s presence and glean our interpretations from what we see, but never interfering or in the thick of it. 

Some may find the pacing tedious, but much like Jackie (2016) and Spencer (2021), Larraín is peeling back every layer with the utmost care and precision. It feels redundant to say given his body of work, but his mastery is on full display.

Of course, this direction would never have paid off without the right actress at the center of it all.

Angelina Jolie fearlessly dives deep into the grandiose Callas in what will go down as one of the best performances of her storied career. She manages to reach the heights of Callas’ larger-than-life persona while keeping her grounded in reality. Jolie glides through the frame above it all like a glamorous specter. She commands every room she’s in, head high above it all. Even the way she holds a cigarette feels regal. 

Yet, for a character so over-the-top, Jolie tackles her with such a captivating restraint. All of Callas’ pain, fear, and anxiety radiates from Jolie’s eyes, bubbling beneath the carefully constructed exterior. She conveys so much nuance with just a singular expression. The ache Maria feels about being unable to achieve the vocal heights she once was capable of mixed with the steely determination of someone focused on their future is all there, swirling in Jolie’s eyes. 

The restraint ultimately melts away in the third act as Jolie cracks Maria Callas wide open. It is both triumphant and devastating as this icon delivers her swan song. We are bearing witness to one of our greatest performers laying it all on the floor. And, much like Maria, it feels like she is doing it for no one else but herself.

Her portrayal never feels like mimicry and Jolie captures the essence of Callas, aided by Massimo Cantini Parrini’s fabulous costume design. He meticulously recreates her onstage costumes and regular but equally extravagant everyday wear.

The other star of the show is Edward Lachman’s cinematography. He constructs a dreamlike atmosphere that drips with opulence worthy of Callas herself. We are fully immersed in the delusion and grandeur with which she views the world. The past trickles into the future as performances and setpieces from Maria’s operas appear in the middle of the street or on random steps as she meanders around Paris. Lachman’s eye works in tandem with Larraín and Production Designer Guy Hendrix Dyas to build a sense of surrealism in those moments.

The dreaminess is only enhanced as Lachman plays around with form and style. When Maria is with the documentary crew, we abandon the slow and steady shots and pivot to a handheld camera complete with erratic zooms and an unsteady hand. Then, when we dip into Maria’s own flashbacks, we’re treated to breathtaking black-and-white photography. 

Sofía Subercaseux’s superb editing work enhances Larraín’s exploration of the duality of Maria and the battle of past and future. While Maria works to get her voice back, her rehearsals are intercut with scenes of her in her glory days on stage. To the untrained ear, she might not sound all that different. But because of that decision and precise execution, the audience witnesses the stark contrast between La Callas and Maria and, ultimately, how the very art she suffers for is killing her.

Maria is not without flaws, though. The film stumbles over its heavy-handed script, penned by Spencer scribe Steven Knight. For instance, Maria resorts to self-medicating throughout the film. Her drug of choice, Mandrax (Kodi Smit-McPhee), physically manifests as the director of the documentary she’s being interviewed for. Luckily, Smit-McPhee is able to take the clunky metaphor and elevate it with a performance that matches Jolie’s own intoxicating restraint. 

The script really wants the audience to know the cost of always performing for the world and suffering for your art. Yet, thanks to the bold direction and the immaculate performances, those themes come across effectively in a nuanced and visually interesting way. 

Maria won’t be for everyone. I am sure many will dismiss it as pretentious awards bait that takes itself too seriously. But, if you’re willing to be patient and sit with it, you will ultimately find a fulfilling fable at its core. Larraín takes artistic liberties with his trilogy, but he ultimately captures the spirit of these complicated, broken, and bold women. 

Maria Callas spent much of her life feeling caged by one force or another and fought desperately to unlock the door and fly on her own. In some ways, Larraíns latest effort allows her to soar at last.

Review Courtesy of Adam Patla

Image Courtesy of Netflix via Film at Lincoln Center