Review: The Imitation Game

City Paper grade: B-

The Turing Test, named for the British mathematician and computing pioneer Alan Turing, is a means of distinguishing human from machine. It’s a shame that this tepid movie about his attempt to crack the Nazi Enigma code fails it so resoundingly. Little more than a machine for churning out awards nominations — at task at which, if the predictions are accurate, it will be depressingly successful — The Imitation Game hand-holds us through a paint-by-numbers portrait of eccentric genius. As Turing, a closeted homosexual whom the British government eventually hounded into an early grave, Benedict Cumberbatch is twitchy and withdrawn, forming closer bonds with his collections of clicking rotors and bundled wire than co-codebreakers Matthew Goode and Keira Knightley. His face is thin and bony, his body kept at angles, as if he’s constantly maneuvering to keep a sharp edge between himself and the rest of the world. But Graham Moore’s script is all soft curves and plodding, pat psychology; it’s like being crushed by a Nerf steamroller. In some ways, there’s nothing wrong with The Imitation Game, but there’s not much right with it either. It’s giant bowl of tapioca served up as a four-course meal, a polished rock masquerading as a jewel. Director Morten Tyldum never lets a moment settle without underlining it twice; as the codebreakers toil, he cuts away to Allied ships being sunk by German torpedoes, as if we might forget the seriousness of World War II otherwise. Were it not for its foreordained course towards the Dolby Theatre — thank you, Harvey Weinstein — it’s hard to believe anyone would even remember it come February, let alone find it worthy of discussion. For a movie about the race to break an unbreakable code, there’s precious little to decipher.