It would be a gross understatement to label Eddie Redmayne’s and Felicity Jones’s performances award worthy, as the craft both leads display in this film moves far beyond such vainglorious recognitions, and into the realm of the cathartic.
One must but witness a scene set at Cambridge’s gardens, shortly after Stephen has been diagnosed, in which he plays croquet by himself.
He goes from hoop to hoop, struggling to remain afoot, picking up the wooden balls as they pass through the goal.
Jane observes the man she loves, and her heart breaks.
It is not the delicate tune that plays in this scene, or the way the camera cuts between the pair that informs the audience of this, but Jone’s face, every small twitch and gesture more deafening than a thousand words.
Her acting is so subtle that it borders the sublime. In almost every scene she graces, her visage conveys a resilience so fierce, a love so powerful and a woman so exhausted, that you are tempted to get up from your seat and applaud until either the audience joins you or an usher escorts you out.