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Her ‘Theory of Everything’

“The Theory of Everything” is adapted from a very thick book that Stephen Hawking’s first wife, Jane Wilde Hawking, wrote about their relationship. The degree to which this film is any good – and the first half is very good – is not due to its source material, however. In fact, that this film succeeds at all is a miracle – if not a miracle on the scale of, say, Mr. Hawking’s accomplishments as a theoretical physicist and author. The truth is: The former Ms. Wilde’s memoir is a slog.

It is surprising that the first feature film biopic about Stephen Hawking focuses on the perspective of his former wife. (There already have been many documentaries about the acclaimed cosmologist as well as the TV movie “Hawking,” which starred smart-boy dreamboat Benedict Cumberbatch.) Based on his television commentary and writings, Mr. Hawking’s charisma and insight would enliven any account of his already-fascinating achievements but his discoveries are not what “The Theory of Everything” addresses. Rather, it hones in on the mind-body split that defines us all: the prosaic confinements of our physicalities (even when we’re not severely disabled) contrasted with the transcendence of our intellect and imagination. There may be no better lens through which to examine this split than marriage, which is a mystery so vast that not even the now-twice-divorced Hawking has been able to crack it. Continue Reading →

Menino and Magliozzi, I Hardly Knew Ye

Although I recognize Tom Menino’s salt-of-the-earth goodness (he wasn’t called the “urban mechanic” for nothing), his death marks the first landmark Boston moment I’ve not emotionally responded to in my lifetime. I realize it’s because his entire mayoral reign (1993-2014) dovetails with my time in NYC. Have I finally become more of a New Yorker than a Bostonian? My new license plates would suggest so but–as I type this–I learn of the death of Car Talk’s Tom Magliozzi, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. He was the best wiseass (and, ironically, crucial in keeping my car Sadie alive). It’s such a Mass cocktail of tragedy and oddity: two Italian-Boston working-class heroes with startlingly similar names dying within days of each other. I can’t help admiring the confluence even as I realize no one here will care. Oh, I miss my people. Maybe you really can’t take the Masshole out of the girl.

‘Horns’ Doesn’t Blow

Like his father Steven King, author Joe Hill has a knack for finding the realistic details in supernatural stories. In his 2010 fantasy novel, Horns, he investigated the thin line between good and evil – the latter, he suggested, being awfully accessible to even the finest of fellows. With linguistic and emotional integrity, Hill infused new life into the imagery of these by-now hackneyed polarities. In Alexandre Aja’s new film adaptation of this book, though, something got lost in translation – namely, subtlety. What’s left is a heady indictment of the bad seeds lurking in all of us, even the most delicate of flowers. Oddly enough, “Horns” still entertains quite nicely, perhaps because it offers a well-conceived alternative to straight genre fare.

Daniel Radcliffe is Ig Perrish, a radio DJ who has become the town pariah since his girlfriend, Merrin (Juno Temple), was kidnapped, murdered, and left under their favorite treehouse. Everyone, including the cops, considers him the culprit since she was last seen dumping him during a screaming fight. Protesting crowds and TV crews even follow him wherever he goes, wielding signs that say “Burn in Hell” and shouting “What’s it feel like to get away with murder?” Ig is too distracted by his enormous well of grief to care what anyone thinks, though; Merrin was his childhood sweetheart, and only the hope of finding her killer is now keeping him going. The problem: The killer left no trail whatsoever, and Ig has no means by which to uncover one – that is, until he wakes one day with horns sprouting from his head. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy