movie review

The Oxford English Dictionary (OED, for those in the know) is a treasure unparalleled. I don’t know if any other language has anything like it: not just a depository of definitions, but also a history (as much as can be determined) of each word. That is, the word’s root, whether Latin, Greek, Germanic. or other; the approximate date of its first appearance, and the earliest examples known, in context. I have a 1971 “Compact Edition,” meaning two volumes of 2000+ pages each, with four 3-column sections of miniscule print per page. The slipcover set came with a magnifying glass.

How does such a work come to be? I’ll admit never giving it much thought, except that it must have taken generations of cumulative effort. It never occurred to me that there was a story behind the OED, that impressive but impassive work, staid as a black-robed Oxford don.

But there’s a story behind almost everything. The Professor and the Madman is the movie version of how the Oxford English Dictionary became more than a dictionary—but also how God’s grace can lurk even in the depths of despair.

It begins with a crime: Dr. William Minor, a veteran of the American Civil War now residing in London, is possessed by the notion that a man he wronged during the War is after him. It’s kill or be killed, but the man he tracks down and shoots, on the victim’s own doorstep, is a total stranger. Dr. Minor is sentenced to an asylum and to the dubious benefits of 19^th-century psychology.

Meanwhile, in Oxford, the Scottish linguist James Murray applies for the job of directing the languishing dictionary project. Murray is fluent in several languages and can cite any number of roots and terms, but he has no university degree. Nevertheless a few adventurous souls see his unorthodox approach as the recipe for success, and he gets the job. Murray opens the project to the entire English-speaking world, as it were: all are invited to submit their knowledge of the earliest provenance of any English word. Murray’s office is flooded with slips of paper, but the work is maddeningly slow, with even the most commonplace words difficult to trace.

Until Dr. Minor, deep in his asylum, gets wind of the project. Like a proper schizophrenic, he latches onto it and becomes a veritable etymology machine, submitting hundreds of word origins at a time. He and Murray begin a correspondence, which is so erudite and genteel that Murray has no idea Minor is an inmate of the asylum until he pays the man a visit. Murray’s generous heart immediately makes room for the madman, and the two become friends over their shared love of words.

That much is factual, but I’m not sure how the subplots line up with history. Dr. Minor forms a relationship with the widow of the man he killed, who not only forgives him but appears to be falling in love with him. This disturbs him so much (it’s a double betrayal, to steal a man’s wife after stealing his life) that the doctor emasculates himself. This is more suggested than shown, but might be too disturbing for kids. Otherwise, there’s almost no bad language, no nudity, no suggestiveness. Not everyone will love the movie; in fact, to judge by Rotten Tomatoes (not my go-to for sound judgment), few did. But I was fascinated by subject matter and the spiritual underpinnings: language as a gift of God, kindness as everyday grace, forgiveness as an eternal mystery.