The Wife (B or 3/4 stars)
'The Wife' (directed by Bjorn Runge) is a dark melodrama about the long-suffering, tight-lipped spouse of a brash Nobel Prize-winning husband -- and the built-up resentments bubbling beneath the placid surface of their seemingly happy marriage. The film mostly takes place in 1992 and we're introduced to the central couple, heralded author Joe Castleman (Jonathan Pryce) & wife, Joan (Glenn Close), who are woken early one morning to the expected news that he is going to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in Sweden; they celebrate privately. With their morose, resentful-of-dad, aspiring-writer son David (Max Irons) in tow, the couple go to Stockholm for the ceremony. Through 1958 flashbacks, we learn how young Joan (Annie Stark, Glenn Close's real-life daughter) fell for young Joe (Harry Lloyd) while she was in college and he, a married man, was her professor.
Joan's lofty aspirations to be a writer are squashed, however, when she chats with a bitter novelist (Elizabeth McGovern) who warns her about the pitfalls of a woman writer. Back in 1992, narcissist Joe laps up all the attention (including that of an attractive camerawoman assigned to capture his reactions during the ceremony), yet once it comes time for the public accolades, Joan's attitude starts to turn. He feigns humility by always lavishing praise on his wife, without whom, he propounds, he would be nothing without her. However, though all this, Joan grows increasingly bitter as the trip unearths long-held resentments & dark secrets. And when a pesky, hot-to-trot journalist Nathaniel Bone (Christian Slater), angling to write Joe's biography {to possibly expose him of something} hints to Joan that he knows the truth about his 'writings', she is faced with a certain choice.
'The Wife' tells an intense, suffocating story that puts us squarely in the center of Joan & Joe's stormy marriage; as well as Joe's fractious relationship with his son, who craves his dad's praise, but won't get it. While watching this film, it reminded me of many films FROM the 1990s that focused on taut little dramas & exceptional acting from master thespians -- no bloat, no special effects, no swirling camerawork, etc.. Furthermore, though this is a character-based melodrama, it's also an allegorical statement about the power dynamic btwn. men & women in 20th century marriages; how wives - especially of men in high-power - often had to adopt that submissive, stand-by-your-man attitude in order to preserve their husband's reputation, but stifle their own successes & dignity, as well.
Glenn Close is very good, here. Over time, we see the cracks develop behind her steely eyes & weak-willed smiles; a quiet seething lurks beneath her stoic exterior. For most of the film, she quietly loves & supports, but by the final 3rd, the resentments, repressions & anger is too much to hold in. I only wish that her Joan {a fault of the writing, perhaps}, could've broken through the barriers of other women writers such as Virginia Woolf, Agatha Christie, Harper Lee & the like. If THEY did it, she could have, too -- but then ther'd be no movie. Joe is a fairly loathsome character, but Jonathan Pryce is imbues him with tiny bursts of humanity. Pryce's final scene is a shocker, and it is expertly acted. Overall, I recommend 'The Wife' for the performances. No one blew me away, but like I said it's a taut little drama the likes that aren't made much anymore. Be forewarned: it's dour, too. For better or worse, you won't feel the warm fuzzies after it's over -- it's as cold as ice.
Joan's lofty aspirations to be a writer are squashed, however, when she chats with a bitter novelist (Elizabeth McGovern) who warns her about the pitfalls of a woman writer. Back in 1992, narcissist Joe laps up all the attention (including that of an attractive camerawoman assigned to capture his reactions during the ceremony), yet once it comes time for the public accolades, Joan's attitude starts to turn. He feigns humility by always lavishing praise on his wife, without whom, he propounds, he would be nothing without her. However, though all this, Joan grows increasingly bitter as the trip unearths long-held resentments & dark secrets. And when a pesky, hot-to-trot journalist Nathaniel Bone (Christian Slater), angling to write Joe's biography {to possibly expose him of something} hints to Joan that he knows the truth about his 'writings', she is faced with a certain choice.
'The Wife' tells an intense, suffocating story that puts us squarely in the center of Joan & Joe's stormy marriage; as well as Joe's fractious relationship with his son, who craves his dad's praise, but won't get it. While watching this film, it reminded me of many films FROM the 1990s that focused on taut little dramas & exceptional acting from master thespians -- no bloat, no special effects, no swirling camerawork, etc.. Furthermore, though this is a character-based melodrama, it's also an allegorical statement about the power dynamic btwn. men & women in 20th century marriages; how wives - especially of men in high-power - often had to adopt that submissive, stand-by-your-man attitude in order to preserve their husband's reputation, but stifle their own successes & dignity, as well.
Glenn Close is very good, here. Over time, we see the cracks develop behind her steely eyes & weak-willed smiles; a quiet seething lurks beneath her stoic exterior. For most of the film, she quietly loves & supports, but by the final 3rd, the resentments, repressions & anger is too much to hold in. I only wish that her Joan {a fault of the writing, perhaps}, could've broken through the barriers of other women writers such as Virginia Woolf, Agatha Christie, Harper Lee & the like. If THEY did it, she could have, too -- but then ther'd be no movie. Joe is a fairly loathsome character, but Jonathan Pryce is imbues him with tiny bursts of humanity. Pryce's final scene is a shocker, and it is expertly acted. Overall, I recommend 'The Wife' for the performances. No one blew me away, but like I said it's a taut little drama the likes that aren't made much anymore. Be forewarned: it's dour, too. For better or worse, you won't feel the warm fuzzies after it's over -- it's as cold as ice.