James Marsh’s The Theory of Everything is a noble endeavor,
an effort to portray theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking’s refusal to be
completely silenced by the debilitating neuromuscular disease that has ravaged
his body while examining the unique relationship between him and his wife Jane.
Trailers for the film give the
impression that it will follow the usual paradigm of the Hollywood love story,
replete with moments of intense romantic passion and love conquering all, even
muscular dystrophy. However, unlike most
previews, these do not give away the entire story, conveniently leaving out
some of the more unappealing, difficult aspects of the Hawkings’ relationship,
many of which have been softened or omitted altogether here. This sort of shell
game speaks to the difficulty promoting films of this sort as well as making
them palatable to the movie-going public.
Our first sight of Stephen (Eddie Redmayne) runs counter to
the commonly held impression we have of him.
He’s a vibrant, physically active if gawky 21 year-old man enrolled at
Cambridge, confident within his specialized sphere of science but out of his
depth socially. Yet, he manages to make
a connection with Iberian poetry major Jane Wilde (Felicity Jones) a bright,
strong young woman who’s attracted not only to Hawking’s brilliance but his
quirky sense of humor and good heart.
Love soon follows but when Stephen is diagnosed with Motor Neuron
disease and given only two years to live, Jane insists that they marry and make
the most of the time they have left. Her noble gesture turns into a lifetime of
bitter compromises and increasing frustration as Stephen degenerates to the
point where he can barely move, forced to get about in an automated chair and communicate
through an electronic voice device.
The film follows three different aspects Stephen’s life – the
progression of his groundbreaking work, the relentless onslaught of his illness
and the degeneration of his marriage. Only two of these story lines are fully
fleshed out as Marsh and screenwriter Anthony McCarten devote much of the
film’s running time to the Hawking’s relationship and Stephen’s deteriorating
condition. Obviously, these two aspects go hand-in-hand whereas the development
of physicist’s revolutionary theories are relegated to being signposts used to
mark the passing of time. (For an
excellent examination of Hawking’s work, Errol Morris’ A Brief History of
Time is required and engrossing viewing).
Redmayne and Jones anchor the film with their exceptional
performances, each plumbing the emotional depths of their characters, never
resorting to cheap gimmicks or obvious choices in doing so. Redmayne’s physical transformation is a
remarkable feat, a totally immersive approach that succeeds in accurately
showing the gradual changes in Stephen’s body.
There’s never a moment that seems to be done to elicit pathos, simply
the intent to accurately recreate the horrendous effects of this disease.
Redmayne’s method of conveying emotion through his eyes is subtle and
effective, leaving little unknown as to Stephen’s internal state. Jones is equally good as she too is required
to undergo a gradual transformation from optimistic, dutiful wife to the worn
down, beleaguered woman Jane becomes. The actress has our sympathy throughout,
maintaining a mostly steady reserve but able to strongly express her
character’s inner turmoil.
Theory is not a normal romantic film and is
all the better for it. While the
Hawkings’ marriage and relationship is a non-traditional one, it is the result
of the extraordinary circumstances they were forced to deal with. Their love, as presented here, is ultimately
one with a foundation built upon forgiveness and understanding, as each are able
to empathize with one another, coping with each others faults and challenges
that would destroy a relationship built upon artifice and insincerity.
This article appears in Nov 20-26, 2014.
