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| /The Weinstein Company |
Morten
Tyldum’s The Imitation Game arrived
in theatres with deafening Oscar buzz and already-sizeable critical backlash
behind it. And yet, the final product is a formulaic historical drama that
nevertheless features one of the year’s finest performances, a tight and
thoughtful narrative, and sharp, appealing cinematography. It’s not one of the
year’s best films, but it deserves – at the very least – to be credited for
outstepping the many impersonal biopics that it has unfairly been mentioned in
the company of.
Only
in the past few decades has mathematician Alan Turing been revealed as an
integral part of the Allied Forces’ victory in World War II – he led the charge
in cracking the Nazis’ “unbreakable” code referred to as “Enigma” – and it was
only a matter of time before his remarkable, tragic story was given the
cinematic treatment. Here it is, in The
Imitation Game, adapted from Andrew Hodges’ Alan Turing: The Enigma by Graham Moore: Turing is played by Sherlock Emmy-winner Benedict
Cumberbatch, in a first-rate production that includes, in supporting roles,
Charles Dance (Game of Thrones),
Matthew Goode (A Single Man), Mark
Strong (Low Winter Sun) and, most
notably, Keira Knightley (Pride and
Prejudice). With composer Alexandre Desplat, Oscar-nominated last year for Philomena, handling music, Oscar Faura
(who did great work on The Orphanage)
on lensing duties and Tyldum – a Norwegian filmmaker making his
English-language debut, with several critically-acclaimed works under his belt –
helming, the film’s pedigree is beyond impressive.
The Imitation Game
is working with an intensely-complicated figure in Turing – he was gay and
committed suicide shortly after completing his top-secret project for British
intelligence, and he was also socially inadequate and politically apathetic –
which makes for a unique challenge. Set against the backdrop of the war, the
film could have gone in any number of directions; Tyldum ultimately favors a
glossy, narrative-dominant approach, a tidy decision for awards bulldog Harvey
Weinstein, who has put his might behind the picture as a major Oscar player.
Cinematically, it’s an ostensibly safe choice: to say that The Imitation Game is bold or brave would be wrong, and to call
this an exemplary representation of Mr. Turing would similarly be misguided.
But
The Imitation Game hits its beats,
and Tyldum sells his vision. It’s senseless for critics to look at a film like
this and lament what could have been. This is not, unlike a Walk the Line or even The King’s Speech, a true-story weepie
devoid of nuance or point-of-view. Contrarily, Imitation Game does string together a crafty narrative that
probes questions and takes admirably unpopular stances. Tyldum’s fascination
with intellect is a perfectly-appropriate thematic underpinning for this story.
Rather than circling Turing and really digging into his psyche and his tragedy,
Cumberbatch’s protagonist is the face of a story of mental war – Imitation Game is a celebration of
intellect and of humanity, and an impressively potent condemnation of the ways
in which societies have repressed “deviant” forms of thinking, whether
sexually, emotionally or intellectually. Through this expression, Tyldum also
makes pointed statements about heroism and victory culture in wartime; the real
heroes, so he demonstrates, engage in a battle of intelligence, of
code-breaking, of (very) high-stakes chess.
In
a sense, the film rebukes current blockbuster culture by fashioning a thriller
located almost exclusively in small rooms, without a gun or a “villain” in
sight. The main action considers Turing and his team actually cracking the
code, but it’s framed around short scenes in the immediate aftermath, and
glimpses of Turing’s childhood in the distant past. Again,
flashback-flashforward structuring has a tendency to really weigh down these
movies, but it’s used to great effect here. In particular, observing Turing’s
early flirtatious exploits while at primary school have a nice melancholic
undertone, and thus, its devastating conclusion lands powerfully. Beyond that,
watching Turing’s massive machine operate against the clock (or the
gently-unfurling mystery of the future come into place) evokes just the
right amount of tension and intrigue. This, all taking place in rooms, in
conversation – I’d argue, in fact, that the transitional footage of bombings
and gunfire, placed against the work being done by Turing et al., actually unnecessarily
underlines Tyldum’s central conceit.
The Imitation Game
is not character-driven – but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There have
been complaints that the tortuous repression Turing endured throughout his life
was not properly dealt with; in other words, his sexuality was too peripheral.
But the fact that Turing is gay – that his mind works “differently,” sexually
and mentally – is uniquely interpreted here. His sexuality, his methods, his work
are not considered seriously. He is, as the film’s title suggests, forced to
act within the bounds of acceptability to get where he needs to be. Tyldum does
not contend at length with Turing’s sexuality, I’ll concede. But it’s integral
to the narrative, to the way in which Tyldum conveys his intent as a filmmaker.
And it works.
In
general, this is a high-quality production. Faura’s work behind the camera is
nicely understated, and he communicates a great deal with very little – to so
frequently film Cumberbatch facing away, with only the back of his head in
frame, allows Turing’s invisibility, and the refusal of those around him to see
him, to fully translate. Cumberbatch, meanwhile, substantially elevates the
conventional beats he’s handed. This is such powerful work, emotive and
charismatic and singular – he immerses himself in this man, in his inflections
and stutters and pesky habits. He’s also very funny, landing comedic lines with
such bite and precision that he’s able to convey a deeper humanity than the
script he’s provided with indicates. And Knightley, as his associate Joan
Clarke, is an exceedingly-agreeable presence, her warmth radiating even if she
can’t quite sell herself as a mathematical whiz. The two work very well with
one another, though Cumberbatch is definitely the one who shines and leaves an
impression.
Of
course, well-put-together as Imitation
Game may be, it rests as conventional, safe and imperfect entertainment.
There are some glaring weaknesses. The general problem here is, oddly,
reflective of Turing’s principal issue: this film doesn’t understand people.
Its relationships are hollow, supporting characters are needle-thin and the
film’s heavy reliance on conversation does not suit it well. Moore’s dialogue
is too sharp and, often, just plain off. Moreover, character motivations are
handled poorly. To know so little about Goode’s fellow mathematician or Dance’s
commanding officer is not the worst thing in the world – but when they so
abruptly change their tune in moments so essential to the film’s progression,
it’s noticeable in the worst ways. Eventually, Tyldum strains to express a
camaraderie among Turing and his associates, but there’s so little effort up to
that point that it comes off as blatant and forced – though The Imitation Game hits its plot beats
expertly, the same cannot be said for its character development. This hinders
Tyldum’s efforts here, which otherwise avoid the emotional manipulation being
teetered around.
The Imitation Game
is more than expected but it’s also frustratingly detached. Cumberbatch’s
performance is so connective and so resonant that, perhaps, the fact that the
rest of the film is not is rendered clearer. But the conventionality and
glossy stylings that characterize the film fundamentally undermine its central
ideas about thinking, about mental capacity and variation. Because, truthfully,
the mental leaps some characters make in this movie are inexplicably extreme –
for a narrative so rooted in ideas about mental abilities, this is a serious,
even magnified, problem.
And
thus, The Imitation Game is not
great. It’s flawed and safe – not the mind-bending, tragic, brutal account a
team with more verve would attempt to deliver. But Tyldum strings together a
story worth seeing. He locates a point-of-view. His interrogative, intellectual
approach artistically lifts The Imitation
Game even as it remains classily-produced and beautifully-performed. Flawed
conventionality aside, it concludes as an appropriate cinematic representation
of Alan Turing’s extraordinary legacy.