Review of Control (2007) by Parker M — 29 May 2010

3.5 Stars out of 4.

Control is an inevitable tragedy. It's a shockingly austere biopic of the cult band Joy Division. Really, this is more about their singer, Ian Curtis (as most of these biopics end up being). Control is simplistic in its narrative, but a grim study of a character that strives beyond the music. Control is so mesmerizing because it does not advocate Joy Division according to their lyrics but in addition to their mood. The mood is far from pleasant, thus do not expect something too lively. Ian Curtis was painted with sorrow -- he was always, despite being in good company, alone. He wrote music, short stories, and journal passages in this individualized pessimism. He died at 23. It was if he wanted it that way.

It is important to view Control as dramatic imagery, not a faithful tribute to the band. This is the most perspective music biopic I have seen. The music plays like flashes across Curtis's mind. Totally enigmatic and desolate, just like him. Roger Ebert put it perfectly on describing Curtis's temperament as an ironic mince off of the band's title, Joy Division: "Ian seems to experience little joy and much inner division, as an almost passive participant in his own career." When listening to Joy Division, you experience no internal peace. You feel anguish, angst, and uneasiness. As if the music is a blockade to euphoria.

What is quite transcendent about Control is its use of the music. It does not inundate the screen with merely every song that that band produced. Director Anton Corbijn (who did the music video Atmosphere for Joy Division) is pick and choosy over when to use the songs. As if each individual number has their own significant thematic contribution to the film. When Curtis becomes encumbered in his (not lust) distractive behaviour towards other women, he sings She's Lost Control. He hums to this song, as if backlashing his past choices -- such as marrying young. The idea is -- he has lost control. When his relationships go from push to shove, Love Will Tear Us Apart smooths the screen with its melodious cynicism, it acts as another trickle to all the tears. Love Will Tear Us Apart praises sadness and dissolves the content -- in a state of content is where we find our division. Maybe that's why Curtis has no inner division, he's never experienced much personal good.

Control is very straightforward with its story. We know where it is going. Corbijn constructs the film in two halves: Curtis's sombre yet tamed life as a married youth and then his flux of searing conflict with his caring wife Debbie Curtis (Samantha Morton). Morton has a gift on screen. She is truly a benign person, she truly loves Ian. It's not that Ian no longer loves Debbie, it's just it seems he never loved much at all in his life. His content was his discontent. Though the final hour runs on pure dramatic arguments, Corbijn handles it with a subtextual, passive craft. Both Debbie and Ian's other 'love' interest -- a journalist named Annik Honore (Alexandra Maria Lara) provide two strings of emotion. Morton is a maternal advocate, an instigator of Curtis's depression. Her loving him kills him inside. So much so he is embarrassed to talk to her when she asks him if he loves her anymore. That's a scene of direction perfection. Honore is not a dumb imbecilic write off. Control was based off Debbie's memoirs of Ian called Touching From A Distance, but the perspective of Annik is noble. She even says to Ian: "I'm afraid to fall in love with you." As if Ian is a recipe for disaster. The amazing thing is, despite this being based off the words of Debbie, Annik seems much more realistic.

But the real highlight is Sam Riley, a British actor from more uncharted pieces of cinema, fills his character with an exuding sorrow. He's a black and white character. When he stands at the microphone, he dances with this jerky hokey pokey. He's like a businessman with a mic in those dark suits he wears. Joy Division comes off very conservative: there lyrics very hard to pierce, their presence meant to soothe you not jolt you.

Ian Curtis lived such a haggard existence. He suffered from epilepsy and other unhealthy nuances. He grew up in Macclesfield, England, died there too. In a state of inertia, he was an iconic legend. Watching Riley exercise such dejectedness is difficult to watch, but not a chore. You become fascinated with this character. You want to comprehend his sadness but Riley acts with such enigmatic pause that he refrains you from doing so.

Corbijn's cinematography is also beautiful. It's one of those rare films that demands its monochromatic visual. Because there was nothing colourful about what Curtis endured. Life, for Ian, was an isolated path, devoid of joy and any division. But the band was really based off a squad from World War 2. Beforehand, they were called Warsaw. Interestingly enough, Warsaw was where the Polish resistance rebelled against the Nazis. It began in August of 1944 and ended in October of that year. The Polish surrendered. In a way, Curtis lived a surrendered life, but he rebelled in another sense. Full of sorrow was his key to perception. In a twisted way, that was his inner joy.

I SAY--See It.