Train Dreams

Director: Clint Bentley
Starring: Joel Edgerton, Felicity Jones, Kerry Condon, William H. Macy, Will Patton, Nathaniel Arcand, John Diehl, Paul Schneider, Clifton Collins Jr., Alfred Hsing
Running Time: 102 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

Clint Bentley's unforgettable Train Dreams is about a seemingly ordinary man plagued by the feeling something terrible will happen. Though he has a dangerous job, it isn't risky in ways we'd typically expect, even as death surrounds him at every turn, waiting indiscriminately for the next opportunity to strike. Without so much as a hint of manipulation, the film deliberately unfolds, and while hauntingly beautiful to look at, there's also a constant sense of dread hanging over the story that just won't go away. And it isn't long before we discover why. 

Its measured, evocative pacing may prompt complaints from detractors claiming the film "doesn't go anywhere" or lacks a narrative drive, but those fortunate enough to get on its wavelength will discover the most powerful of cinematic experiences. Based on Denis Johnson's 2011 novella of the same title, it features a protagonist who could easily represent the hundreds of thousands who worked, lived and struggled to survive in a previous era, only to be forgotten by history. But through him, Bentley's able to show how everyone's stories and contributions can carry over generations, whether they're openly acknowledged or not.  

It's the start of the twentieth century when orphaned child Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton) arrives in Idaho on the Great Northern Railway, eventually dropping out of school to work as a railroad laborer. But his fortunes change when he meets Gladys Olding (Felicity Jones) at church and they form an instant connection, marrying and settling in a riverside log cabin with new baby daughter Kate. 

When Robert takes a construction job with the Spokane International Railway, he's not just dismayed by long stretches away from his family, but traumatized after watching the brutal, senseless murder of a Chinese crew member (Alfred Hsing). Haunted by nightmarish visions of the immigrant, he takes up seasonal logging work, which exposes him to colorful personalities like ornery fellow logger Arn Peeples (William H. Macy). Witnessing further tragedy on the job and facing financial hardship, Robert makes plans with Gladys to build a lumber mill and work closer to home. But the worst still awaits, unexpectedly altering his life's trajectory.

A character study from birth to death, Bentley's script (co-written with Greg Kwedar) and direction is effortless in capturing the serene rhythms of everyday, whether that's scenes of Robert and Gladys marking the location of their future home or the inescapable darkness that descends upon him in the film's second half. It's an event of such magnitude that it doesn't seem real for a shattered Robert who's constantly alone, regardless of whether he has any company. And even in the few precious moments he's able to appreciate what surrounds him, he sees a world he no longer recognizes or fits into.

Edgerton delivers the best work of his career, carrying lengthy, languid sequences while silently registering the emotional agony across Robert's bearded, aging face. When given a screen partner to bounce off or react to, he still manages to convey a sense of complete isolation, becoming this withdrawn observer to his own existence. But if the literary voiceover is correct in assuming the best anyone can hope for is to be remembered, there's still more than a few people willing to vouch for him. 

Most memorable is the gruff, sarcastic Arn, who's played by an unrecognizable William H. Macy in a transcendent performance that's short on minutes but immeasurable in impact. Hiding behind a thick, gray mustache, smoking his pipe and speaking with a distinctive backwoods drawl, he's a brutally honest storyteller with the heart of a philosopher. And while a whole separate film could focus entirely on him, that would undermine his primary purpose as the kind of kooky, fascinating character who exits our lives as quickly as he appears, leaving behind a lasting impression along with some indispensable nuggets of wisdom.  

Time stands still as Robert attempts to make sense of it all, sleeping in the rain while tormented by his own guilt at being unable to stop the unstoppable. Sympathetic shop owner Ignatius (Nathaniel Arcand), scrapes the logger up at his lowest, helping him reenter a society far different than anything he's known. Faced with the cruel reality his logging days have passed, he'll find work as a local carriage driver, meeting a kind free spirit in Forest Service surveyor Claire (Kerry Condon). 

Eerily invoking a great American novel, Patton's narration is soothing, unobtrusive and plain spoken all at once, as if hearing an echo from the distant past. And in painting a vivid portrait of the Pacific Northwest with natural light, Adolpho Veloso's cinematography evokes memory and nostalgia that's only accentuated by a hypnotizing score from The National's Bryce Dessner. All these elements converge to create an ethereal aesthetic that earns justifiable comparisons to Terrence Malik's Days of Heaven and The Tree of Life. 

Despite many deserved accolades, Bentley's film has managed to fly under the radar in the midst of showier competition, which isn't an indicator of its quality. If anything, a muted reception is more appropriately aligned with the contemplative journey depicted on screen. Quietly anchored by an actor who hasn't gotten nearly enough accolades, it feels like a micro masterpiece observed over a single lifetime and somehow squeezed into 102 minutes. But what a trip it is. Filled with joy, despair, hope and tragedy, the film's final few minutes hit hard, lingering in our minds long after the credits roll. 

The Brutalist

Director: Brady Corbet
Starring: Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, Joe Alwyn, Raffey Cassidy, Stacy Martin, Emma Laird, Alessandro Nivola, Isaach de Bankolé, Jonathan Hyde, Ariane Hyde, Peter Polycarpou  
Running Time: 215 min.
Rating: R

**The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For 'The Brutalist' **

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Brady Corbet's uncompromising epic period drama The Brutalist lives up to its title, pulling no punches in exploring a fascinatingly flawed figure who never existed, but sure feels like he could have. And with every shot, scene and performance conveying an astounding amount of authenticity, you're convinced this amalgam of various Hungarian architects was a real person whose life and work we should already know.

In one sense, the film can be categorized a fictitious biopic along the lines of 2022's Tár, examining the psychology of a creative genius who unravels before our eyes. But the difference here is that we know this protagonist is a victim, his survival dependent on pretending not to care what anyone else says or thinks. And even after all he's gone through, his fate still depends on how others judge him, as the trauma of his worst days continue to linger. Unfortunately, its aftermath proves to be a whole different kind of awful he'll continue to feel equally powerless against. 

Broken into four chapters that include an overture and 15 minute intermission, its gargantuan running length of nearly three and a half hours is as meticulously constructed by editor Dávid Jancsó as the buildings designed by the film's long suffering architect. Corbet's steady direction combined with Lol Crawley's impressive cinematography infuses each scene with the idea of an unattainable American dream, jarringly represented by its skewed opening titles and an early inverted shot of the Statue of Liberty that plays with perspective in ways that challenge our own. 

When Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor László Tóth (Adrien Brody) reaches the shores of New York Harbor in 1947 after being forcibly separated from his family, the Bauhaus trained architect is taken in by his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) in Pennsylvania. While Attila gives him a room to stay and employment at his furniture store, his Catholic wife Audrey (Emma Laird) is less than thrilled, looking to nudge László out. But when the cousins are hired to renovate wealthy industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren's (Guy Pearce) mansion library at the behest of his son Harry (Joe Alwyn), Harrison's initial displeasure leads to an about-face, prompting him to commission László for the job of a lifetime. 

This project, a tribute to Harrison's late mother, will be known as the Van Buren Institute, a community center in Doylestown intended to house a library, gymnasium, theater and chapel. Despite the millionaire retaining final say, he gives László's free reign over the risky endeavor, even arranging the expedited immigration of his wheelchair bound wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and mute, orphaned niece Zsófia (Rafey Cassidy) back to the states to live on the property. But while Harrison views them as unwelcome interlopers and starts undermining László's vision to stay on budget, the gifted builder senses he and his family's future being threatened by this jealous and manipulative man.

A survivor of Germany's Buchenwald concentration camp, a teary eyed László arrives in America with hope for a new start, only to find himself treated like dirt. Initially, Atilla seems more than willing to help, but it isn't long before signs emerge that he sees László as an unwelcome obstacle jeopardizing his own assimilation into American culture. Having already changed his name and converted to Catholicism for his wife, Attila's clearly threatened by the idea of this Jewish relative blowing up his carefully manufactured reputation.

That only marks the beginning of László's exploitation, as he's granted opportunities by those looking to control someone they view as lesser. But since bigots aren't typically self-aware or prone to announcing their prejudices, they'd feign shock at such supposedly outrageous allegations. So what starts as plausibly deniable microaggressions grow until a convenient excuse to get rid of László falls right into Atilla and Audrey's laps. 

Strung out on heroin and working construction, László doesn't have much choice but to hear out the mercurial, hotheaded Harrison Lee Van Buren, who hints at his despicableness right off the bat. True to character, he can't recognize his new library's greatness until those with actual taste let him know and start giving it attention. Now privy to László's architectural prowess, an apologetic Harrison is suddenly grateful and generous, bending over backwards to make amends. 

Despite László having this guy all figured out, the job is still a sacrifice he needs to make for his family and career, regardless of the abuse it'll undoubtedly entail. But he'll get caught in a vicious circle that reaches a crescendo in the film's divisive second part when ground is finally broken on the Van Buren Institute. As Erzsébet and Zsófia settle in at the mansion, the enormity and logistical complications of the project begin to take its toll. Or more accurately, Harrison does, as the pompous industrialist's need for dominance reveals his true contempt for these outsiders. 

Blown over by his "intellectually stimulating" conversations with László, Harrison appears genuinely excited to be in the company of a thinker who represents everything he isn't. And that's exactly the same reason he aims to belittle him, filling an empty void his wealth never will. Pearce is so brilliant in the complicated role, turning on the charm when necessary, but showing enough shades of humanity to have us holding out hope Harrison's intentions still might be genuine. Of course, they're not, his arrogance rivaled only by his Richie Rich-like nepo baby son, who Joe Alwyn plays with smug depravity in the film's unsung supporting turn. 

The most transfixing facet of Brody's work is what's shown rather than said, whether it's through his wiry body language, mournful eyes, or even the occasional fits of rage. But while László's assembled a collection of coping mechanisms to internalize the discrimination, he reaches a breaking point when his brutalist design plans are altered by Harrison and his contractors. Once the project quite literally flies off the rails, Harrison dumps him like yesterday's garbage, or at least until he's needed again. 

The controversial rape scene is cited by detractors as a bridge too far, but Harrison's been metaphorically raping László the whole time, with this event representing the physical manifestation of that. It'll understandably alter him, causing a rift with Erzsébet that only worsens when he gets her hooked on drugs. 

Played with a mixture of desperation and ferociousness by Jones, Erzsébet emerges as the film's most fearless character by still having her husband's back under the worst of circumstances. Had the rape not been spoken of again, you could classify it as gratuitously over-the-top, but it instead results in finding enough courage to do what's right. Harrison disappearing into the shadows may frustrate some, but it's an honest depiction of how cowards run and hide when confronted with the incriminating truth.

If the whole film can be read as a symbolic assault on art by commerce, 1980's Venice Biennale of Architecture epilogue is one of the more inventive, purposeful uses of a time jump you'll see, revealing not only how long it took to complete this monolithic project, but the painful motivation behind László's aesthetic choices. It represents a larger battle America's waged with itself as creative minds continue paying the price for the stranglehold a select few in power hold over them. In the end, it turned out to be just another job.

In one sense, it's a tragedy that this rich man's greed and insecurity monopolized the time and skill of an artist with more to give. Then again, he still persevered enough to be remembered and appreciated in a manner unattainable at any other stage of his journey, adding poignancy to middle-aged Zsófia's speech about the destination being what matters. László being forced to compromise returns us to the theme of artists ceding control to their clients, a notion ironically expressed in the obscure Italian disco song that plays over the film's closing credits. 

A colossal achievement, The Brutalist takes an ambitious detour from previous award contenders by focusing entirely on the Holocaust's fallout, specifically in terms of its impact on art and culture. Corbet and co-writer Mona Fastvold's script converges with staggering set pieces, clinical execution and an industrial sounding score from Daniel Blumberg to create a savage spectacle that puts capitalism's effects on identity under a high power microscope. Ripe for repeated viewings, closer inspection reveals just how ambitious this is, taking wild swings at every turn while continuing to frustrate and perplex those certain they've figured it all out.                                            

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Director: Gareth Edwards
Starring: Felicity Jones, Diego Luna, Ben Mendelsohn, Donnie Yen, Mads Mikkelsen, Alan Tudyk, Riz Ahmed, Jiang Wen, Forest Whitaker, Jimmy Smits, Genevieve O' Reilly
Running Time: 133 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

**Spoiler Warning: This review gives away some key plot details**

When it was announced that Disney's purchase of the Star Wars franchise would include the development of a series of standalone spin-off films, I winced. Or more accurately, I feared it for a number of reasons, a few of which are validated, but mostly dismissed by Rogue One, a much better than expected effort given all the trepidation, hype and nearly insurmountable expectations surrounding it. Call it what you'd like, but it's still Star Wars, and its hardcore fans, freshly basking in the critical and commercial success of The Force Awakens, expect greatness each time out. In fact, if we know anything about them at all, it's that they demand it. And that's essentially my entire problem with Disney doing this. If these standalone films are THAT great, how will that not make the other "real" ones seem less special or not dilute the brand? And if these spin-offs disappoint, we don't even need to get into the negative effects that will have, on both Disney's bottom line and the recently rejuvenated public goodwill toward the franchise after George Lucas stepped away. But, I also get it. It's silly resuscitating this franchise if you're not going to milk as much from it as you possibly can.

When it was decided this would be a dreaded "prequel," a whole new potential set of problems presented itself since a burning desire the see this universe expanded is held by only the hardest of hardcore fans. If Lucas' prequels taught us anything, it's that the more we actually learned about the backstory of the galaxy, the more uninteresting it became. Rogue One doesn't bore us with talks of taxation and trade tariffs, but it also doesn't feature Luke Skywalker or Han Solo either. Disney knows where its bread is buttered so they have to be careful, its grip on their property understandably tightening with each new release. A lot is on the line, and any director looking to recreate the franchise in their own vision need not apply. The man hired for this job is Gareth Edwards, who works well within those tight confines to makes something that's not exactly Star Wars, but isn't too far off from it either.

While I wouldn't go as far as some as some as praising it as the franchise's best film since The Empire Strikes Back, it's still a very good one that's darker and grittier than expected. It's more like a cover of a Star Wars film, only just not as close of one as J.J. Abrams' The Force Awakens, which was a reproduction so authentic it could easily be considered the real thing. While that's not necessarily a debit, it's also kind of all over the place, baring the hallmarks of many cooks in the creative kitchen. Despite these obstacles, it does all come together as an oddly thrilling experience, especially in the final 45 minutes, when these movies tend to feel most bloated. What works really does and what doesn't sticks out, but besides being an entertaining adventure and a solid Star Wars chapter, it's worth examining as a possible template of what to expect from these spin-offs moving forward.

A flashback introduces us to young Jyn Erso, whose father, research scientist Galen (Mads Mikkelsen) is being threatened by Imperial weapons director Orson Krennic (Ben Mendelsohn), to take his family and leave the planet Lah'mu in order to complete work on the infamous Death Star. With her mother killed and father taken into Imperial custody, Jyn escapes with the help of Rebel extremist Saw Gerrera (Forest Whitaker). Fifteen years later, an adult Jyn (Felicity Jones) is freed from an Imperial labor camp by Rebel officer Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), who takes her back to the Alliance, where she's informed of a rescue mission to retrieve her father, still working for the Imperial Army.

After a holographic message communicated from defecting Empire cargo pilot, Bodhi Rook (Riz Ahmed) reveals her father has valuable information about a weakness embedded within the Death Star, Jyn, Cassian, blind warrior Chirrut Îmwe (Donnie Yen), mercenary Baze Malbus (Jiang Wen) and reprogrammed Imperial droid, K-2SO (Alan Tudyk) set out to find him.  When complications arise involving the true intentions of the mission, it becomes clear that the Empire is not only stronger than expected, but its Death Star capable of even more mass destruction than imagined. Somehow, they have to obtain the blueprints, but with Krennic getting his marching orders from Grand Moff Tarkin and the shadowy menace of Darth Vader looming, it could very well end up being a suicide mission for the Rebels.

Forgoing the traditional opening crawl that's started each the preceding seven films in the franchise, Rogue One establishes itself early on as slightly different. The decision to abandon this but retain the "A Long Time Ago..." title card is a curious one, as is the call to hold back a bit with the familiar music throughout, picking and choosing their spots for Michael Giacchino's sampling of John Williams' original themes. There's a lot of housekeeping that goes on in the opening hour since Chris Weitz and Tony Gilroy's script must introduce a slew of new characters and fill in enough backstory so that we're not completely lost and can connect the dots to the characters and events within the universe we are familiar with from the previous films.

While this isn't as tightly put together as The Force Awakens, with a lot of narrative stuffed in and transitions between locations not always seamless, at least it's a true prequel in every sense of the word. What occurs directly relates and even bleeds into the events of Episode IV and if the Death Star has started to become a narrative crutch for the series, it's hard to blame them for going back to it given its recognizability and importance. Unlike Lucas' prequels, this actually looks like one in that its dirty and grungy enough to have believably taken place before the events with which we're most familiar. Picking up where Abrams left off, there's still a healthier balance of practical effects and green screen CGI, with only two very notable exceptions. And as much as the comparisons to the Empire Strikes Back  seem a bit overblown, it is fair to claim that this is the and most crisp looking installment since then, with Lion cinematographer Greig Fraser again delivering stellar work, especially when it comes to the visuals in the latter half.

Of everything, character development suffers most as the story races along toward the battle at Scarif, which will occupy much of the film's final thrilling act. Casting was key and if Felicity Jones doesn't initially jump out as a typical Star Wars protagonist, she changes minds in a hurry. Of all these new faces, she was the one audiences most needed a connection to with and she manages it in both the combat scenes and more dramatic moments involving her father.  It's definitely a stark contrast to Forest Whitaker, who really hams it up, drawing unintentional laughs in his role as a Rebel extremist. But that's an improvement over the complete lack of entertainment a bland Diego Luna provides as Cassian, who's clearly intended to be a "bad boy" pilot in the vain of Han Solo, or more recently, Oscar Issac's Poe Dameron. Whether it was how the character was written, performed, or possibly a combination of the two, he instead comes off as a poor man's version of both, completely lacking in charisma and personality. More memorable is Donnie Yen as the blind monk Chirrut and Alan Tudyk, who makes the pessimistic, matter-of-fact K-2SO droid an inspired alternative to the R2's and C3PO's of the galaxy.

Perhaps no contemporary character actor could be better served in the part of an Imperial Military Director than Ben Mendelsohn, who's carved out a nice supporting career playing exactly these types of creepy, slimey manipulators. It may be kind of a one-note role, but he sure hits it thunderously well. And he does it under fairly unusual circumstances, acting in many scenes opposite the CGI ghost of Peter Cushing as Grand Moff Tarkin (voiced by Guy Henry). In a development George Lucas would undoubtedly endorse (and is probably jealous he didn't get a chance to incorporate himself), modern movie technology can digitally resurrect deceased actors and fully immerse them into scenes opposite current performers. While we can joke about how this dreaded day has finally arrived, it's actually executed fairly well in this case and is likely less distracting than if Lucas were still at the controls.

It helps that Cushing always had a robotic presence and ghastly countenance that made him terrifying on screen, making him in many ways the perfect subject for this kind of a cinematic experiment. Whether we need something like this is another debate entirely, but those involved should at least be commended for pulling it off well, despite reintroducing a reliance on technology that previously hampered Lucas' prequels. If they wisely pick their spots it won't be a problem, but their other attempt at it in the film with a far bigger name comes off, at best, as a needless distraction. While those involved couldn't have known at the time they'd be digitally resurrecting another deceased actor in Carrie Fisher, that still doesn't explain why it looks so awful. Thankfully, it's quick,  logical within the framework of the story, and we still have her for an upcoming Star Wars film that will hopefully serve as a proper swan song for the actress.

Even the most casual of fans will be able to pick up on certain Easter eggs sprinkled throughout and cameos from familiar minor and major characters, occasionally showing up in the background or foreground of various scenes. Most of them work well and don't feel shoehorned in, but what everyone really wants to talk about is the film's worst kept secret: The reappearance of Darth Vader. Still voiced by the incomparable James Earl Jones but with two new actors (Spencer Wilding and Daniel Naprous) taking over for David Prowse in the suit. And while not quite as physically imposing, there's no mistaking that the character himself is as formidable as ever. He has only a couple of brief scenes, but one in particular that comes late, puts to rest any concerns that his appearances wouldn't be carefully chosen or played for maximum impact. Not only was it worth the wait, but it's not a hotshot, adding a pertinent layer to the narrative.

Whatever its issues, Rogue One offesr something that no other installment preceding it did, except possibly the far inferior Revenge of the Sith. An ending with tragic resonance. Not completely, but enough to make you wonder how much Disney must have debated going with it. To their credit, it would have been easy not to and everyone still probably would have eaten it up anyway since it's Star Wars. But they did, and it's that decision, and the entire execution of the final battle that makes the film linger longer than it otherwise would. Fans like to know what they've seen on screen means something, and for this franchise, where the stakes are suddenly even higher than usual, Rogue One delivers that, and even a bit more.

The Theory of Everything

Director: James Marsh
Starring: Eddie Redmayne, Felicity Jones, Charlie Cox, Emily Watson, Simon McBurney, David Thewlis, Maxine Peake
Running Time: 123 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

"What about the brain?" That's the first question Stephen Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) asks the doctor who diagnoses him with ALS in James Marsh's biographical romance, The Theory of Everything. And as long as you know that Hawking's scientific breakthroughs and theories will be nudged aside in favor exploring his marriage and battle with this crippling disease, it's easy to respect what the film has to offer. Namely, two Oscar-worthy performances and an often uncomfortable, if necessarily detailed depiction of his physical deterioration. And that's the way this had to be since any detailed explanation of his work on film would have come across as dry or incomprehensible to even the most engaged viewers.

This isn't an adaptation of  his bestselling "A Brief History of Time," nor should it be, as anyone interested in digging further into his theories should probably just read that book or hunt down the many the documentaries covering it. The source is instead his ex-wife's memoir, "Travelling To Infinity: My Life With Stephen," so it's unfair to criticize it for what it isn't, especially considering there will be some legitimate gripes with what it already is. And yet, it's still an effective, handsomely made film a lot of people will love for very valid reasons. Consider it a disease procedural about perseverance, with a love story as its backdrop.

We're first introduced to Hawking in 1963 as a 22-year-old doctorate student at Cambridge who's well-liked and intelligent, continually impressing his professor, Dennis Sciama (David Thewlis). It's here where the initially uncertain young man immerses himself in his studies of physics and cosmology, challenging many previously held theories about time, the origins of the universe and black holes. The script digs about as deep as that broad description, instead shifting the focus to his courtship of an intelligent, pretty liberal arts major named Jane Wilde (Felicity Jones), whose religious beliefs often clash with Hawking's scientific ones. But they hit it off, each intellectually impressed with the other in spite of their differences.

While studying at Cambridge, what initially seems to be Stephen's natural awkwardness soon leads to the frightening diagnosis of ALS (or Lou Gehrig's Disease), a degenerative motor neuron disease that will rob him of his muscle control, speech, and then, eventually, everything else. Given only two years to live, he and Jane marry and have children, with Hawking continuing to defy the odds, while his books and theories cement his status as one of the most brilliant and respected scientific minds of the past century.

What makes Hawking such a fascinating subject, despite the relatively straightforward approach to telling his story, is just how little we actually know about him. Aside from those familiar with his life's work, I'm willing to bet few had any idea he was married twice and had three kids. That he's probably known by most casual moviegoers as that guy in a wheelchair who speaks through a computer makes the need for a biopic long overdue. What the uninitiated won't walk away with is any clue as to why he's so revered or what he specifically accomplished. The few scenes touching on it are necessarily explained in layman's terms and some may even find themselves perplexed by those.

The movie goes out of its way not to turn into a physics lecture, as Anthony McCarten's script finds the right balance and tone in presenting the work in the context of his personal life, with Benoît Delhomme's cinematography aiding in creating a vivid, dreamy atmosphere. Had Marsh decided to go further with the science, he would have not only lost the audience, but probably damaged the flow of the film, which is deliberately paced as it is.

The focus is primarily on the ALS battle and it's an eye-opening look at a disease that's recently gotten a lot of attention without much knowledge or education. This at least provides that and Hawking's fight delivers the conflict, despite the heavy, but clumsily handled implication that both Stephen and Jane carried on extra-marital affairs. She with church organist and Stephen's eventual caretaker Jonathan Jones (Charlie Cox) and he with nurse Elaine Mason (Maxine Peake). But the film goes to such great lengths to deny either cheated during their marriage that it's almost comical. It's as if the producers knew they wouldn't get Hawking's full endorsement unless they tip-toed over it, resulting in extreme vagueness.

Jane's pseudo-affair plays better, as she has to fight her emerging feelings for a kind man taking care of her husband and teaching their child, but the script's treatment of Stephen's relationship with that nurse (a late development) is flat-out strange. Perhaps unwilling to compromise Hawking's virtuous reputation, the affair is begrudgingly included, to the smallest extent possible. There's no risk of anyone confusing his personal or moral failings with Steve Jobs' anytime soon, but if the filmmakers weren't going all in and felt that uncomfortable, it probably should have been excised altogether.

While it may be a long-running joke that the quickest way to an Oscar is playing a real-life figure or someone with a debilitating disease, there's a real reason for it. It's extremely difficult. Redmayne does both, and is equally brilliant at it. Besides the subtle physical performance he has to pull off when Hawking first shows ALS symptoms, the most impressive work comes later, when confined to a wheelchair and unable to speak on his own, Redmayne maintains the spark and intelligence of that Cambridge student who first fell in love with physics and Jane. Besides the uncanny resemblance to the real man, there's very much a personality in there that's still shining through, even during Hawking's lowest health moments.

As the rock of the story, Felicity Jones embodies Jane with a strength that's startling, but not completely unexpected knowing how long she cared for her now ex-husband. But it's another thing to see it and witness how Jones presents it. Almost out of pure stubbornness and steely resolve she refuses to give up, answering a firm, certain "No" when frequently confronted with the possibility that she should. She just keeps chipping away to maintain his quality of life and add days, with Jones completely dialed in to this aspect of the character. Everyone will justifiably rave about Redmayne but the movie is as much Jones', with implication being that Hawking is alive today because of Jane. And based on what's presented here, it's difficult to argue that point.

Supposedly, Hawking has already seen and loved the film, but his most revealing comment was on its accuracy. "Broadly true," he called it. With those two words the real-life subject may have offered up a better review of the The Theory of Everything than anyone else possibly could. The whole thing does feel broadly accurate in the sense that Marsh gently brushes over the important moments of his life, touching on key events without stirring up too much controversy, and in two instances, actively avoiding it. It wouldn't be completely inaccurate to label it a "paint-by-numbers" biopic even if I detest the term, but thankfully the subject and acting highly elevate the material.

It's practically impossible not to get caught up in this, just as it's impossible for Hawking himself not to love it given his saintly depiction. That it manages to do this without coming off too saccharine or syrupy, at least until the final scenes, is more than commendable. That he miraculously exceeded doctors' projections by a good forty plus years is the ultimate irony considering his belief in science over faith. While both undoubtedly played a big role, much of it had to do with his wife's refusal to throw in the towel. That and the performances make for a lasting experience, despite the nagging feeling there's a little more to the man than what we got.