One rarely encounters such a Dickensian life, outside of a Charles Dickens novel.
Artist Louis Wain’s personal and professional life was just as tragic, as the majority of his vast output was playfully joyous. He remains, to this day, one of the most beloved commercial illustrators in English history; during the Edwardian era, it was the rare home that lacked one of his posters, or many of his children’s books.
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| Louis (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Emily (Claire Foy) are surprised to find a scruffy, rain-soaked kitten in their garden. They'll soon be even more surprised by the degree to which this little feline affects the arc of Louis' artistic career. |
Author H.G. Wells famously noted — during a radio broadcast reproduced in this biographical drama — that “He has made the cat his own. He invented a cat style, a cat society, a whole cat world. English cats that do not look and live like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves.”
Wain also was quite popular on this side of the pond, at the beginning of the 20th century, and then much later, in the 1970s, when his more outré cat paintings were ubiquitous among the, ah, college-age psychedelic set.
Director Will Sharpe’s poignant, deeply sensitive film is highlighted by sublime performances from Benedict Cumberbatch and Claire Foy. The script, by Sharpe and Simon Stephenson, is remarkably faithful to Wain’s life and career … the all-too-brief highs and numerous shattering lows of which, are almost too much to bear.
Indeed, this saga’s midpoint, highlighted by an intensely intimate scene between Cumberbatch and Foy, surely ranks as one of the saddest, most heartbreaking moments ever captured on film.
The story begins in the early 1880s, when — following their father’s unexpected death — 20-year-old Louis (Cumberbatch), as the family’s lone male, is forced to support his mother and five younger sisters.
Fortunately, he has a remarkable — and rapid — facility for drawing and painting, which he’s able to do with both hands simultaneously (which Cumberbatch depicts persuasively). Louis specializes in animals and country scenes, and within a few years is selling work to journals such as the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News and, a bit later, the Illustrated London News.
Unfortunately, Louis also suffers from a mental illness — possibly schizophrenia — which would remain undiagnosed throughout his lifetime. Symptoms include an irrational fear of drowning, which strikes unexpectedly. For the most part, he keeps such demons at bay via the manic intensity with which he fills every minute of every hour: sketching, tinkering with useless inventions, “composing” unmelodic musical works, and even sparring uselessly in an amateur boxing ring.
Along with a frenzied fascination with the wonders of electricity, which he comes to believe is a defining force in life and the universe.
So, yes: Cumberbatch once again is portraying an eccentric and deeply unstable genius, who’s all tics and twitches. But it must be acknowledged that his Louis Wain is completely distinct from his Sherlock Holmes, or his Alan Turing, or his Hamlet.
Poor Louis is constantly berated by eldest sister Caroline (Andrea Riseborough), who — in her efforts to manage the rambunctious household — relentlessly badgers him to make more money, lest they all become destitute. In a sense, Caroline is the villain of this piece, as she displays no sensitivity to her brother’s fragility and volatility. It’s a thankless role; even though we sympathize with Caroline’s efforts to be practical, Riseborough makes it hard to like her.
But neither Caroline nor Louis has time to school youngest sisters Felicie (Stacy Martin), Claire (Aimee Lou Wood) and Marie (Hayley Squires); this requires the hiring of a governess, which puts even more financial pressure on Louis. Enter Emily Richardson (Foy), who brings a measure of calm: both to the household, and to Louis … who is immediately, hopelessly smitten.
No surprise: Foy makes her personable, perceptive, perky and irresistibly candid. (That said, her precise spoken cadence, while undoubtedly accurate, too frequently evokes memories of her Queen Elizabeth, in The Crown; that’s mildly distracting.)
Cumberbatch’s shift into Louis’ love-struck angst is amusing and endearing; not even a pining teenager, carrying a futile torch, could stumble and mumble so adorably. Improbably, his feelings are reciprocated; most crucially, Emily calms and stabilizes him.
The resulting courtship prompts even more anguish from Caroline. Bad enough that society frowns upon a “mere governess” who is beneath a professional gentleman’s station; the fact that Emily is 10 years his senior, makes the situation scandalous.
Which, in turn, drastically decreases the chances that any of Louis’ sisters will be approached by a suitable suitor. (Lord, as if he didn’t already have enough on his plate…)
Louis and Emily nonetheless marry, and move to a home in north London’s Hampstead. There, on a rainy day, their walk in the garden is interrupted by the plaintive meow of a forlorn kitten. They take it inside, name it Peter, and — again, flouting convention — make it a pet; they’re soon seen in society, walking a cooperative Peter on a leash.
As it happens, Emily has long been enchanted by cats. “They’re silly, cuddly, lonely, frightened and brave,” she solemnly tells Louis, “like us.”
Let it be said: Peter is as strong an acting presence as any of his two-legged co-stars. He’s most often played, in adulthood, by (quoting the press notes) “a black-and-white mog with previous screen experience fronting a pet food campaign.”
This lovable feline triggers the significant shift in Louis’ career; he can’t stop drawing and painting Peter, which prompts Emily to suggest that his increasingly cute and playfully anthropomorphic cat illustrations might be popular with the public.
I’d love to say everybody then lived happily ever after. Fate, alas, had other plans.
Toby Jones is nicely understated as the benevolent Sir William Ingram, editor of the Illustrated London News, who becomes friend, principal sponsor, and something of a surrogate father to Louis. It’s a fascinating role: on the surface appropriately strict and professional, but with an underlying degree of warmth and affectation that blossoms over time.
Adeel Akhtar makes the most of his key role as Dan Rider, a fictitious characters whose two crucial appearances bookend Louis’ tempestuous life. Olive Colman’s off-camera narration, often bearing a touch of regret and sorrow, bridges the march of time.
For the most part, Sharpe’s directorial touch is restrained and tasteful, even when depicting the waking nightmares that occasionally bedevil Louis. I particularly admire the way Sharpe and Cumberbatch handle a fateful breakfast scene. And, most crucially, Sharpe avoids sloppy sentimentality.
Unfortunately, Sharpe’s approach becomes self-indulgent and deliberately weird, as the third act progresses. Granted, this is intended to convey Louis’ increasingly mental instability, as is the degree to which composer Arthur Sharpe’s score veers ever more into dissonance and cacophony, thanks to the infusion of eclectic instruments such as a mellotron, theremin and Trautonium.
Even so, a few minutes of bizarrely animated footage are silly and eye-rolling, inviting ill-advised comparisons to the surreal “star gate sequence” in 1968’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.
A few text blocks prior to the end credits also would have been nice, to explain Louis’ posthumous place in the artistic universe, along with at least some indication of what became of other family members.
Such hiccups aside, this is a touching, tender profile of a tormented soul who only rarely experienced the happiness that he brought to so many other people.
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