The Wife Review - A Masterful Performance That Compliments A Gentle Film.

The Wife is absolutely magnificent. Saying that, I don’t know if I’m talking about the film or the titular wife, Joan Castleman played by the masterful Glenn Close. But really, it’s redundant. Because there wouldn’t be one without the other. Without a film, this character wouldn’t have existed and without this character, the film wouldn’t have sparkled. Yes, this film depends on Glenn Close, who is somberly quiet throughout most of the proceedings.

Even her climactic outburst, which is electric, is understated. She has lapses of character, but then slips right back into the throws of a posh adulthood. She has temper, finesse and carries herself with elegance. The permanent look of hurt on her face is a constant, that ebbs with the narrative. In bits and pieces, we see that part of her come to life, but then she regains composure. She’s ably kept up with by Jonathan Pryce. He plays Joseph Castleman, an author who’s just won the Nobel Prize for Literature.

So, Joseph, Joan and their addict son, David, played nicely by Max Irons, travel to Stockholm so that Joe can felicitated with his award. Over one hour and forty minutes, director Björn Runge masterfully crafts suspense. He builds quietly and carefully. At different functions, we see Joe repeatedly comment on Joan in derogatory ways. But she takes it with a laugh, she has to. The closest parallel I could think of was Neelam and Kamal Mehra from Zoya Akhtar’s Dil Dhadakne Do (2015), a couple that fell out of love because they prioritized success over each other.

Just like those two, Joe regularly cheats on Joan, who hides her hurt behind this stoic facade. Her eyes, permanently rimmed with mascara, harbour a fire that burns bright because of years of piled up resentment issues. But surprisingly enough, there are no good characters in The Wife. Joan is inherently positioned as the hero here, but even she’s battling so many of her demons, that the script humanises her. She is her husband’s babysitter, she tells him when to take his pills, she picks up his coats and tells him when he has crumbs in his beard.

We are also introduced to a sleaze ball reporter, Nathaniel Bone, played by Christina Slater. He wants to write a tell-all book on Joe’s scandalous affairs. In one scene, when Joan and Nathaniel bond over scotch, she tells him - “Don’t paint me as a victim, I’m much more interesting than that.” It is the poise with which Close delivers this line that permeates the rest of the film. She has this facade of inherent likability, so when cracks finally begin to show, when her son accuses Joe of something terrible, she, like a ticking time bomb, literally explodes.

The climactic showdown is exhilarating. The mascara that has rimmed Joan’s eyes throughout the film, finally runs. The glazed eyes give way to mountains of tears. And that’s when The Wife, with its slow burning tempo, literally rises and commands you to pay attention. Also good is Max Irons, playing Joan and Joe’s young son, who, after a scarred childhood, has had approval issues. While wanting to impress his father, David is insecure to even the littlest criticisms. Their dynamic is interesting. In one scene, just to piss his dad off, David picks up an expensive vase in their hotel room and starts throwing it around.

Of course, here too, Joan is the peacemaker. She pacifies both of them and their hurt egos. The Wife also masterfully weaves the ideas of toxic masculinity and fragile male egos into the narrative. I suggest that you watch The Wife twice. Once, knowing nothing about the end. And again, knowing the end.

I think you’ll understand how masterful Glenn Close’s performance is then. I’ll admit, I’d still say that Lady Gaga in A Star Is Born and even Olivia Colman in The Favourite gave better takes, but I have a sneaking suspicion Close is going to go home with an Oscar for Best Actress.

I think this will be her year.