It seems appropriate that for a film about Stephen Hawking,
a man who has transcended a myriad of human limitations both physical and
mental, James Marsh’s The Theory of
Everything reaches past the boundaries of the conventional historical drama
to deliver the rare biopic that is smart, sensitive, and aesthetically
profound. With its beautiful musical score and rich, gorgeous cinematography,
along with a relaxed and lyrical pace that treads gracefully across decades, the
film is far more cinematically
engaging than these pictures usually are, while its perceptively pared-down
approach to Hawking’s story proves uncommonly touching and insightful.
Structured not as a typical subject-centered biopic, but as a
dual-narrative shared in equally by Stephen and his first wife Jane, The Theory of Everything succeeds most
powerfully in providing multiple perspectives on Hawking’s extraordinary life. Thanks
in no small part to the superior work done by Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones
in their respective parts, the film passionately illustrates the ‘mundane’
details of life biographical films usually avoid or trivialize: the
complications of loving another person, the divergent needs and desires found
within a human partnership, and the little things that compound over the years to
change people and alter the foundations of a relationship. It would be easy to
make a film about Stephen Hawking focusing on his physical challenges to the
exclusion of all else, and while The
Theory of Everything absolutely excels at relating the most harrowing and inspiring
trials of Hawking’s battle with ALS – there is one moment in particular, late
in the film, that is quietly heart-wrenching and beautiful in equal measure,
and may be the high-point of the entire picture – it does so within a dynamic
and relatable human context. Neither Hawking’s genius nor his disability stops
him from being a man, and the film resonates strongly as a deceptively simple
examination of a romantic partnership over time. This is a film of literal and
thematic unions, between Jane and Stephen, faith and science, disability and
normalcy, and at the film’s best, these myriad halves work together to say
something rather profound about the wonder and ecstasy of being human. It
strikes me as the sort of message Hawking himself would approve of.
Redmayne throws himself into the physicality of his role
with admirable abandon, sinking so completely into the physical shape and
posture of Stephen Hawking that it is easy to get lost in the illusion of the
film, and forget one is watching an actor inhabit another man’s body. But a
great imitation alone does not equal a great performance, and Redmayne shines brightest
in conveying volumes about Hawking’s interior life, mind, and most importantly,
personality through little details nestled amongst the part’s heavily
restrictive physicality. I don’t know if I have ever seen an actor convey so
much with a smile, or with the raise of an eyebrow. There is something magical
about Redmayne’s work, his every moment of screentime displaying such a clear,
infectious passion for Hawking’s character, and all without ever sacrificing
the flawed, human traits that make the man interesting – and, through all the intellect
and incapacity, identifiable. The prospect of a Hawking biopic is an inevitably
tricky one, as cinema’s track record with depictions of disability is hardly
glowing, but this is a smart and sensitive portrayal, always acknowledging the
realities of Hawking’s situation without prioritizing those details above his
humanity.
Jones impresses me every bit as much, if not more so in some
ways, and just as in her breakthrough role in 2011’s Like Crazy, I feel there are few actors working today who can
project interiorized conflict, elation, or strength as forcefully as she does. Jones
is a performer of small gestures and restrained, even vocals, yet she simply
radiates dynamism, and for a character whose arc involves putting so much of
her life on hold for her partner, Jones is beyond a perfect fit. One of the
most interesting through-lines in the film is the debate between science and
religion encompassed in the Hawkins’ marriage – Jane is a devout Christian, Stephen
an atheist (or, at least, a skeptic) – and while there are moments where the
film approaches the subject a little too obviously or cautiously, so much of
the film’s overall richness comes from giving voice to these seemingly opposing
points of view. In crafting such an engaging characterization of Jane Hawking,
and casting an actress as talented as Jones who can go toe-to-toe with Redmayne
and make her character and perspective feel as equally passionate and vibrant
as Stephen’s, the film makes this conflict feel alive and complex in ways I
would not have anticipated beforehand. As someone who is pretty staunchly set
on Stephen’s side on these matters, I could never have expected to walk out of
the theater feeling so fulfilled by the reminder that theological views can
also form a valuable part of the human condition, and that while science may be
the way we advance the progression of mankind, human beings can access the
wonder of the world through a variety of contexts. Stephen sees ecstasy in the
theories he creates about the origins of the universe, Jane finds beauty and
solace through the church, and each is enlightened by their ideological
exchange with the other. By giving each of these characters equal weight and
room in the story, and by providing this showcase to two performers of such
incredible talent, The Theory of
Everything does indeed offer the sort of unified, wondrous perception its
title suggests.
The music and visuals too are essential in creating this
effect; in fact, even if the writing and performances failed to impress, I might
be compelled to recommend the film on aesthetic merits alone. Cinematographer Benoît
Delhomme has crafted a consistently marvelous image, a rich and deeply observant
series of compositions cast in warm, golden hues. The photography is intensely
sensory throughout, putting the viewer deeply in tune with all the details of
the film’s world while watching, as if there is a heightened sense of splendor and
ecstasy to all parts of existence. This is, of course, one of the implicit
messages of Hawking’s life and work – that no matter how the world may appear
to the naked eye, or how we are physically capable of interacting with it,
there is so much more to life than our bodies can see or sense. The brilliance
of a man like Hawking lies in his ability to see past those basic boundaries
and imagine something greater, something larger and more significant in
ourselves, and to revel in it long enough to draw some perception-altering
conclusions on the nature of the universe – an idea this gorgeous
cinematography quietly reinforces at every turn (and which belongs equally to
Jane, as part of the film’s overall push-and-pull between scientific and
theological experiences of transcendence). Jóhann Jóhannsson’s music is a
perfect complement; soft and lovely and lilting, penetratingly expressive and highly
sensory in its own way, it neatly sidesteps empty sentimentality to become a profound
part of the film’s emotional tapestry in its own right.
The Theory of Everything
is not quite what I expected, which in the case of a problematic genre like
the biopic, is always a good thing. Even as there are elements of Hawking’s
story I would have liked to see more of – his actual scientific breakthroughs,
while by no means glossed over, are generally left on the periphery, an interesting
choice for the story of a man who has done so much to bring complex
cosmological theory to the masses – I understand and admire the balance struck
here. The film implicitly argues that we can draw as much from Hawking’s
personal life and relationships as we can his scientific advancements, and in a
way, that profound human foundation only makes his greatest accomplishments seem
even more palpable and, in turn, awe-inspiring. The Theory of Everything does not wholly rewrite the rules of
biographical cinema, but it is sharp, empathetic, and touching in a way these sorts
of films so rarely are, easily justifying its own existence and, if anything,
leaving me wanting more by the time the end credits rolled. The individual
achievements in acting, cinematography, music, production design, and more are
all among the year’s best, and while it might not make my personal Top 10, this
is one of the more passionately-made films I have seen all year, and that
counts for an awful lot.
The Theory of Everything opens in Denver on Friday, November 14th at the Landmark Chez Artiste.
Some people think that there isn't enough about Stephen's achievements in the film.Many excellent documentaries were made on this topic, we can learn everything about this from those. This film isn't a conventional biopic about Stephen Hawking, this is the story of his relationship with Jane from her point of view. I think the two person's part have to be equal, it not would be good if Stephen's work gets more focus. I agree with the filmmakers choice in this matter.
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