• Courtesy Of Netflix
• Bradley Cooper plays Leonard Bernstein in a biopic with surprising complexity and heft.

Some viewers may be tempted to dismiss Bradley Cooper's Maestro as a vanity project. It puts a giant spotlight on the actor-director-cowriter as he plays composer-conductor Leonard Bernstein, himself a larger-than-life celebrity. The film is already nominated for four Golden Globes and a slew of other awards, and it has that grandiose title.

But don't be deceived. Maestro is a surprisingly subtle relationship drama even as it captures the over-the-top ebullience of the great conductor. See it at Merrill's Roxy Cinemas and on Netflix as of press time.

The deal

In 1943, Bernstein gets his big break — a chance to helm the New York Philharmonic after the scheduled conductor calls in sick. At 25, he becomes famous overnight.

Well connected in the worlds of classical music and musical theater, the young prodigy is in a clandestine relationship with his clarinetist roommate (Matt Bomer). But fidelity is not his strong suit. When he meets young stage actor Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan) at a party, he's smitten.

Poised yet whimsical and impulsive, Felicia has a cosmopolitan background. Bernstein sees her as a "composite" like himself, someone who refuses to stay within conventional boundaries. They marry in 1951 and have three children as Bernstein becomes a fixture of the American musical world and a global celebrity.

Meanwhile, he continues to have affairs with men. Felicia knows and accepts all — until the 1970s, when her husband's indiscretions cause gossip that reaches his children. For the first time, their partnership falters.

Will you like it?

Perhaps "biopic" is a misleading term for Maestro. Far from an attempted overview of Bernstein's life or even his career, it's more like a highlight reel of pivotal moments in the composer's relationship with his wife, giving the two of them equal weight as protagonists. (Mulligan appears first in the credits.) Watching it, we learn a fair bit about Bernstein, as well. But viewers who aren't already familiar with the facts may want to read up, because the script rarely spoon-feeds them to us.

The film underlines Bernstein's capacity for transformation by practicing a similar shape-shifting in its own visual and dramatic style — or styles. Cinematographer Matthew Libatique shoots the couple's 1940s courtship in black and white; the crisp, witty dialogue of this section evokes films of that era. Bits of cinematic magical realism give the film a giddy, screwball feel, as when Bernstein seems to step from his apartment directly onto the stage of the Philharmonic, or when he and Felicia become part of a number in On the Town.

For the 1960s and '70s sections, Cooper and Libatique switch to color and a more modern, naturalistic style. That shift has a parallel in the couple's relationship as circumstances pull them down to earth. Felicia struggles to sustain her unconditional support of her husband, her frustration culminating in an agonizing argument that takes place against the bizarre background of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

According to Smithsonian magazine, Cooper's cowriter, Josh Singer, drew on 1,800 letters that Bernstein's estate donated to the Library of Congress in 2010. The resulting screenplay is startlingly intimate, even as it streamlines the ups and downs of the pair's relationship.

The year they were married, Montealegre wrote to Bernstein, "I am willing to accept you as you are, without being a martyr or sacrificing myself on the L.B. altar." In the film, she makes a similar declaration to Bernstein's sister (Sarah Silverman), insisting that she can tolerate the wandering attentions of her husband without losing respect for herself.

But the promises of youth aren't so easy to keep in middle age. Maestro portrays the marriage as a complex give-and-take; no one is villain or victim. Bernstein is an extroverted genius who loves people, but the surplus energy that makes him charming at parties and magnetic on the podium can also make him insufferable. Felicia is bold and generous, but she harbors a bourgeois dread of scandal. When she eventually reaches her limit, we can't blame her, yet we understand why she tried.

Cooper really goes for it in his performance, which features a six-minute continuous take of him conducting Gustav Mahler. But really going for it feels very Bernstein. Despite the prosthetic nose, after the first few minutes, his version felt to me like a full-fledged character rather than an impersonation. Mulligan's restraint is a fine complement, and she makes us care about Felicia, including the sharp edges on her delicate soul. When Felicia loses patience with Bernstein, her cruelty leaves us breathless.

The film buoys us aloft with selections from Bernstein's oeuvre on the soundtrack, but this is no simple tribute to a great artist. Even in its elegiac final scenes, Maestro portrays him as all too human. It made me want to learn more about Bernstein, to explore the rich depths that the movie has to glide over — and isn't that ultimately what a biopic should do?

If you like this, try...

Tár (2022; Prime Video, rentable): Bernstein had many real-life protégés, but one of his most famous students is pure fiction: the egotistical conductor played by Cate Blanchett in Todd Field's deep dive into the classical music world.

Leonard Bernstein — A Genius Divided (2018; Apple TV+, Medici.tv): Thomas von Steinaecker's documentary explores different facets of the conductor through interviews with his family and friends. Not yet streaming is Bernstein's Wall (2021), which highlights Bernstein's activism.

West Side Story (2021; Disney+, fubo, rentable): Steven Spielberg was a producer of Maestro. If you haven't seen his version of perhaps the most famous Bernstein-scored musical, what are you waiting for?