‘The Wife’ Review: Just give Glenn Close an Oscar already

I’ve been a rabid Glenn Close fan ever since I first saw her scare the ever-loving crap out of Michael Douglas’s philandering Dan Gallagher (and men in cinemas across the country) in 1987’s Fatal Attraction when I was about 9 years old. And yes, I realize I saw that movie when I was probably a bit too young. But even at that early age, I recognized the raw power of her presence and her talent, so much so that I was dumbfounded when she lost the Best Actress Oscar to Cher in Moonstruck. I still feel to this day that she was legitimately robbed. The Academy decided to overlook Glenn Close yet again the very next year after she played the deliciously vicious Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil in Dangerous Liaisons alongside John Malkovich, but she was up against eventual winner Jodie Foster who basically obliterated audiences with her edgy yet traumatized portrayal of rape survivor Sarah Tobias in The Accused; the film contains a gut-wrenching and unsettling gang rape scene that’s damn near impossible to watch, and I’ll admit that Jodie Foster was remarkable in the role. It still royally sucked to see Close lose that one, though. Watch Dangerous Liaisons again and you’ll see what I mean.

So, despite my fandom, I was shocked to realize that Close was in a film this year that was completely off my radar until Golden Globe nominations were announced: Björn Runge’s The Wife. I mean, I assumed it was about a wife, and that she was said wife, but other than that, I had no clue what the hell it was about. And I really didn’t even know anything further about the plot until her Golden Globe acceptance speech, but even that was pretty sparse on details (as it should be in an acceptance speech). I had already begun a stealth search for a way to stream the movie ahead of the Globes, and all of my fan-fueled efforts yielded no results. How could a film with one of the most talented actresses of our time be so elusive, especially on the internet? You can find anything on the internet! Even Amazon Prime didn’t have it, and you can even buy Madagascar hissing cockroaches on there. Thankfully, a well-connected friend let me watch a screener with them so that I could witness the motherfucking heartbreaking wizardry that is Glenn Close’s performance in The Wife.

In it, Close plays Joan Castleman – devoted wife to Jonathan Pryce’s Joe Castleman who is a world-renowned fiction writer. At the outset of the film, Joe finds out that he has just won the Nobel Prize for Literature; an honor that he seems to share with his wife so much that he insists that she be on the phone with him at an ungodly hour to hear the news on the phone herself. (Pro-tip: wake me up that early for any reason whatsoever and I will punch you in the throat.) This is love. The way that they jointly and exuberantly share in the celebration – by jumping on the bed – shows just how connected they appear, even in the celebration of just one of their successes. Through the festivities in their home, we see Joan playing the gracious wife who stands close by and watches warmly as their guests shower accolades on her spouse, which Joe seems to revel in with a faux humility that’s just a facade for a rather puffed-up ego that he struggles to rein in. In the appearance of the Castleman’s son, David (Max Irons), the aura of perfection is punctured further, as we witness Joe’s lack of support towards his son’s writing, when all he’s seeking is his father’s approval.

This film will make you really happy you’re not the son of a world-famous academic.

But the majority of the film takes place in Sweden, as the Castlemans prepare for Nobel Prize ceremonies and festivities, where all sorts of long-gestating resentments begin to rise to the surface. Persistent biographer Nathaniel Bone (played by the charmingly manipulative Christian Slater) is one catalyst for this; as he repeatedly tries to uncover the layers of Joe’s life and successes in his attempts to be the author of his biography, he winds up chipping away at Joan to dig into their personal life. This combined with periodic flashbacks into the scandalous beginnings of the Castleman relationship, and Joan’s present experience in Sweden having to stay in the overwhelming shadow of her husband, build to a crescendo where a lifetime of regret comes boiling to an explosive conclusion.

Now, I expected Glenn Close to be good in this; I even expected her to be great. Because, like her contemporary Meryl Streep, she is always great even if the movie that she’s in doesn’t deserve the performance she’s giving. But DAMN if Glenn Close doesn’t know how to devastate us with her ability to subtly build from a beautifully understated performance as the supporting wife, to a woman slowly realizing what she gave up to elevate her husband’s status. Close is one of those actresses whose face can express transitions between about five different emotions in the matter of seconds, all conveying a sincerity and depth of character that shines through almost effortlessly. Here, she inhabits Joan’s love, her intelligence, her devotion, her daily resilience, her pain, and her repressed rage. It’s so natural, understandable, and relatable that by the end, you’ll probably be thinking about all of the times that you consciously faded into the background to let someone else take the spotlight. You will remember all of those times as you watch this. I’m looking at you most of all, ladies.

Glenn Close will shatter you.

While Close’s absolutely fierce performance is the centerpiece for The Wife, it wouldn’t have the potency it did if Jonathan Pryce’s Joe didn’t make you want to hug him then slap him repeatedly the way you will want to. Pryce combines a charm, warmth, and ultimately,  and an hubris that allows you to understand why Close would fall for him and stay with him for decades, and resent the hell out of him at the same time. The way he plays against Close creates an authenticity to their relationship, that while they may be jumping on the bed and putting on well-practiced smiles in front his admirers, you can see a history of fractures to their bond if you look closely enough. In a sense, Pryce’s blind entitlement is the perfect compliment to Close’s slow unraveling. It makes for some incredibly potent drama here.

Other honorable mentions must go to both Christian Slater and Max Irons. Slater – who’s enjoying a kind of artistic resurgence over the past few years thanks to the success of Mr. Robot – plays Nathaniel with the requisite smarm that the role obviously requires on the surface, but he also gives his characters some sincerity beneath his blatant opportunism. His exchanges with Close in particular are engaging, mesmerizing, and even seductive in a way that had me openly hoping that they’d bang at some point. There, I said it. Max Irons as the long-suffering and bitter Castleman son who desperately seeks his father’s approval, holds his own amongst these acting heavyweights by openly being the embodiment of the resentment that Close’s character has trained herself to push deep down. If you can hold your own with Glenn Close and Jonathan Pryce, well then my hat is off to you.

Björn Runge has delivered a riveting, empathetic, slow boil of a character study with The Wife, with direction that is undeniably trained on its actors. There are almost no scenic shots; it’s always characters in a hotel room, in a ballroom, in a bar, with the camera steady focused on faces and telling body language. It’s almost like a stage play in feel, but without the histrionics that are characteristic of that medium.

While the Golden Globes may have damaged their credibility by giving the Best Picture award to Bohemian Rhapsody, one thing I’ll be eternally grateful to them for is making The Wife known to the rest of the world so that we could be reminded what a fucking legend Glenn Close really is. While I loved Lady Gaga in A Star is Born, I would be over-the-moon to see Close get onto that stage on Oscar night and accept the very long-overdue recognition that she’s deserved for years… ever since she had to watch Cher accept an Oscar in what was basically a giant black, sequined bird outfit. I’m sure it’s a feeling Joan Castleman can definitely relate to. Ouch.