The sad, short life of Ian Curtis has long since passed into rock legend. This new film by photographer Anton Corbijn (he took the famous photos on the cover of The Joshua Tree) meets the legend half-way, re-capitulating most of the legendary elements of the Joy Division singer while simultaneously presenting his story with a stark honesty (or at least, the impression of honesty). The film is therefore caught somewhat uncomfortably between cliches, a rock biopic that's trying not to be. In that tension it, deliberately or accidentally, catches the essential quandary of Curtis himself.
Curtis (played with uncanny accuracy, almost amounting to possession, by Sam Riley) is from a middle class Manchester family and in many ways lives up to their values and expectations. He attends a good, private school, gets a job at the unemployment office and wears a tie every day. It is only the isolation of his little bedroom where he, like so many of us, becomes a rock star. His desk is lined with folders with titles like "lyrics" or "poems". He chain smokes and absorbs albums by David Bowie and Lou Reed, posing in front of his mirror in a gesture familiar to every adolescent. He is thoroughly normal in many ways - his experiments with drugs, for example, amount to nothing more naughty than pilfering from medication from a friend's grandmother. He meets an attractive young girl from his hometown, Deborah (Samantha Morton), who he woos away from his best friend with poetry and brooding charm, and they get married while still teenagers.
His interest in becoming a musician is ultimately catalyzed by attending a Sex Pistols concert with some friends, some of whom have a band called "Warsaw". They are looking for a singer. After the show, Curtis offers his services, and Joy Division is born.
Up to this point in the film, we are on very familiar rock biopic ground. We get the scenes of their hesitant first gigs, the grind of traveling by bus, the first recording sessions, the acquisition of a fast-talking manager (Craig Parkinson, who almost steals the show) and ultimately their success. Curtis's problems begin when he discovers (somewhat late in life, the film is to be believed) that he is epileptic, not a particularly convenient disorder for a rock performer under stage lights. Treatment in the 1970s (again, if the film is to be believed) consisted of a horrendous cocktail of medications with side effects such as "mental confusion" and "fatigue", and the combination of this and Joy Division's nocturnal gigs ultimately costs Curtis his day job. The timing, for him, is rather inconvenient in that he and Deborah have no money and a newborn daughter. (It is refreshing to see a film portray the real costs of pursuing rock and roll dreams.)
As Curtis's fame grows, so does his overwhelming sense of depression and misery. When a sexy Belgian journalist named Annik (Alexandra Maria Lara) comes along, his life becomes more complicated again, with infidelity thrown into the mix. If the film is to be believed, Annik was actually a better match for Curtis than his long-suffering housewife, but he is too moral to make the choice a simple one. The combination of guilt, medication, malaise with music and serious depression lead him, as we all know, to suicide at the age of 23.
Corbijn handles all of this with a great deal of style, choosing to shoot the film in stark black and white. One gets the feeling of privileged intimacy (Corbijn knew Curtis and Joy Division in their prime, and produced some famous photographs of the band), and the key relationships (Curtis, his wife and his mistress) have the ring of complex, evolving truth, rather like in a French New Wave film. The film is not interested in Joy Division's music, although it features a great deal of it. We get no clues (other than telegraphed ones, such as the use of "Love Will Tear Us Apart" when Curtis admits his infidelity) about the music's creation or inspiration. The band themselves (who, as many probably know, would go on to become New Order) are caricatures rather than people, with only Bernard Sumner (who would take over as lead vocalist after Curtis's death) showing any sign of authentic human feeling in the moody, powerful sequence set in Curtis's last days. Samantha Morton is wonderful as Deborah, lending the film a much-needed grounding in the imperatives of real life.
Ultimately, Control's power comes from its attitude towards Curtis himself. Far from being slavishly sympathetic, the film has a welcome emotional distance from its subject, showing how different choices could have led him away from his tragic fate. Curtis comes across as someone who was loved, and was capable of love, but had too much emotional clutter on his plate to commit to marriage, fatherhood, employment, stardom and finally life itself. Whether he could have received the help he so obviously needed is an academic point - it may not have helped him, anyway. Curtis wasn't a victim of anything other than his own demons, and the film only hints, perhaps guessing, as we all must, where they came from and why he couldn't conquer them.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
REVIEW: The Assassination of Jesse James
Winning the prize for "longest and most anachronistic title of the year", The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is a slow, atmospheric and ultimately quite moving character study, gussied up in the clothes of an epic western.
From the start, the tone of the film is strictly 19th century, complete with voice over narration introducing us to the strange 1880s American vernacular, with that peculiar mix of stiff formality and casual vulgarity. Not since Unforgiven have I gotten the sense from a western that the speech patterns were so authentic. Much about the film has that same ring of documentary honesty. The film goes out of its way to show us the trivial details of 19th century life, from the meals (many scenes take place over the kitchen table) to the grocery shopping to the toilet facilities (a sex scene is even staged in an outhouse, which must be some kind of first).
That veracity is important, since it balances off the matinée idyll feel of the story, reflected in its twisted and singular title. When we are introduced to Jesse James (Brad Pitt), it is through the lens of 19th century American mythos. He is already the nation's most important celebrity, the subject of dime novels and newspaper headlines for at least a decade. In a scenario familiar to anyone with an interest in the western (or crime) genre, James is just about ready to hang up his gun and retire to Kansas City with his family. The past is difficult for men like him to escape, and he goes to great lengths to conceal his identity (in this pre-photography age, this notion is easier to swallow), up to an including not telling his own children his real name. Pitt plays this aspect of the character with curiously detached amusement, as if the act of becoming ordinary was his most clever crime. James is a criminal who enjoys being a celebrity, whereas his older brother Frank (played with mucho gravity by playwright Sam Shepard) scowls disapprovingly at any attempt to conceal their vicious, criminal nature. How close all this is to actual fact is a matter of some dispute, and the scenes are staged in such a romanticized way that at a certain point, our disbelief is suspended.
The film's initial sequence is a masterstroke - a film within the film, reminding me of nothing so much as Michael Mann's Collateral, in which we are introduced to the characters with a complete mini-story, with a beginning, middle and end, with very satisfying results. We see the new James gang (Frank and Jesse, along with numerous unreliable hired hands, their classic gang having long been dispersed by death or incarceration) gathering to hijack a train, supposedly their last "big score" before they drift off into retirement. Frank is skeptical of the abilities of this new group (which includes such great character actors as Paul Schneider, whose character has the improbable name of Dick Liddil). Jesse seems to have fewer doubts, although Pitt's performance renders his true feelings inscrutable. (In fact, Pitt's whole performance is so erratic that I can't decide whether he is brilliant or simply incapable of emotional modulation.) I have no such reservations in praising the performance of Casey Affleck, who plays the Robert Ford of the title. Ford is one of the new recruits, and initially he approaches Frank James, delivering a litany of hero worship in Affleck's pinched, high voice through feral teeth. Frank doesn't buy any of it, but Ford finds that Jesse James is a much more receptive audience. The actual robbery is carried out with the familiar pace of any modern crime film, complete with arbitrary viciousness and tragedy.
The bulk of the film follows through on the momentum generated in the first sequence, though, at 160 minutes, it never quite manages to build up a head of steam. The plot essentially consists of Jesse's quest to secure his own retirement, including killing or otherwise silencing the ragtag gang members recruited for initial robbery. Ford becomes part of his orbit, initially taken under the outlaw's wing and subsequently rejected, provoking his enlistment with the law (including the dead-on authentic Michael Parks and Ted Levine) to, along with his less morally tortured brother Charley (the always-good Sam Rockwell), betray his former hero in exchange for money and fame. This moral probing forms the film's emotional spine, and Affleck's performance is a triumph. Pitt's problematic performance is in essence a character part - Affleck has the lead, and he is perfectly cast. We grow to know and sympathize with Ford, whose own tragic ending is a sad echo of his hero's.
Films like this usually get labeled "deliberately paced", as a euphemism for "deadeningly slow". Fair warning - the film has its own agenda, and will not be rushed. Perhaps the epilogue-like ending goes on a bit too long, unless one considers that this film is really about Ford, not James. The one major flaw with the film is that it seems to be about something... but what? Celebrity? Crime? Vengeance? Honour? Betrayal? Perhaps all, and perhaps none.
The film was directed by New Zealander Andrew Dominik (only his second film), from his own script, but the production company behind it was Ridley Scotts Scott Free, and I sense Sir Ridley's fingers all over the production, including the gorgeous cinematography, meticulous attention to design and detail, the characters' moral complexity and the film's epic-like scope. Perhaps the themes would be less cloudy if Scott himself had helmed the picture. We will never know.
In the end, The Assassination of Jesse James floats free of our imagination, an intriguing and absorbing but ultimately frustrating film.
From the start, the tone of the film is strictly 19th century, complete with voice over narration introducing us to the strange 1880s American vernacular, with that peculiar mix of stiff formality and casual vulgarity. Not since Unforgiven have I gotten the sense from a western that the speech patterns were so authentic. Much about the film has that same ring of documentary honesty. The film goes out of its way to show us the trivial details of 19th century life, from the meals (many scenes take place over the kitchen table) to the grocery shopping to the toilet facilities (a sex scene is even staged in an outhouse, which must be some kind of first).
That veracity is important, since it balances off the matinée idyll feel of the story, reflected in its twisted and singular title. When we are introduced to Jesse James (Brad Pitt), it is through the lens of 19th century American mythos. He is already the nation's most important celebrity, the subject of dime novels and newspaper headlines for at least a decade. In a scenario familiar to anyone with an interest in the western (or crime) genre, James is just about ready to hang up his gun and retire to Kansas City with his family. The past is difficult for men like him to escape, and he goes to great lengths to conceal his identity (in this pre-photography age, this notion is easier to swallow), up to an including not telling his own children his real name. Pitt plays this aspect of the character with curiously detached amusement, as if the act of becoming ordinary was his most clever crime. James is a criminal who enjoys being a celebrity, whereas his older brother Frank (played with mucho gravity by playwright Sam Shepard) scowls disapprovingly at any attempt to conceal their vicious, criminal nature. How close all this is to actual fact is a matter of some dispute, and the scenes are staged in such a romanticized way that at a certain point, our disbelief is suspended.
The film's initial sequence is a masterstroke - a film within the film, reminding me of nothing so much as Michael Mann's Collateral, in which we are introduced to the characters with a complete mini-story, with a beginning, middle and end, with very satisfying results. We see the new James gang (Frank and Jesse, along with numerous unreliable hired hands, their classic gang having long been dispersed by death or incarceration) gathering to hijack a train, supposedly their last "big score" before they drift off into retirement. Frank is skeptical of the abilities of this new group (which includes such great character actors as Paul Schneider, whose character has the improbable name of Dick Liddil). Jesse seems to have fewer doubts, although Pitt's performance renders his true feelings inscrutable. (In fact, Pitt's whole performance is so erratic that I can't decide whether he is brilliant or simply incapable of emotional modulation.) I have no such reservations in praising the performance of Casey Affleck, who plays the Robert Ford of the title. Ford is one of the new recruits, and initially he approaches Frank James, delivering a litany of hero worship in Affleck's pinched, high voice through feral teeth. Frank doesn't buy any of it, but Ford finds that Jesse James is a much more receptive audience. The actual robbery is carried out with the familiar pace of any modern crime film, complete with arbitrary viciousness and tragedy.
The bulk of the film follows through on the momentum generated in the first sequence, though, at 160 minutes, it never quite manages to build up a head of steam. The plot essentially consists of Jesse's quest to secure his own retirement, including killing or otherwise silencing the ragtag gang members recruited for initial robbery. Ford becomes part of his orbit, initially taken under the outlaw's wing and subsequently rejected, provoking his enlistment with the law (including the dead-on authentic Michael Parks and Ted Levine) to, along with his less morally tortured brother Charley (the always-good Sam Rockwell), betray his former hero in exchange for money and fame. This moral probing forms the film's emotional spine, and Affleck's performance is a triumph. Pitt's problematic performance is in essence a character part - Affleck has the lead, and he is perfectly cast. We grow to know and sympathize with Ford, whose own tragic ending is a sad echo of his hero's.
Films like this usually get labeled "deliberately paced", as a euphemism for "deadeningly slow". Fair warning - the film has its own agenda, and will not be rushed. Perhaps the epilogue-like ending goes on a bit too long, unless one considers that this film is really about Ford, not James. The one major flaw with the film is that it seems to be about something... but what? Celebrity? Crime? Vengeance? Honour? Betrayal? Perhaps all, and perhaps none.
The film was directed by New Zealander Andrew Dominik (only his second film), from his own script, but the production company behind it was Ridley Scotts Scott Free, and I sense Sir Ridley's fingers all over the production, including the gorgeous cinematography, meticulous attention to design and detail, the characters' moral complexity and the film's epic-like scope. Perhaps the themes would be less cloudy if Scott himself had helmed the picture. We will never know.
In the end, The Assassination of Jesse James floats free of our imagination, an intriguing and absorbing but ultimately frustrating film.
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