Review of Control (2007) by Remote G — 27 Jan 2011

Written by Jeff West for remotegoat on 05/10/07.

So here were are again.

Yet another rock and roll biog and, more specifically, yet another film attempting to glamorise and explain the mysterious and often over hyped life and death of Ian Curtis, head honcho of Joy Division. Or so I thought before I saw the film at the Phoenix Cinema Q&A with fellow Joy legend Peter Hook.

What we have in Anton Corbijn's high monochrome film is an intense, confusing and emotional roller coaster whereby I wasn't sure who to sympathise with; So I sympathised and loathed them all with equal measure. And that's the genius of this flick.

As a long time New Order and Joy Division fan I have always been aware of the arrogant but loveable little gits from Manchester and their former, often depicted, morose front man. But Corbijn showed a Curtis that 24-hour Party People and its ilk failed miserably to identify and that is of a consumed, introspective poet with a wicked sense of humour: The later of which is often ignored.

The film worked on a number of levels: the intelligent performance of Sam Riley as Curtis worked mainly because he is an unknown; the superbly shot live performances, played by the actors themselves, and documenting their own musical improvement over the course of the story, was a stroke of genius that added a realism impossible to emulate through miming; but ultimately it was the way the script and direction depicted the duel personality of an emotionally flawed and immature kid. You could feel the hurt he was doing to everyone around him; even more the hurt he was inflicting on himself. It was psychologically draining empathising with a jerk that was clearly being genuine but also knowingly betraying those around him. What was being portrayed here was a split personality: the poet and artist with the glamorous escapist mistress; and the dutiful wife depicting drudgery, dependency and honesty. Both of these trait groups formed part of Curtis' personality that were playing off against each other, neither of which could ultimately win. He wanted them both. He wanted neither. But his life was hanging somewhere in between. A half-life where, by the end of the film, one could almost sympathise with the need for the physical, rather than metaphorical, hanging. Each time he went on stage required putting on a mask, like when he was with either his wife and mistress, pretending to be someone he was not. He was all to everyone and nothing to himself.

But perhaps Corbijn gives took much respect to Curtis and sometimes I wondered why I empathised with him so much. He wasn't a God. He wasn't a good singer. He wasn't good looking. He was just a screwed up, ordinary kid.

Ultimately this is as good a tragedy as any Shakespearian play, well scripted, well played and well filmed. Tragedy, comedy, death and rock and roll. A sure fire combo to knock 'em dead: But this piece knocks 'em dead better than most.