An unassuming movie if ever there were one, The Whole Wide World slowly but surely envelops you like the Texas landscapes that mark its narrative: familiar vistas that quietly take your breath away without really trying. Based on the autobiographical book by Novalyne Price, it chronicles Price’s relationship with pulp writer Robert E. Howard (creator of Conan the Barbarian, King Kull the Conqueror, and Red Sonja) in small-town Texas from 1933 to 1935, recounting an association that was something less than a true love affair but something more than a simple friendship. The affinity between these two disparate individuals – she an independent-minded but socially conventional schoolteacher, he a chauvinistic and often belligerent loner – is surprisingly affecting: Who would have thought that their story would make for such a movie of fine, delicately drawn emotion? Although The Whole Wide World initially feels a little awkward, even stilted, it soon find its pace; the screenplay by Michael Scott Myers becomes more assured as it begins fleshing out the two characters at its center. And although the psychoanalytical explanations for Howard’s unconventionality, which includes some Oedipal underpinnings, may seem trite at first, they become more and more plausible as the film progresses, most likely because Myers and director Ireland render them in subtle rather than heavy-handed ways. When Howard’s wounded psyche becomes more than Price can bear, much less understand, you’ll find yourself more involved in their heartbreak than you ever thought you’d be. While D’Onofrio does a fairly good job fleshing out Howard’s vulnerable nature, his portrayal of the character’s manic, often bizarre behavior seems borrowed from other performances, some of them his own. (Then again, maybe there’s not much more D’Onofrio could have done to make that aspect of the role seem fresh.) As Price, however, Zellweger demonstrates why she’s the actress of the moment. In a turn that’s utterly amazing in the depth of its sincerity and feeling, Zellweger instills her character with a measure of dignity, from those moments when she’s sounding off in indignation to those in which she’s sobbing with the realization that she’s helpless to change things. It’s a performance of real, unforced honesty. If you see The Whole Wide World for only one reason, then it should be to witness the beginning of a career so remarkably full of promise.
This article appears in May 24 • 2002.
