Wife. The

Synopsis: David Castleman (Jonathan Pryce) and his wife Joanie (Glenn Close) travel to Stockholm where the former will receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. It is the pinnacle of his career but Joanie ponders the sacrifices she has made to get him there.

Both Jonathan Pryce and Glenn Close are as well regarded for their theatre work as for their screen appearances and the reason why is well in evidence from their performances in this otherwise slight film. Based on the novel of the same name by Meg Wolitzer The Wife is principally a chamber piece involving the two leads whose relationship when the film opens appears to be secure but which gradually is shown to conceal a dark secret.

If Pryce is fine as the old literary goat revelling in the admiration of his peers it is Close as the guardian of  their secret who bears brunt of our attention as the film tentatively explores Joanie’s role in creating David’s work. At first it appears that she is the traditional enabling supportive wife who has put aside her own aspirations to be a writer in order that her husband might realize his. Progressively however and particularly thanks to an ingratiating journalist (a surprisingly effective Christian Slater) who wants to be Castelman’s authorized biographer it is revealed not only that David had multiple affairs but that Joan did much more than stay home with the kids.

The film, which stays focussed on the specifics of the Castelman’s story, is no feminist tub-thumper but certainly these issues, which are highlighted in intermittent flashbacks provide the historical context to the story. Arguably the film would have been stronger had these been omitted, particularly the final one which is set in 1968 and which too literally closes the case on the question of authorship. It is much more effective in direct confrontation as for instance in the penultimate scene in which resentments and self-deceptions boil over between David and Joanie.

Indeed, although I have not read Wolitzer novel director Björn Runge seems too prone to literally transpose elements from it. Thus a dalliance between David and a willing young photographer (Karin Franz Korlof) who does nothing but take pointless snaps of him with what looks like an antique SLR is unconvincingly handled whilst the presence of the couple’s disaffected adult son (Max Irons) is more of a device to showcase David’s character and to air a few truisms on writing as vocation than any contribution to the narrative in itself.

If however Runge does nothing more than transpose the text to the screen The Wife is still a tidy little film that will provide food for thought for an older audience and a persuasive showcase for those who enjoy top drawer acting.

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