Proof

While the adaptation of a book to film is always touted as being a difficult achievement to succeed at, I’d argue that adapting a play for the big screen is an even harder task, considering that most theatre is, at its fundamental core, gravely un-cinematic. Film is a visual medium, while theatre (despite any number of costumes and sets) is first and foremost a verbal medium that depends on excellent writing and larger-than-life performances for maximum impact. I’ve seen David Auburn’s fascinating stage sensation performed by two high school theatre troupes (one successful, one disastrous), as well as clips from the Broadway smash featuring the perfectly cast Mary Louise-Parker in the lead role. All action in the play takes place in one house, and features only four speaking roles (each of which belong to a major character).

This would present a number of problems to any filmmaker wishing to adapt the limited material, and yet director John Madden defies most of these obstacles, not only with the added use of flashbacks and location changes, but by featuring performances of such strength and complexity that they quickly steer the audience’s focus from the claustrophobia of the story’s staginess. For those not familiar with the play, the story centers around 27-year-old Catherine, the long-suffering daughter of a recently deceased mathematician, whose early greatness had declined into the depths of madness. After years of caring for him, Catherine is now coming to terms with her own neglected life, while being visited by her sister with a hidden agenda, and a handsome grad student with a wonderfully nerdy band (and Proof fans will be delighted to discover that this film offers the first-ever performance of the band’s elusive hit song, “i”).

While Catherine is haunted by the possibility of inheriting her father’s mental instability as well as genius, a groundbreaking proof is discovered in a locked desk drawer of her house. The question arises, is this proof the work of the dead father, or Catherine herself? Auburn’s sophisticated dialogue (with additions for the film by himself and Rebecca Miller) remains both bitingly witty, and touchingly poignant. After embodying the very definition of radiance in Madden’s Shakespeare in Love, Gwyneth Paltrow portrays Catherine as the burned-out mess of neurosis she is, while remarkably making her both oddly childlike, and compellingly world-weary.

Meanwhile, Jake Gyllenhaal turns on the charm as Catherine’s immensely likable love interest, while Hope Davis is at her icy best as sister Claire (a role I always imagined Annette Bening in), who sees Catherine’s tormented state as less of a problem than it is an assignment to check off her “to-do” list, after fixing it with her New York-spun intellectualism. Best of all is a pudgy Anthony Hopkins, who is magnificent as the father who haunts Catherine’s life like a talkative ghost with far too much to say to let death get in the way of his ponderings. Hopkins captures the psyche of a man teetering between greatness and derangement so well that I felt like I was hearing his character’s dialogue for the first time.

The film’s two most emotionally shattering moments are reserved for the Paltrow and Hopkins characters, one of which is an extraordinary scene at a funeral in which Catherine conveys the pain of caring for her dying father so vividly, that you feel Hopkins’ presence even though he never appears. I won’t delve into the other moment, since it contains the pivotal moment of truth that the film has been pointing toward all along. If I have any reservations about the film, it would be that it’s endless stream of dialogue is at times so shrill and incessant that it undermines the very emotional nature of a given scene. This is especially true of the early scenes between Paltrow and Davis, who consistently spar at each other during a day at the mall, with dialogue exchanges that drag with repetition when they should crackle with sharply observed behavior.

At 99 minutes, the film provides very few chances for the audience to catch its breath between the constant shouting and arguments, and the ending still feels somewhat abrupt. And yet Auburn’s writing, Madden’s direction, and the actors’ performances are all so strong that they will easily overcome the story’s theatricality, and capture the attention of patient filmgoers willing to experience a beautifully told, if essentially verbal, character study. The greatest thing about Proof is that it really isn’t about math at all, but about the relationship between a father and daughter, and the fear of both inheriting the gifts, and demons, passed on from generation to generation.

Rating: **** (out of *****)