THE WIFE

There is a lot to appreciate about THE WIFE. Starting with three Oscar-worthy performances by the always challenging Glenn Close as the title character; Annie Starke—a revelation for me and, I would guess, you—as that character's younger self; and the underrated but always brilliant Elizabeth McGovern, who has one scene and almost steals it as an aging 1950s bitter, cynical author reminiscent of Mary McCarthy at her most acerbic.

There is also the screenplay by Jane Anderson, adapted from a novel by Meg Wolitzer, which kept me intellectually engaged while at the same time, as an ex-screenwriter, impressed. And after a thoughtful discussion with friends, I continued to think about the themes and scenes of the film until I went to bed, and picked up thinking about it when I got up in the morning, seeing more resonance and meaning in what at times initially appeared to be superficial plot points.

The soundtrack is another award-worthy aspect of this movie. As is the cinematography and editing. My only quibble is with the casting of the male actors. Christian Slater is competent as an intrusive biographer looking for dirt, but Max Irons is merely adequate as the contentious son, and the same for Harry Lloyd as the younger husband and father. And though Jonathan Pryce is excellent as the older version of that character, I had a difficult time accepting that his character began life as a tough, impoverished, deeply ethnic, urban, Jewish scrapper.

Minor quibbles considering the satisfaction the film continues to give me. So I highly recommend it.