Carey Mulligan’s Devastating Performance in ‘Maestro’ Will Break Your Heart

After you watch Maestro on Netflix—which began streaming yesterday, after opening in select theaters in November—you’ll understand why Carey Mulligan received top billing over Bradley Cooper. Yes, Cooper’s biographical drama tells the story of legendary composer Leonard Bernstein. But this isn’t a movie about Bernstein’s creative career—it’s about his relationship with his wife, Felicia Montealegre. And in her portrayal Felicia, Mulligan will absolutely break your heart.

In the film, Felicia and Lenny first meet at a birthday party for a friend and hit it off immediately. They fall in love. They marry. At first, it’s not clear if Felicia knows about her husband’s sexual affairs with men— the real Montealegre knew that Bernstein was “a homosexual,” before they married, according to Bernstein’s daughter Jamie—but as the movie and marriage progresses, it’s obvious Felicia knows, and has, seemingly, made her peace with this. “If it was going to give him pleasure, or stop him from suffering, and it’s in my power to do it, then what the hell?” she tells a friend while lounging in the park, in the early years of their marriage. “But one has to do it completely without sacrifice.”

Then the movie flashes forward to the ’60s, where, it seems, Felicia’s attitude toward the constant affairs has soured. Lenny is sloppy, rumors of his sexuality have reached his daughter, and Felicia’s pride has been wounded. Eventually, the couple separates. After this separation, Mulligan delivers an Oscar-worthy speech that shook me to my core:

It’s my own arrogance, to think I could survive on what he could give. It’s just so ironic. I would look at everyone, even my own children, with such pity because of their longing for his attention. It was sort of banner I wore so proudly: I don’t need. I don’t need. And look at me now. Who’s the one who hasn’t been honest?

Cooper, who directed the film as well as starred in it, keeps the camera on a tight, medium-close shot of Mulligan’s face as she speaks. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her voice is firm. You can hear Felicia’s sorrow as she speaks, though she tries to cover it with self-deprecation. It’s the speech of a gracious loser who has accepted defeat but is nevertheless mourning her loss. In the hands of a lesser actor, it might have been tearful and overdone, but Mulligan finds just the right balance of restraint and emotion.

But it’s the sequence that follows where Mulligan puts her full acting prowess on display. In the 1970s, Felicia was diagnosed with breast cancer. She receives the news in a harrowing scene: a doctor explains—quickly and firmly, although not without compassion—that they will remove her breast, and hopefully, this will prevent the cancer from spreading to her lungs. It doesn’t work. Cooper tactfully clues the audience into Felicia’s worsening condition with a heartbreaking scene featuring Felicia, weak and hairless from chemotherapy, attempting to carry on a normal conversation with friends.

Model Cynthia O’Neal (played by Miriam Shor) and actor Mendy Wager (Zachary Booth) drop in to visit their friend Felicia at the Bernstein home. Though they are taken aback by Felicia’s post-chemo appearance, they valiantly try to engage in light-hearted conversation. Cynthia launches into an anecdote about Lenny. Felicia smiles and nods along. But it couldn’t be more obvious that she’s in excruciating pain.

Everything that Mulligan does in this scene—from the way she rests her head on her hand, to her shallow breaths, to her drooping eyelids—all speak volumes to Felicia’s suffering. Her smile is strained and her gaze is unfocused. She’s barely holding herself together, and yet she’s trying so hard. Once again, Cooper stays on Mulligan’s face as we watch her realize, in real-time, that her life will likely never be normal again. You see the subtle shift in Mulligan’s eyes, full of sorrow—and even a stray tear—even as her polite smile remains plastered on her face. It’s a truly masterful performance.

After Lenny rescues his wife from entertaining her visitors, she breaks down sobbing in his arms. But it’s that quiet demonstration of pain and suffering that will stick with me for years to come. Just give Mulligan the Oscar, already.