Pablo Larraín’s Maria marks the conclusion of his unofficial trilogy of films about troubled women, following Jackie (focused on Jacqueline Kennedy) and Spencer (about Princess Diana). Known for his ability to portray complex women with a mix of curiosity and reverence, Larraín’s characters often endure, question, and ultimately reclaim their identities in striking, hallucinatory moments. Maria continues this tradition, but here, the director’s trademark style feels slightly disoriented. While visually grand, the film at times struggles with its own narrative tension, veering into the realm of a psychological drama. Now streaming on Lionsgate Play, Maria offers a bold, cinematic experience that can sometimes get lost in its own ambitious design.
Angelina Jolie plays the iconic opera singer Maria Callas in the film, set in 1977, a week before her death. Unlike Larraín’s previous works, which centered on women weighed down by political or royal constraints, Maria presents a woman who is unapologetically her own force. Callas is a star whose life has unfolded under the spotlight, and her tragic final days unfold in a way that emphasizes her autonomy and inner conflict.
The film takes place in Maria’s chic Parisian apartment, where she begins her day with a conversation with her housekeeper, Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher), seeking reassurance about her voice. As Maria consumes sedatives, it’s clear that she is not willing to accept any opinion but her own. The film then transitions between present moments and flashbacks to Maria’s past, showing her grappling with a fading brilliance that once defined her.
Larraín’s script, penned by Steven Knight, struggles to capture the full emotional depth of Maria’s life. The dialogues feel stiff, and the directorial choices occasionally become self-indulgent, distancing the viewer from the raw sadness of Maria’s existence. There’s an emotional barrier that prevents the audience from truly connecting with her turmoil, despite being so close to her suffering.
Despite these challenges, Angelina Jolie delivers a captivating performance, embodying Maria’s strength, vulnerability, and commanding presence with remarkable finesse. She captures the diva-like quality of Callas while conveying the quiet heartbreak of a woman who, though legendary, is facing the end of her reign.
Visually, Maria is stunning, thanks in large part to cinematographer Ed Lachman. His use of various film stocks—particularly the black-and-white sequences on 35mm—adds depth and atmosphere to the narrative. Lachman’s camera gracefully follows Maria, whether in the wings of the theater or alone in her apartment, capturing her fragility and fading brilliance with poetic precision.
Ultimately, Maria may lack some emotional clarity, but Lachman’s cinematography adds the emotional layers that the script doesn’t quite deliver. While the film explores Maria’s struggles and resilience, it’s her mythic legacy—told through visual and emotional fragments—that ultimately leaves the most lasting impression.
