Maria (2024), directed by Pablo Larraín, is a hauntingly beautiful biographical drama that delves into the final days of legendary opera singer Maria Callas, portrayed with breathtaking depth by Angelina Jolie. Set in 1977 Paris, the film captures Callas at the twilight of her life, grappling with the decline of her once-peerless voice, her fading health, and the weight of her storied past. Larraín, known for his evocative portraits of iconic women like Jackie Kennedy and Princess Diana, completes his trilogy with Maria, a film that balances raw emotional intensity with a ghostly, almost surreal atmosphere.
Jolie delivers what many critics, including Roger Ebert’s review, have called her career-best performance. She embodies Callas with a regal poise and mystique, capturing the singer’s imperious demeanor while peeling back layers to reveal her vulnerability. The film doesn’t shy away from Callas’s struggles—her addiction to Mandrax, a sedative that fuels her delusions, and her loneliness as she faces the cruel irony of undimmed stardom amid personal decline. Jolie’s portrayal is both commanding and heartbreaking, particularly in scenes where Callas rehearses with her accompanist, her faltering voice a painful reminder of what she’s lost. The Guardian’s review notes the “mordant wit” in these moments, highlighting Jolie’s ability to carry a desolate comedic undertone that keeps the film from becoming overly sentimental.
Larraín’s direction is masterful, blending stark reality with dreamlike sequences. Cinematographer Ed Lachman’s high-contrast black-and-white lensing creates a timeless, ethereal quality, especially in scenes where Callas sings “Ave Maria” from Verdi’s Otello, her gaze piercing the camera as if confronting her own legacy. The film’s sound design is equally compelling, weaving Callas’s real voice with subtle hints of Jolie’s, a choice Larraín uses to blur the lines between past glory and present decay. This ghostly interplay mirrors the film’s central theme: the inevitable deterioration of the things we hold dear, as Ebert’s review poignantly observes.
The screenplay by Steven Knight empathetically imagines Callas’s inner world, including her imagined conversations with a TV interviewer (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who becomes a vessel for her reflections on her tumultuous love affair with Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer). These sequences, while occasionally surreal, add depth to Callas’s character, revealing the emotional scars that fame couldn’t erase. The Guardian contrasts Maria with Zeffirelli’s 2002 Callas Forever, noting Larraín’s sharper, less reverential approach, which avoids syrupy nostalgia in favor of a more complex portrait.
While Maria excels in its intimate character study, it occasionally falters in pacing, with some of Callas’s delusional episodes feeling repetitive. However, this minor flaw doesn’t detract from the film’s emotional impact. Premiering at the 81st Venice Film Festival, Maria earned critical acclaim, though it didn’t secure top awards, as noted by IndieWire. Its streaming release on Lionsgate Play on May 9, 2025, makes this poignant exploration of artistry and loss accessible to a wider audience. Maria is a fitting tribute to Callas’s legacy—a meditation on brilliance, fragility, and the haunting echoes of a voice that refuses to be forgotten.
