Control

Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007)

The first sentence of this review couldn't be anything other than "this film was absolutely the best film I have seen in over a year and is strongly jockeying for a slot in my all time favorites." Shedding away my established obsession with the film's topic, the band Joy Division and the tumultuous life and untimely suicide of the band's front-man, Ian Curtis, as well as my feverish, fan-boy tachycardia at the slightest mention of the film's wizard of a director, Netherlander Anton Corbijn, I would most assuredly be matched in my enthusiasm for this film had I simply been seeing it without knowing the slightest thing about it.

Biopics seem to have been growing into themselves over the past several years, with each character-study piece being released and directed in a variety diverse modes and formats. This has allowed the biopic as a genus to artfully avoid any major commonalities that would render this newborn "genre" too stale or easily identifiable. The black and white brilliance of Control strengthens this individuality of style, by engaging the genius of Anton Corbijn's photographic fashion of filmmaking with both brilliant acting and a compelling emotional fall-from-grace story (case in point: at the end of the film, I cried really hard, along with most of the theater at the Film Forum; even the snottiest of NYU kitsch mongers was bawling; it was that serious).

The familiarity of Corbijn's distinctive composition and use of ridiculously deep contrast and de-saturation fits this film and its subject matter like a glove. Corbijn, (very seldom recognized despite the success of his work) is responsible for directing some of the most iconic 1980's black and white music videos of his era, many of which are still are played on today's music television. Corbijn worked closely with Curtis and Joy Division from very early on, volunteering as their official photographer. He then later moved on to make dozens of music videos for many renowned music groups, such as Depeche Mode, Echo and The Bunnymen, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, and most famously his prolific work with the band U2). Many shots in Control were big on the same empty framing and use of lots of negative space, as well as an affinity for hard edges and settings with little ornamentation, all traits that are often associated with his music videos.

Sparsity reigned with triumph throughout the work. Scenes were driven by the majesty of performance for the most part. The backgrounds, conversely, were designed to amplify through minimalism the alienation and tight-lipped poverty of the British countryside during the sixties and seventies.

This design was followed closely, unless, that is, Corbijn awarded that an object was intended to reflect a psychological preoccupation or a physical frailty, in which case lo-fi, hand-made elements, or daily items of the working-class were made to represent their users through association. For example, Corbijn includes the homemade leather journals used by Curtis for writing Joy Division's lyrics, noting that it was this writing that clearly detached Curtis from his quite, antisocial persona.

Curtis also appears with common, boring, or unattractive objects in the film, chosen to better introduce the restless existence of living within the suffocating atmosphere of 1970's rural-gone-industrial Great Britain. We see that Curtis travels several times in the film, with his mysterious look and simple wardrobe, always carrying a large, solid-color royal military rucksack with one long strap hung over his shoulder as he walks. The hulking bag works repeatedly at painting him to be some sort of returning hero fresh from battle, each time lugging it casually as he walks up the lane to his home after a long tour, at least four times throughout the film.

Sam Riley, who played the lead singer of a band called The Fall in another film that briefly studied Joy Division, Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People, manages to manifest perfectly not only the pale, sullen severity of Ian Curtis' physical demeanor, but even the spirit of his music. Riley actually performs with his own voice along with the surviving members of Joy Division, recording a near perfect live rendition of Curtis' songs for the film's several concert sequences.

Riley being a spitting image only lends slightly to the actor's talent and ability in reifying the troubled singer's overbearing need for release. Corbijn and Riley obviously put a massive amount of effort into a realistic performance. Samantha Morton, playing Curtis' wife Deborah (who produced the film, and wrote the biography it is based upon) delivers a heart wrenching role as the rejected spouse who falls victim to the temper of a tortured genius, as well as the infidelity of a husband who is also a touring musician. Using the same subtlety and minimalism in her performance, she dramatically achieves the same notions that Corbijn emits with his spotless cinematographic mode.

The actors playing the remaining three in the band (who later formed New Order) are somewhat diminished characters, but they still hit the appropriate emotional tones each time they are brought forward within the narrative. Toby Kebbell cast as the mouthy manager Rob Gretton splices in the necessary lightness in this heavy piece, winning the audience with his verbose insults and seedy quick-talking negotiation tactics. It seems as though, miraculously, anyone who occupied the frame at any time during the film was most certainly highly trained in the art of convincing performance. At no point did I ever drop out of the realm of the film because I recognized anyone's problematic acting.

Curtis in his life suffered from advanced epilepsy, causing him to have seizures off stage, and on stage, during which witnesses of these events claim that he would incorporate the writhing and spastic movements of his fits into his sporadic dancing style. The film chronicles his realization, adaptation, medication and frustration in dealing with this disease, ultimately a factor in his choice to end his own life.

The finale, where Curtis hangs himself in his own kitchen, is too loaded to describe. You have to see for yourself, because that scene, shot-for-shot, trumps all suicides I've ever seen portrayed in films, for a thousand reasons.

Corbijn achieves a Herculean task in aptly recounting the life of such a complex iconic figure in modern music. Control is the first biopic I have seen to extend past the novelty of physical resemblance or "a good impression," as this film almost burglarizes history. This piece penetrates the restlessness of Curtis' byzantine soul, his dark and poetic philosophy, his thick literary perspectives, paradoxical ideologies, and even the confused anger and unpredictability of his neurological distress. Anton Corbijn hasn't made just a biopic, he's made a worthy memorial.