Review: The Imitation Game

The Imitation Game is a sharp, well-paced piece that relies solely on the excellent performances of its leads and the dramatical background of the ubiquitous threat of the Nazis. Cucumberpatch excels; as is this man's remarkable ability, he is completely lost in Turing - then again, I don't believe there are any surviving recordings of his voice, so perhaps it is best to congratulate Bumpersticker Crashbandicoot on his eerily thorough resurrecting of Turing. 

The CGI is slightly television-grade, but is only used when absolutely necessary, and looks disappointingly odd. But the pace is even throughout and there is no room for contemplation, as we are whisked between 1951, following Turing's tragic arrest; his schoolboy days, and his time in employment of Her Majesty's Bastards at Bletchley Park or wherever it was. 

In a way, the film feels like the grandfather of The Social Network: a socially awkward protagonist overcomes pig-headed opposition and invents something that impacts on the lives of literally millions (albeit in very, very different ways). Sadly, as biographical films are wont/forced to do, the film selects a version of events to portray.

Thus there is no room for the speculation that Turing didn't actually kill himself - two other proposals are that he was assassinated due to his remarkably high security clearance (and the US considering homosexuals to be a security risk due to their being most susceptible to blackmail) and sheer knowledge of state and intelligence 'methods'.

The other idea is that his death was merely accident - he had been working around cyanide and may have simply inhaled or otherwise consumed some inadvertently.Whether either one of these is true or codswallop, it is also apparent that the man had theatre tickets and, according to some biography from which I'm lifting this, 'seemed to be getting on top of things'. This it at odds with the admittedly tasteful and lightly heartbreaking finale of the film, where the suicide story is handled with extreme care and diligence. 

But as I noted in a lengthy essay for my HND course, biographical films may always carry that flaw of being forced to choose a certain interpretation (etc) of the individual's life as the film has two purposes: 1) to inform and 2) to entertain. The film's portrayal of Turing's possible suicide is absolutely visually wonderful and wraps up the story rather well - and we can't have the serfs thinking that their own Govt spooks would willingly bump off a war hero just because he was a dodgy butcher, can we?

Then again, there is the synthetic oestrogen, also handled tastefully (although the breasts they gave him don't appear). (Here's a thought: wouldn't oestrogen make you more feminine?) But don't listen to me, go and see one of the slickest British biopics since The King's Speech and be entertained - and reflect on a wholly stupid attitude to homosexuality and an imbecilic response to a man saving countless lives, all for £100,000 and the passing ire of his lesser colleagues.