The Wife

Joe Castlemain (Jonathan Pryce) receives a phone call telling him he's being awarded the 1992 Noble Prize for Literature.  Cue joyous dancing with wife Joan (Glenn Close) as they look forward to their trip to Stockholm in December.  But at a party to celebrate his achievement, and in their private life, it's clear there are strong undercurrents in this relationship of thirty odd years to suggest all is not what it appears on the surface.

Most of the action takes place in Sweden, where the author is feted and photographed and fawned over, his spouse content to stay out of the spotlight.  She even tells him, firmly, not to thank her in his acceptance speech.  While son David (Max Irons), also a writer, looks uncomfortable just to be there.  Joe is a narcissistic bully, a womaniser, frequently cocky about his success, and you begin to wonder what keeps this marriage together.  The reasons emerge as the plot twist becomes clear, sped along by Joe's wannabe biographer, the intrusive Nathaniel Bone (Christian Slater).  Bone probes Joan for the secrets in her marriage, but, despite a few indiscretions, her loyalty to Joe remains intact.

There's a strong and timely feminist message to this movie that largely redeems the few flaws.  A few plot inconsistencies lurk, and visually it's a disappointment.  While the emphasis is on the Joe/Joan relationship, and necessarily claustrophobic at times, little effort has gone into creating something of beauty, despite having the backdrop of a snow covered Stockholm to play with.  The director has decided that, if in doubt, go for the Close up, and that can get a bit repetitive.

Pryce gives a solid performance, maybe not his best but he does a good job of combining charm with egotistical  insecurity.  Irons and Slater put a lot into what little they've been given.  But this, as the title suggests, is all about Close, and she is magnificent.  She must already be an Oscar frontrunner.  It's a beautifully modulated performance of slow burning anger, repression and sharp intelligence.  I mentioned the frequency of the long studies of Close's face as a minor criticism in visual terms, but certainly not in the acting stakes.  Her expressions are a masterclass in minimalist communication of emotion and never fail to move the plot along, sometimes in unexpected directions.

Well worth seeing for the lessons in the awfulness of patriarchy and a wonderful Close encounter.