Michael Suarez
There’s something about narratives that deal with subjectivity that excites me. There are a variety of these, but I tend to be drawn toward those focused on someone’s pain that can only be understood through empathy. It’s one thing for me to side with someone’s account of an event, but it’s an entirely different thing to see other versions. More specifically, what can different perspectives tell us about someone’s mental state? John Madden’s Proof from 2005 takes this idea to tell a heartbreaking story of loss and guilt.
The word “underrated” has worn out its use. No, the film that made $300 million at the box office 20 years ago is not underrated, though perhaps underappreciated. And that film that won all those awards decades ago is not underrated either. To me, an underrated film is a work that one considers to be truly great but has never gotten the recognition or appreciation it deserves. It’s a film that bombed at the box office but never made headlines. It’s a film that garnered positive reviews but was never in any contention to win awards or make a year-end list. To me, Proof is that film.
Based on a play by David Auburn, which won the playwright a Tony Award and a Pulitzer Prize, Proof tells two narratives:
1) Catherine Llewellyn in the days following the death of her father, Robert Llewellyn, a world-renown mathematician, and
2) Catherine and Robert’s relationship in the time leading up to Robert’s death.
When the two narratives collide near the end of the film, the real heartache begins.
Midway through the film, we’re told that Catherine completed a mathematical proof (an argument made to prove the conclusion for a mathematical statement, which says something to be true). This proof, however, could not have come from Catherine, because her father was the brilliant one. She was very smart, but surely could not have come close to what her father achieved, right? Well, according to the flashbacks, which to me are objective truth and not Catherine’s recollections, she did, in fact, write the proof. The problem is that she managed to do this as her father’s mental wellbeing deteriorated.
The night she finished was the night she showed him that the work he had been doing for quite some time had been nothing but gibberish. It’s implied that this might have contributed to his death, though it’s never clearly stated. Still, Catherine holds onto the guilt she feels, believing she took the proof from him, though not literally, of course. There’s also the problem with Catherine’s own mental state.
Though Jake Gyllenhaal’s Hal, a former student of Robert’s, tells her at the end that there’s nothing wrong with her, she believes there is. And, honestly, we see that she can be unstable, but she spent a lot of time in a house alone with a mentally unstable man. We don’t see all that much of Catherine before that time, but she does seem to push back when people imply that she’s like her father when it comes to her mental stability.
I love Catherine. Gwyneth Paltrow deserved (at the very least) an Oscar nod for this performance. She’s incredible, as is Anthony Hopkins as Robert. The two of them play off one another so well. Yes, things can certainly come off as a bit stagey, but Madden handles things nicely. The camera simply doesn’t sit and watch actors for minutes at a time; it moves. The editing, too, as with the music and sound, make this a genuine film. It’s definitely not stagey by any means. The script, which Auburn adapted from his play along with novelist and filmmaker Rebecca Miller, is talky, but the dialogue flows naturally. Props to the script, the direction, and the actors who shine.
In total, there are four main performances: Paltrow as Catherine, Hopkins as Robert, Gyllenhaal as Hal, and the always terrific Hope Davis as Claire, Catherine’s sister, who we can understand and find hard to like at the same time. All four do some of the best work of their careers here, but it shouldn’t completely shock me. They are great actors, and they’re given great material to work with.
While the plot follows both the writing of the proof and the aftermath of both the writing of said proof and Robert’s death, the stories are where the film comes alive. The relationships in the film give the narrative life. There’s Catherine’s romance with Hal, her hostile familial bond with her sister Claire, her connection with her father, and finally, her relationship with mathematics. All have their ups and downs, and it’s how Catherine deals with each that defines her.
You see, I believe what Hal tells Catherine in the film’s final moments. After everything that’s happened, the two have a talk, and she’s open, saying the quiet part out loud. She believes she’s like her father, in that her mind is deteriorating, as his did. Hal tells her that she is like her father, but I believe what he means is her mathematical abilities. He even tells her that “maybe [she’ll] be better.” Is Catherine suffering from some kind of mental illness? Yes, but I believe it to be closer to something like bipolar or manic depressive, rather than what happened to Robert.
This is key because the film doesn’t so much as want us to question whether or not Catherine wrote the proof but to question whether she’s like her father, as well as in what way. To me, she’s brilliant and has a knack and interest in mathematics, but it’s possible she could be doing something else. I mean, I’m not entirely sure Catherine loves mathematics, as much as her father or Hal. We do know that she would have bouts of inspiration during her graduate years, but that got put on hold when she made it her life to take care of her ailing father. I’m more impressed at her sacrifice than I am by her mathematical abilities.
Paltrow uses her face very well in this film, and there are times when I forget about her and am just watching Catherine. I mentioned ups and downs, and those have everything to do with her. Catherine can be quiet and introspective, loud and volatile, honest and loving, and honest and hurtful. Through all of this, though, there remain two constants: loss and guilt. She’s mourning the loss of her father, whom she loved dearly and spent every day with for a long time as his mental acuity declined, and she’s feeling the guilt of said loss. As I mentioned before, she blames herself for her father’s death, as irrational as it may be.
Catherine is brilliant, but that does not make a person brilliant at all things at all times. This is a common misconception concerning individuals we regard as geniuses. They are simply human beings, and sometimes, human beings don’t know how to act, or they get things wrong. Catherine, actually, doesn’t get too much wrong in the film. In the beginning, she believes Hal is taking one of her father’s notebooks in secret, and she turns out to be essentially correct. She doesn’t seem to trust her sister Claire, and sure enough, she discovers that Claire is considering taking Catherine to a facility for her mental well-being, something the latter figures out on her own.
Then, there’s the decision Catherine makes to let her father believe he’s writing an important proof. Was she correct in enabling this behavior? Was it the best decision to watch after Robert, rather than taking him to a facility for his mental wellbeing? I do wonder if it’s always the best decision to put one’s life on hold for another. Would Catherine be better off had she not spent all that time with Robert? I’m not so sure. A part of me wants to say, yes, that spending time with someone in such close proximity allows for that someone to rub off on you, good or bad. At the same time, Catherine has every right to look after her father. It’s what I would do.
As the film draws to a close, Catherine says:
“If I go back to the beginning, I could start it over again. I could go line by line. Try and find a shorter way. I could try to make it…better.”
Don’t we all want that?
Proof is a lot of things. I haven’t even touched on what I have to say about trust or coping with loss. Sure, I discussed Catherine’s guilt, but Claire seems to have plenty regarding her own decision to move away years ago, leaving Catherine to take care of their father alone. And what do I make of Hal? I don’t believe he’s a bad guy, even if he doesn’t believe that Catherine wrote the proof, at least at first. After a few days, he realizes his mistake, and I completely understand why Catherine rejects anything he has to say. Still, he’s not a bad guy.
Honestly, there’s no villain in this film. The narrative doesn’t require one. Heck, I wouldn’t even say that mental illness is villainous in any particular way. I mean, are we even told what Robert had? Also, the film is about mathematics and proofs, but we don’t get much of an education about such stuff, aside from a line here and there. Such details are unnecessary because Proof is specifically about Catherine and what she’s going through. It’s a singular story, which is why she gets the most meat.
I’ve seen the film close to two dozen times over the past twenty years. Part of that is because I love listening to the dialogue. It’s so good! And I love watching the performances and being drawn into the filmmaking. I also love that I care so much about Catherine. It’s been a long time. I hope she’s doing okay and still with us.
I hope she’s found some peace in her decisions and is not so focused on mathematics anymore, though if she is, I hope she’s content. It’s amazing how the illusion of a play or a film can instill such truths in us. Proof is not nearly the only film that makes me feel strongly for its protagonist, but it’s a film that’s highlighted for me. I’m not sure why I found it and why I’ve stuck with it for so long. I’d hate to say that I relate to Catherine in one way or another, but I do.
This is one of the best American films of the century. Is it perfect? No. Few films are. Still, I love it. It’s a favorite. But more than that, as Roger Ebert wrote in his four-star review of the film:
“‘Proof’ locates itself in the mind of the madman’s daughter, who loves him and sorrows for him, who has lived in his shadow so long she fears the light and the things that go with it.”
How many films are about brilliant men? How many are about brilliant women? Just some questions that deserve to be asked, in 2005 and 2025. Seriously, Proof is a film that deserves a lot of love.
