Ron Howard is a competent director and this a competently made film that transitions nicely from filmography to whodunit to disease-of-the week to uplifting feelgood movie of the year. Given that Howard has to translate both mathematics (our protagonist is Princeton mathematician John Nash, played by Russell Crowe) and schizophrenia marked by major delusions (Nash suffers from the condition), Howard is to be credited. The schizophrenia of the story, however, prevents it from taking root. In the end, it is a pleasant and competent (excuse the word again) picture, and little more. The end is a tacked on schmaltz, as if Howard could sense the lack of heart of the first three-quarters.
Crowe is excellent, playing an individual with a disability with great detail and consistency, though his Australian accent does intrude on what are supposed to be Nash's West Virginia beginnings. Better is Jennifer Connelly, who started as an ingenue in The Rocketeer and through a series of poor choices, fell victim to her beauty and breast size. Connelly is and has always been stunning, but like Diane Lane, age has given her face character and gravitas. Her performance as Nash's loving and loyal wife could have been mail-in and dutiful, but she conveys her love for him and her frustration effectively and with verve.
It's overlong, but not terribly so.
Grade: B-.
