A Quick Note on ‘Jewface’, Maestro and Oppenheimer
Given that my presence on this platform is filtered specifically through the lens of Jewishness in film, and that I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on the Jewish identity of Leonard Bernstein – the subject of Bradley Cooper’s controversial upcoming film, Maestro – I thought I’d weigh in on the current discourse.
For those who are unaware, one of the biggest films due to premier as part of this year’s autumn film festival season is Bradley Cooper’s Maestro. The film is said to be a non-traditional biopic of 20th century American composer Leonard Bernstein, focusing largely on his complex relationship with his wife, Felicia Montealegre. Controversy has arisen around the Netflix production due to images from the trailer featuring Bradley Cooper as Bernstein wearing an enlarged prosthetic nose. Voices within and outside Jewish communities have loudly criticised Cooper for caricaturing Jewishness, using the term ‘Jewface’ which describes the act of a goyische (non-Jewish) actor using prosthetics to make themselves look more like a cartoonish, imagined Jew.
While it is true that Bernstein did own a decent sized schnoz, the prosthetic utilised by Cooper is significantly bigger, and more defined than the nose was in reality. From a personal standpoint, I do find the use of this prosthetic to be pretty discomforting, but I think it speaks more to Cooper’s insecurity about the size of his own nose, which is a lot bigger than perhaps he would like to admit (and not too dissimilar to Bernstein’s actual nose!), than it does about his perception of Jews. That being said whether it was his intention to cartoonify Jewishness or not, Cooper has ruffled feathers in a way that is crass rather than substantive. Bernstein’s living relatives have come out in support of Cooper and his decision to use the prosthetic, saying that Bernstein would not have minded, but I think their statement rather misses the point. The nose is not about Bernstein himself, but about highly visible representations of a tiny minority that are stereotypical and incredibly reductive.
Funnily enough, however, Cooper’s use of ‘Jewface’ is the element of Maestro that bothers me the least. I have been fairly vocal since the film’s announcement about how I believe the production as a whole to be a pretty catastrophically bad idea. Leonard Bernstein is my number one creative hero – as a composer, public intellectual and educator, I don’t think there has been a single Jewish figure in American history who has had more of a positive impact on culture.
As I mentioned, I have written extensively about Bernstein in an academic context, and in researching him, it became clear to me just how vitally important his Jewish identity was to him throughout his life. It informed his music (even West Side Story, which was initially conceived as a story about Jews and Catholics on the Lower East Side of Manhattan), and his role as an educator (he often described his pedagogy as rabbinic in nature), and he was deeply, foundationally affected upon learning about the realities of the Holocaust which caused what he described as ‘aporia’, a state of being where he was too overwhelmed to write a single word for years. Bernstein’s complicated relationship to sexuality was also hugely significant in his life. There is still debate to this day about whether, given an open, accepting environment, he would have identified as a gay man or as bisexual. He had significant, passionate relationships with both men and women, and was an early major advocate for HIV/AIDS research.
My problem with Maestro is that I don’t have faith in Bradley Cooper as a writer/director, to sensitively depict these two massive aspects of Bernstein’s identity. Focusing on his most significant straight-passing relationship as the centre of a film called Maestro does not inspire confidence that the film won’t totally whitewash Bernstein’s Jewishness, or reduce his sexuality to the pain it caused his wife (in a similar way to other reductive music biopics like Bohemian Rhapsody or Rocketman). Cooper’s own identity is significant in that he is starting from a place of remove from the identity of his subject, which isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker, but when there are other filmmakers out there who are far better suited to a project like this, both from an identity perspective and a thematic one, it’s hard to justify why this project exists at all in its current form.
Some have pointed to the involvement of Steven Spielberg as a producer on the project as hope for better representation, but given that Cooper and Martin Scorsese – a filmmaker who I have criticised in the past for the didactic, Christian morality of his movies – I don’t think it’ll make much difference. I’m more comforted by the involvement of Josh Singer (Spotlight, The Post) and his contribution to the screenplay, given his Jewishness and his work on thematically sensitive historical films.
I’m not writing off the film entirely just yet. I had similar worries about Oppenheimer, given the significance of the scientist’s Jewishness in his decision to start work on the bomb in the first place. Nolan and Cillian Murphy, thankfully, proved me wrong in the director’s decision to focus on the differing Jewish identities of Oppenheimer, Lewis Strauss, and I.I. Rabi, and the nuanced ways in which their characters were informed by Jewishness, as well as Murphy’s attention to detail in his performance. It’s certainly possible for non-Jewish filmmakers to consider Jewishness in a valuable way (see Todd Field’s Tar or Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza for a couple of recent examples), but the set-up of this project makes it hard for me to believe that Cooper is one such filmmaker.
To end with a little self-gratifying what-if, I thought I’d lay out what would be my ideal Bernstein biopic: a film centred around the relationship between Bernstein and his fellow queer, Jewish composer and mentor, Aaron Copland, the letters they wrote to one another, and the fallout of their brushes with McCarthyism which had vastly different outcomes. I would keep Cooper as Bernstein (without the prosthetics!) because he can convincingly play the man’s charm, I’d cast Michael Stuhlbarg as Copland, and get Todd Haynes to write and direct. Haynes is Jewish, gay, and has a great deal of experience directing sweeping, romantic, dark, and political films. He knows how to portray music on screen and has several masterful period-pieces under his belt, with Carol in particular as a shining example of complex, historical queer romance in America. Honestly, this would be my dream film project.
As of a few days ago, Tom McCarthy’s best picture winning film, Spotlight (2015), became my most-watched film on Letterboxd. On its surface, the investigative journalism drama is a dour story based on the real investigation which exposed the horrific, systemic paedophilia within the Catholic church. This shouldn’t be such a comforting watch, given its subject matter, so here I intend to determine what it is about this movie that keeps reeling me back in… or maybe there’s just something wrong with me.
Let’s start with the elephant in the room: am I just really odd? Honestly, probably, but I don’t think that’s why I keep coming back to Spotlight. While the film is mindful of the crimes being investigated, and particularly sensitive and alert to the pain and extreme trauma experienced by the victims, it’s primary focus isn’t on the scandal itself - it’s very necessarily not torture porn. If I wanted to torture myself via repeated exposure to the pain of others, this wouldn’t be the film to achieve that.
Instead, the focus of Spotlight is on the process of uncovering the Chruch’s crimes, and the systemic issues that kept such an open secret covered up for so long. In other words, this is a film about people who are really good at their jobs, deconstructing all the ways the church in environments like Boston has its claws in every major institution, including the press.
For a long time, I wanted to be an investigative journalist. The idealism that drives exposing difficult truths in order to ensure that the electorate be informed, is an incredibly compelling reason for pursuing a career. Now that I’m older and I know that the demands of such a profession are not for me, my love of proper, idealistic journalism is channelled into films about the people who can hack it. Think Broadcast News, The Post, The Insider, Goodnight and Good Luck, and Zodiac; I’m even one of those sickos who loved The Newsroom.
I really do believe in the power and responsibility of the so-called Fourth Estate. So, one of the most compelling things about Spotlight is that it is a true story - a period piece even - about a time when the press served their intended function properly and really made a difference. A story about that kind of thing set today would almost feel like science fiction.
Tom McCarthy’s filmmaking, which some have dismissed as bland or overly procedural, is genuinely inspired because of the reality it is showing. The aesthetic and tone of Spotlight is intentionally mundane and perfunctory, portraying a job that needs to be done well, but not one that needs glorifying or mythologising. The one member of the Spotlight team (Mark Ruffalo’s Mike Rezendes) who is more theatrical and performative is chastised by his colleagues for his over-the-topness - it’s very telling that he is the one who ends up writing the article.
I am especially drawn to the ostensible B-plot of the film: Liev Schreiber’s Marty Baron stepping in as the new editor of the Boston Globe and having to contend with the extent of the Catholic church’s influence of Boston life. Baron is Jewish, and immediately identified as an outsider in the majority Catholic city. His performance is, in my view, miraculous in the way it so accurately communicates the ways in which Jews in majority Christian environments have to restrain our frustration with a cultural majority that so consistently dehumanises and others us.
One scene in particular is often reason enough for me to revisit Spotlight. It involves Baron being called in for a meeting with Cardinal Law (the most senior figure at the time in the Boston archdiocese). Schreiber deftly communicates Baron’s skillfully maintained composure and professionalism despite his clear discomfort at Law’s blatant attempts to both bring him under the church’s sketchy umbrella of influence and prostelytise at him. It is a frightening reminder of how deeply embedded Christianity is in Western institutions, and of how difficult it is to exist as a non-christian in those environments. Spotlight does not exonerate lapsed, cultural or non-practicing Catholics, but exposes how every day people will look the other way when their own community and institutions are implicated in something horrible. Like I said, science fiction.
Despite being based on a true story, Spotlight is a brilliantly crafted wish-fulfillment fantasy about a time when the press served its function and held vile, corrupt institutions to account. It’s tempting to look back on its Best Picture win at the Oscars as a mistake, especially given how totemic Mad Max: Fury Road is as the last bastion of visually inventive, gonzo blockbuster filmmaking, but I really do believe that Spotlight’s win was both deserved and has stood the test of time as a reminder of how we should act in the face of the systemic nightmares of our society. Every time I’m in a place of extreme pessimism about the state of the world, this film is warm, if strange, comfort blanket.
Like many a young film lover over the last few years, Letterboxd (a film focused social media app) has been key in helping me to build my relationship with movies.
As someone who has been obsessively and compulsively making lists for most of my life (I recently found an old notebook from my teenage years full of lists ranking everything from actors to T.V. episodes to musicians - yes, I am autistic…), Letterboxd has been incredibly helpful in keeping track of my growth and change as a film watcher since I joined the service in 2017.
Back when I first joined, Letterboxd felt like this secret club where only the most pitiful little film gremlins would congregate to list and tabulate their movie experiences. In recent years, that pool of users has expanded massively into a lively, vibrant media environment, plagued with some (if not all) of the same problems as film twitter. It’s quieter, though, a space that still provides users a freedom to use its features however they please.
Like I said before, I love lists. My Letterboxd is a super convenient container for all the granular ways in which I like to sort and organise the films I love. If you’re interested, my Letterboxd is here.
My Four Favourites
One of the most exciting and fraught features on Letterboxd is the Four Favourites that adorn the top of every user’s profile. Everyone has a different approach to filling out these four coveted slots - I regularly change mine, often to fit some sort of theme - but I thought I’d take this opportunity to talk about the films which come closest to being my actual four favourites.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013) dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
My favourite film of all time is the gloomy odyssey of New York folk musician, Llewyn Davis, directed by the ever brilliant Jewish brothers, Joel and Ethan Coen.
I talk about the Coens a lot as filmmakers whose work is quintessentially Jewish across their entire filmography. Most people understandably point to A Serious Man as the clearest example of Jewishness in their work (one of the only films in which Jewishness is explicitly part of the text). That being said, however, a broad attitude of posing moral and existential questions without attempting to provide answers is present in all of their work. This attitude is a fundamentally Jewish approach to life’s mysteries, and in the work of the Coens, is often misidentified as nihilism.
Inside Llewyn Davis, aside from being one of the most beautifully shot, written and acted films I’ve ever seen, with an all-time great folk soundtrack, is a film that asks terrifying existential questions:
Is it possible to make authentic art in a commercial world?
Is it possible to be a better person when everyone keeps telling you how awful you are?
Is it possible to escape this cycle I’ve trapped myself in?
Michael Mann is a director that not a lot of people know is Jewish. You wouldn’t think it looking at his movies, but if you pay attention to how he ends nearly all of his stories, the same uncertainty principle which fuels the Coen brothers seems to haunt Mann, too. Nearly all of his films end with a man, who has just done something to irrevocably change his world, walking off into the distance, leaving only a question: where the hell do I go from here?
Collateral is in many ways typical of what Michael Mann does. Two men, at odds with one another, wreak havok trying to overcome each other in an environment defined by a dramatically heightened level of realism. What sets this film apart from the rest of Mann’s oevre is the way its protagonist, Max (Jamie Foxx), has to adopt the persona of the antagonist, Vincent (Tom Cruise giving his very best performance), in order to escape his situation. Collateral is a film about understanding the philosophy of your enemy and determining how much of it is bullshit.
I know it’s cliche to say so, but Steven Spielberg is far and away my favourite director of all time. What is more controversial about my love for the guy is that I don’t think he has a single low period in his career. I am a particular defender of his 21st century output - Catch Me If You Can, Lincoln, Bridge of Spies, The Post and West Side Story are all masterpieces in my book - and I really do feel that The Fabelmans is the pinnacle of his entire filmography.
A film which many have mistaken as overly soppy and sentimental, is actually a tangle of Freudian trauma and pessimism about the relationship between art and identity. The Fabelmans presents Spielberg’s incredibly dark and complicated relationship with his family, his own Jewishness and his use of his talents as a filmmaker to reckon with those things. He weaponises his signiture warm, glowing, nostalgic side to frame more upsettingly the most upsetting parts of his upbringing. For Spielberg, cinema is a coping mechanism that has ripped his personal life apart, and it’s truly remarkable that he is self-aware enough to admit that in front of the world.
Broadcast News (1987) dir. James L. Brooks
James L. Brooks doesn’t have the best track record as a director, but when you make something like Broadcast News, it doesn’t really matter what you do next because unless you’re some kind of miracle worker, there’s no way to top something this good.
Stories about journalists are like crack to me. I’m one of those weirdos who unironically loves Sorkin’s The Newsroom; Spotlight is a comfort movie for me! Any story featuring journalists who are really great at their jobs, waxing poetic about the fourth estate, is going to work wonders for me. Add to that one of the best romantic dramedy dynamics in cinema history, and you have a recipe for the perfect Dan movie.
One of the most miraculous things about Broadcast News is the trio of performers at its centre, particularly Holly Hunter, who for my money is maybe the greatest ever living screen actor. The way she plays the burden of intelligence in conflict with a desire for connection is almost upsettingly brilliant, especially given the fact that this was her first big starring role. I really do believe that Brooks’ screenplay for this film is one of the best ever written, with some of the most unflinchingly real, but still delightfully funny characters put to screen.
So, there we are. I guess you could see this as a ‘four movies to get to know me’ kind of thing. Coincidentally (or not, who can say), all four of these films are by Jewish directors, and all four of them feel distinctly Jewish to me in the ways they approach their themes and ideas. Beyond that, though, these are all films that make me feel a deep connection to their characters and the worlds they imagine.
What are your Four Favourites, and what do they say about you?
This is from my new, film focused, tumblr. I wanted somewhere to put my self-indulgent film writing that isn’t as toxic and bro-y as filmstagram. If you’ve enjoyed my movie ramblings here, do check it out!
A couple of years back, I poted a hastily penned listicle talking about my burgeoning love of auteur-driven cinema, gushing about some of my favourite directors and the positive impact of blu-ray collecting on my film journey.
Well, two years and 300-odd blu-rays later, I’m back to gush some more about the directors whose work has kept me going through years plagued by the novel coronavirus, horrific political developments, and a long overdue depression diagnosis. I should also mention that my incredible partner has stuck with me through all of this bullshit, including my gluttenous accumulation of films which take up valuable shelf space in our home.
Now, the following filmmakers have not taken the place of the likes of Spielberg, Mann, the Coens, Bigelow and Soderbergh (all of whom have continued to grown in my estimations - I mean, have you seen WEST SIDE STORY [2021]????), but have rather joined their ranks and made me more appreciative of the form to which they’ve all contributed massively.
Jane Campion
I think it’s fair to say that most people’s first experience with New Zealand auteur, Jane Campion, is her 1993 Oscar winning masterpiece, THE PIANO. Not me though. I kinda stumbled on Jane Campion in perhaps the most backwards way possible by randomly hitting play on her 2003 box office flop, IN THE CUT. If you’ve not seen it, IN THE CUT is an incredibly explicit and violent erotic thriller unexpectedly starring romcom darling, Meg Ryan, and Mark Ruffalo. It was maligned by critics and audiences on its release for its pulpy plotline and intense, alienating sexuality. Over the years, however, it has won over many a discering viewer with its powerful themes of the way male violence is a constant threat to female autonomy, the complex realities of sisterhood, and the myriad abuses of police power.
I was both horrified and mesmerised by IN THE CUT, and have since completely fallen for Campion and her worldview, particularly in films like THE PIANO, THE POWER OF THE DOG, and BRIGHT STAR. She has such a powerful understanding of how to bring out actors’ abilities through unconventional casting and genius screenwriting. Everything she makes is fascinating even when it doesn’t quite connect and I adore her for it.
Olivier Assayas
I initially discovered Assayas quite some time ago through his occult thriller, PERSONAL SHOPPER, largely because I was intrigued by the idea of an arthouse Kristen Stewart vehicle. It took me a few years to dig deeper into the filmmaker behind it - firstly, because I was a little mystified by the movie, but also because the concept of a director and their role took a while to connect with me. I revisted PERSONAL SHOPPER some years later and was completely fascinated by it, leading me shortly after to check out Assayas’ 2015 work of geniues, CLOUDS OF SILS MARIA. The Juliette Binoche/Kristen Stewart two-hander generational drama was one of the most exciting pieces of modern filmmaking I’d seen up until that point, and really opened a door for me to explore non-English language filmmaking.
Assayas has a fascination with the interplay between adjacent generations, which he explores so perfectly in CLOUDS OF SILS MARIA and his earlier work, COLD WATER, with such a heartbreaking intensity. The way that older generations inflict untold damage on those who come after them, and the subsequent return fire from younger folks is depicted with singular accuracy and vitriol from the French auteur, and with consistently beautiful cinematography to boot.
Paul Thomas Anderson
PTA is definitely the most film-bro cliche filmmaker on this list, but he’s brilliant so fuck it!
I’ve told this story to friends with any sort of interest in film a million times, but in early 2019 I watched my first PTA film, THE MASTER (2012). It’s not an exaggeration in the slightest when I say that I have thought about that film every day since. THE MASTER has haunted me now for three and a half years straight and it took me until early this year before I was able to claim with any honesty that I understand it.
Now I’ve seen all of his films (except HARD EIGHT which is pretty impossible to get hold of in the UK), I can with some confidence say that while his films are all at least somewhat intentionally enigmatic, there’s a realy heart-on-sleeve emotionality to all of them which each connect in very specific ways. PTA’s films are often popularised for their stunning cinematography, off-beat humour and the powerhouse performances he has been able to draw out of the likes of Philip Seymour Hoffman, Daniel Day-Lewis and Adam Sandler, but its that emotional specificity that keeps me coming back to his films over and over again.
Robert Altman
Weirdly enough, this next filmmaker is often cited as one of PTA’s biggest influences. Robert Altman had one of the all-time great runs in the 70s, releasing brilliant film after brilliant film, almost yearly, for a full decade. During the early weeks and months of the pandemic, I watched as many of those 70s movies as were available to me, much to the chagrin of my then housemate who couldn’t for the life of him understand why I liked them. To be honest, I’m not sure I could have told him at the time. It’s only been since spending the second lockdown living by myself that I have been able to nail down what Altman’s films mean to me.
There’s a particular subversiveness to that run of 70s movies that really speaks to me (especially in the wake of the 2020 presidential election) wherein Altman spent so many years interrogating the American psyche in a way that, despite his Goyishness, feels very Jewish to me. Altman’s filmmaking style was very tapestry-esque and famous for its overlapping dialogue. In his more satyrical works, no norm or institution was safe from his deep, cynical questioning. My favourite work of his is his 1973 neo-noir, THE LONG GOODBYE, which fundamentally challenged every notion of its own genre that it was lambasted by critics at the time. Thankfully, it has rightly accumulated a cult following over the years for everything it did to push neo-noir filmmaking forward, and for Elliott Gould’s iconic performance - to date one of the hottest performances given by a Jew in Hollywood.
Nora Ephron
Speaking of Jews in Hollywood, Nora Ephron is one of the most iconic Jewish voices of the last 50 years and her impact on Hollywood storytelling is incalculable. I fell so hard for Nora’s writing for WHEN HARRY MET SALLY… and her directing in SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE, YOU’VE GOT MAIL and JULIE & JULIA that my partner and I named our cat after her (that Nora has much less of a grasp on social etiquette than the late Ms. Ephron).
Ephron had a particular affinity for the very specific assimilated Jewishness of late 20th century New York, so as someone with a real obsession with New York and its Jewishness, I was immediately drawn to her incredibly specific depictions of the city and the culture of its (admittidly wealthier) areas. When I travelled to NYC as part of my PhD research, I made it a priority to visit as many of the iconic locations from WHEN HARRY MET SALLY… as possible; sadly, Katz’s Deli is not all the movie promises it to be.
Nora’s acerbic whit and wonderous sentimentality defined the American romcom for a short, utopian period of blockbuster filmmaking, and I will forever mourn that both she and her singular voice were taken from us too soon. May her memory be a blessing.
Bong Joon-ho
Aside from BARKING DOGS NEVER BITE, which I still haven’t seen because I’ve heard it’s not that great, Korean auteur, Bong Joon-ho has one of the most consistently brilliant filmographies of any working director to emerge in the 21st century. Obviously, PARASITE winning best picture just before the pandemic hit in early 2020 was one of the last great euphoric moments in popular culture before the world collapsed, and like many, that film’s success prompted me to go and explore the rest of Bong’s work.
I had seen SNOWPIERCER back when it came out in the UK in 2014 (largely because I knew it was based on a comic book… *sigh*), but it wasn’t until I revisited it along with the rest of Bong’s films that I connected the dots of the themes he forces you to confront in all his films: a hatred of capitalism, powerful unchecked institutions and climate change. Bong isn’t subtle about his thematic concerns but he’s so brilliantly creative about the ways in which he incorporates them into his stories that the didacticism has never bothered me. Beyond that, Bong has a seemingly impossible degree of control over tone in his films. He blends abject bleakness, seething rage and a hysterical comedic sensibility with an apparent ease which leaves me utterly perplexed and in awe after every viewing of one of his films. If you’ve never seen MEMORIES OF MURDER, you haven’t lived.
So…
I was somewhat tempted to write about my guy Rian Johnson here, too, but I figured that was asking for trouble. If I’m asking for trouble then that deserves its own piece so maybe I’ll write about him separately some other time.
In any case, these are some of the creative voices that have really shaped my worldview and my tastes over the last couple of years. If this was of any interest to you please let me know! I’m desperate for validation from other people who love film - it makes me feel seen. I’m sure I’ll end up getting bored and restless and writing another one of these before long.
24, Jewish, he/him/his, bi, lefty etc. music PhD student.
Music blog: http://healthymusicobsession.com
Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/alwaysbewhelmed
