Review: The Theory of Everything
Please note: This article is published as an archive copy from Philadelphia City Paper. My City Paper is not affiliated with Philadelphia City Paper. Philadelphia City Paper was an alternative weekly newspaper in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The last edition was published on October 8, 2015.
How do you capture the brilliance of someone as incalculable as Stephen Hawking?
City Paper grade: C
How do you capture the brilliance of someone as incalculable as Stephen Hawking? It’s a hearty challenge for any filmmaker, given the abstract, internal nature of the physicist’s work. James Marsh tries his best to layman-ize the equation with The Theory of Everything, but sticks his digits into a few too many melodramatic mousetraps along the way, creating a string of cringes that overpowers two solid lead performances.
Based on Hawking’s ex-wife’s 1999 memoir, this version of the story begins at Cambridge, where the young Ph.D. candidate, captured in all his gawky glory by Eddie Redmayne, meets his future mate, Jane (Felicity Jones), at a smoky cocktail hour. Marsh takes aggressive advantage of an able-bodied Hawking prior to his ALS diagnosis, rushing the smitten couple over romantic footbridges and under Disneyland fireworks displays as if they’re tourists on a tight itinerary.
As the disease begins taking control, Redmayne dedicates himself to Hawking’s swift physical breakdown, while Jones does well as an honest, loving woman whose patience is tested by extraordinary odds. But there are simply too many moments, from beginning to end, that knock hollow, from Hawking mastering space-time singularity after staring into a swirling cup of tea (ugh) to clichéd marital confrontations that border on painful comedy. Both leads deserve the attention they’re getting, even if it does demand some big fat caveats.
