The Man Who Knew Infinity

If you have ever desired endless scenes of Dev Patel writing by candlelight, then your wish may have finally been fulfilled by this biopic about Indian mathematician, Srinivasa Ramanujuan.

Following the life of Ramanujuan (Dev Patel), who, despite his lack of formal training, had a genius for theoretical mathematics that has an impact even today. Unable to find publication in India he is finally invited to study at Cambridge by Professor G.H Hardy (Jeremy Irons). Together they seek to prove Ramanujuan's theorems, but the outbreak of World War One, and the embedded racism of the fraternity, stand against them.

Based on the biography by Robert Kanigal, The Man Who Knew Infinity instead feels like an unholy mash of A Passage To India, A Beautiful Mind and Brideshead Revisited. The film reeks of the desperate yearning of Oscar bait. It is an artless film, sinking all the good aspects of casting, location and cinematography behind a morass of trite tale-telling. This is soggy Euro-pudding with a touch of cardamom.

To be fair, there is a big challenge here. The mathematical concepts at the centre of The Man Who Knew Infinity are esoteric stuff, and difficult to explain to the layman. Beyond a single stab at one concept, this film doesn't even attempt to bridge this gap. It's a lackadaisical approach that is carried over to the portrayal of Ramanujan's life. Why work to delve into nuances, when you can rely on cliched archetypes, and plaster over the gaps with a swelling emotive score? Hence what could have been an interesting story of a mathematical genius is instead blandly rendered, despite a multiplicity of other interesting ways to approach the tale.

The cast does its best with what it has been given. There is a genuine chemistry between Patel and Irons, and you can feel the competitive camaraderie. Patel is believable as a genius struggling with cultural differences and systematised racism. Irons is born to this sort of role, a man so practised in period acting, he can maintain perfect diction while smoking a pipe. The rest are lumbered with mere caricatures, although Toby Jones does manage to bring some life to his.

A film so obviously middlebrow, it would have been burnt as a werewolf in the Spanish Inquisition, The Man Who Knew Infinity shamelessly apes Merchant Ivory, but 30 years too late and missing the charm and subtly of the originals. 

Originally published in X-Press Magazine