Control

Went to see this pic about the life and tragic death of Joy Division lead singer, Ian Curtis. I'm a big fan of punk/new wave music--from the Sex Pistols to The Cult, Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, etc. So I thought it would be cool to check out this Cannes award winner and get a glimpse of a precursor and influencer of many bands I have known and loved.

Visually, this movie is beautiful. The black and white photography gives it stark and desolate look. Sam Riley and Samantha Morton both have stand out performances as Ian and Debbie Curtis (whose autobiography was the basis of the movie). But the film is very slowly paced--and it seems more drawn out than deliberate. As one IMDB reviewer aptly put it: "I found Sam Riley's performance mesmerizing, but there were too many moody shots of him walking around in his trench coat." The camera loves Riley--caressing his deep set eyes, high cheekbones, conveying the achingly ethereal beauty of this tortured soul. Unfortunately we get very little insight--other than his dark and poetic lyrics--into what's going on inside Curtis' head.

And speaking of heads--it was my misfortune to deal with two fat ones at the Landmark cinema today. They showed this film in a screening room with couches. I thought, "How cool!" Until I found that the whole couch thing somehow had other audience members thinking they were sprawling in their own living room. I slid over to avoid one tall head smack in front of me, only to find another big, fat, fuzzy-haired person blocking my view again. And then, to add insult to fuzzy-headed injury, the moron clasps his hands behind his neck and proceeds to not only block my view with his big, fat, fuzzy head--but with his arms and elbows as well! Sheesh.