The Longest Division
Something doesn't add up. Where is the awards-season push for Morgan Matthews' A Brilliant Young Mind? Not that Oscars and Golden Globes mean anything (necessarily), but they tend to attract eyeballs, and this film's limited release is just plain criminal.
Working with screenwriter James Graham, Matthews turns his 2007 documentary, Beautiful Young Minds, into a drama centering on an autistic British teen competing in the International Mathematics Olympics. Asa Butterfield stars as Nathan Ellis, an awkward, quiet boy who sees the world as patterns and colors. He depends on order to get by, which is a problem considering his mother, Julie (Sally Hawkins), struggles to provide for the family after the sudden death of Nathan's father (Martin McCann), and his tutor, Martin (Rafe Spall) is a scruffy mess of alcohol, snark, and resentment at having to live with Multiple Sclerosis. Much of the film takes place in Taiwan, at the IMO training facility, wherein Nathan must navigate new social pressures and sort out his feelings for a rival from the Chinese team, Zhang Mei (Jo Young).
Like two other films I reviewed this week, Sicario and Everest, A Brilliant Young Mind ropes the audience in with the promise of a conventional movie narrative--only to upset those expectations in very satisfying ways. Ebert's Law of the Economy of Characters dictates that Julie and Martin will have a go at love; the tropes of Teen Competition movies lay out clear guidelines as to who will make the IMO cut, who won't, and at precisely which point Nathan and Zhang Mei's relationship will become a problem. Oh, don't worry: I didn't forget about the salty head coach of Team Britain (Eddie Marsan). He really does care, deep down inside.
When used as a foundation and not as a blueprint, clichés can lead to wonderful structures. Just as Nathan's expectation of order crumbles when breaking away from the shelter of home, A Brilliant Young Mind finds honesty in situations we think we've got pegged. Julie's desire for connection isn't just about intimacy; she never got time to properly mourn her husband, and Nathan's closed-off, often rude demeanor is a heartbreaking puzzlement that only his math instructor can help solve. Zhang Mei's inquisitiveness and good cheer open up doors for Nathan, who begins to understand that a messy, unpredictable world can be a lovely, life-long equation--rather than a seized-up source of dread.
It's easy to think of this film as a teen-angst version of The Theory of Everything ("Great, another math-and-disabilities movie. Yawn. LOL."), but Matthews and Graham go to great lengths to demonstrate mathematics' relationship to art, love and man's quest for understanding. In one of the film's final scenes, Julie and Nathan break down a crucial wall that has obstructed their view of one another for years; the flaw in their relationship was a single misplaced figure that upset the outcome of a highly complex equation--or, in artistic terms, an accidental brush stroke that kept their relationship from being a masterpiece.
A Brilliant Young Mind hinges on writing and performances, and the dynamic between Butterfield and Hawkins is outstanding here. We are presented with two characters reaching past each other in equally desperate but causally different battles with loneliness. Julie just wants to relate to her son in the same way he related to his late father; Nathan wants to understand why connectivity is so important, and then figure out a way to attain it. The actors make these feelings real; even when emotions run high, the performers never get showy--a feat that's worthy of some kind of recognition, even if it's just applause.
I love everything about this movie. It made me laugh, cry, think, and appreciate the beauty of randomness. Which brings me back to my original question: Where is the love for A Brilliant Young Mind? We are at the very beginning of Important Movie Season, I know, but Matthews' film nearly flew right past my radar. I'm worried that this miniscule run might be it. If you're in a city where it's playing (cough, such as Chicago this weekend, cough), do yourself--and the filmmakers--a favor and buy a ticket. We need more films that artfully explore the spaces between convention, whose purpose is to craft a new language rooted in clichés but not ruled by them.