The Time Traveller's Wife

The timeless, translucent quality of true love is captured to surprisingly potent effect in German-born director Robert Schwenke’s adaptation of Audrey Niffenegger’s bestselling novel, The Time Traveller’s Wife. And that’s no small achievement, given the loopy premise – the protagonist’s genetic disorder results in unannounced bouts of cross-dimensional transportation, testing his marital bond.

Deeply romantic films that draw their soulful essence from the fantasy genre are few and far between, yet when they connect (and The Time Traveller’s Wife most certainly does), they can be particularly resonant. Exhibit A is Jeannot Swarcz’s 1980 weepie Somewhere in Time, a soft-focus, triple-Kleenex drama that featured Jane Seymour as a 1920’s actress and Christopher Reeve as the modern playwright who develops a romantic bond with her image. Penned by ‘Twilight Zone’ writer Richard Matheson, it mutes the absurdity of it premise with the elegance of its romance, thereby sharing many of the same qualities as Schwenke’s film – the unbreakable purity of profound love; the unshakable dedication that the love inspires, despite the most unearthly of obstacles.

From the opening scenes, Schwenke demands that you leave your cynicism at the box-office. A young Henry De Tamble (Alex Ferris) is desperately trying to vocally-match his opera-singing mother (Michelle Nolden) as they drive home along an icy road. Clipped by a wayward vehicle into the path of an oncoming truck, they stare at each other in those silent moments when one’s immediate, awful destiny becomes clear; the mother’s stare becomes frozen as her son dematerializes before her eyes.

Henry has Chrono-Displacement Syndrome, an uncontrollable genetic aberration that manifests itself in the form of random leaps through time when the sufferer becomes stressed or overly excited. As an adult, Henry (Eric Bana) has learnt to cope – left naked after each transportation, he has become a master thief for the sole purpose of finding clothes; he is mostly aware of the year and the time to which he is transported; and he has developed a unique bond with a child/woman, Clare Abshire (Brooklynn Proulx / Rachel McAdams), who first encountered Henry when she was six but has grown to fall deeply in love with the man.

Henry’s affliction is a double-edged sword – an uncontrollable crystal-ball into the highs and low of the past and future of the life he shares with Clare. Sometimes it’s good – glimpses of unannounced lotto wins help finance their lifestyle – but when a naked, blood-stained, future-sent Henry spoils a gathering of friends it is soon clear Henry’s lifespan is limited.

The Time Traveller’s Wife demands a lot of its audience. Not just because you have to buy into all this baloney otherwise it is two hours well-wasted. But, and this is entirely to the filmmaker’s credit, the audience is asked to delve deeply into ramifications of Henry’s extraordinary physical condition – how can a man who can control time deal with not being able to stop his mother’s death? How does he relate to a father (Arliss Howard), still riddled by the guilt and grief of that night? Are Clare’s miscarriages the result of an unborn child cursed with Chrono-Displacement Syndrome? Is Henry’s own daughter, Alba (Hailey McCann) cursed or blessed by the disease?

And is Eric Bana one of Hollywood’s best leading men? Yes. Ageing subtly between each time-jump and reflecting a brittle but determined spirit to lead a normal life despite his disease, Bana is compelling both on his own and opposite his radiant co-star, Rachel McAdams. There is never a moment of doubt that these are two souls destined to be eternally joined. One sweet but particularly searing encounter early in the film is destined to define the passion between them – denied her partner for months and staring at a backlit, young-ish Bana who, having offered her a drink, does not fully comprehend the love they have experienced, McAdams sheds her coat and purrs “I don’t want a drink...”.

Robert Schwenke last directed the Jodie Foster stinker Flightplan (2005), which promised an other-worldly twist but dropped the ball badly; he has found his ethereal niche with his second US film. In fact, The Time Traveller’s Wife is crewed by several talented, mid-level achievers who seem to have seen the opportunity presented and stepped up – cinematographer Florian Ballhaus has created deep, lush, seasonal colours and shadowy, candlelit interiors, despite a resume that includes the sunny Marley & Me (2008) and the glitzy The Devil Wears Prada (2006); editor Thom Noble relishes in the languid pacing after a career highlighted by such frantic films as Vertical Limit (2000), The Mask of Zorro (1998) and Thelma & Louise (1991), and it’s his best work since Peter Weir’s Witness (1985); and set decorator Patricia Cuccia revels in the budget afforded her after stellar work in the independent sector on films such as Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter (1997) and Ararat (2002). The one old-hand at all this spiritual-love mumbo-jumbo is screenwriter Bruce Joel Rubin, who has trodden similar ground with Adrian Lyne’s Jacob’s Ladder (1990), My Life (1993), starring Nicole Kidman, and his Oscar-winning screenplay for Jerry Zucker’s Ghost (1990).

The audience member who buys into the spirit and sentimentality of The Time Traveller's Wife will have a ball bawling as the emotion unfolds. The Chicago Zoo scene, when an off-guard, time-displaced Henry is recognised by the daughter he thought he would never see (“Daddy!!”), is a sigh-inducing, tummy-twisting tearjerker. But scenes like that only work as well as they do because the emotional core of the film is so well defined; expect to be moved.