It’s a horrible thing to say, and might just get the blog
taken down, but I’ve never thought about Professor Stephen Hawking’s life
before he was diagnosed with motor neurone disease; I never realised that he
was married, had three children, or that he is now seventy-two years old. For
most of its running time, The Theory of
Everything, directed by James Marsh (Man
on Wire, Project Nim), subtly and
compassionately depicts the professor’s life, his marriage to Jane Wilde, as
well as his struggles with ALS.
This year’s Oscar nominations have yet
to be announced, but it’s going to be a tough call as to who wins Best Actor.
In a category that’s going to be the most contested in years, Eddie Redmayne (My Week with Marilyn, Les Misérables), in his first lead role,
may well take home the prize, and no one could argue that he doesn’t deserve
it. Starting off with a twitch of the hand, or a stumble, Redmayne gives a faultless
and heartrending performance as Hawking’s body slowly deteriorates, eventually
resembling the hunched figure who we all recognise. Redmayne never forgets the
tragic irony surrounding Hawking, a supremely intelligent, funny, and
compassionate man trapped inside his own body; his eyes revealing the
loneliness and frustration he feels, as well as the odd mischievous glance
accompanied by a playful smile.
While Redmayne is getting all the
column inches, Felicity Jones (Cemetery
Junction, The Invisible Woman)
also does some excellent work as Jane, much of the film’s power coming from her
hurting to see the man she loves being taken away from her, but realising that
inside that brittle body, her husband is still there. Jane expected the disease
to take her husband quickly, for him not to suffer, she never expected the ALS to
break down his body so cruelly and slowly, that Stephen would still be alive
decades later.
The main reason that the film works so
well is down to the rapport between Redmayne and Jones. There’s plenty for
couples to recognise: laughing through the tough times, how stubborn they both
are, hurting each other by not saying how they’re feeling. Redmayne and Jones
convincingly put across how much Stephen and Jane love each other, as well as
how different they are as people, their marriage lasting for so long when other
couples would have given up.
The
Theory of Everything
isn’t quite the flawless weepie, Marsh once-or-twice putting the point across
with a sledgehammer, whereas the rest of the film is gentle and thoughtful. The
worst offender is one of the final scenes where, at a conference, Hawking is
asked how he feels, looking back at his life. We cut to Hawking daydreaming,
everything and everyone around him frozen as he gets out of his wheelchair and
picks a pen up off the floor. This feels at odds with the rest of the film,
which shows Hawking’s ever-worsening condition in a frank and modest way; you
don’t feel like you’re being manipulated into shedding a tear. It’s as if this
scene was thrown in for audiences who want nuance put across in slow motion,
orchestral score blaring.
This only happens in a couple of scenes,
and doesn’t ruin things. Probably the best word to describe The Theory of Everything is how eloquent
it is. Eloquent in how it portrays Hawking overcoming his illness, fighting to
communicate what is going on inside his head, both his incredible mind as well
as his love for Jane; eloquent in showing how Jane was also struggling along
with her husband, pushed and tested for over twenty years; and eloquent in how
complex marriage can be, two people fighting for the same thing in different
ways, usually getting things right, but not always. Like Hawking, The Theory of Everything is smarter than
its peers, funny, and unashamedly hopeful.
4 out of 5
Matt
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