Shame: wow, Fassbender, wow.
Apr. 26th, 2012 01:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusWhy did everyone warn me about Shame? What an excellent, emotionally powerful movie, so simple and beautiful in its execution.
Of course, I spoiled myself about almost every plot point as I hovered around the film, wondering if I would find it depressing, dispiriting, dripping with self-conscious "Indie film-itis" (which I generally find pretentious and dull). Did I just want to see Fassbender naked? (Answer: yes.) Was I going to be disappointed, as many are, by the unsexiness of his character's misery in this role?
I slowly decided that emotional trauma playing out in sexual dysfunction--well, that's a personal fascination of mine and lot of what I write. Hello, Last Port Of Call, much of the Beg Me For It series, Here Again, Not My Affair? Not to mention Little Boy Blue.
My research, alas, left no plot to be revealed.
What remained was Michael Fassbender's performance and Steve McQueen's cinematography. And wow.
Fassbender's face and body language speaks volumes. He shifts from near mechanistic smugness, to badly shaken vulnerability, to utter awkwardness, catching every sexual cue and missing all the personal ones. At one point he genuinely doesn't know what to do, and his confusion manifests in a host of half-started motions, followed by curling in a child-like ball, and then finally running away.
A lesser actor could not have played this role. The most painful, miserable scene is the one that should have been the sexiest, and it's all in his face and eyes.
There are few verbal cues, and with actor like Fassbender (and his co-star, who was a breath of honesty and fresh air) you don't need them. But bring your appreciation of angst and unromantic sexuality. This is not an opportunity to romanticize Fassbender but rather to relish a complex role Fassbender plays.
Interestingly, it seems like his character, Brandon, is using sex to be in control, even as it paradoxically controls him and dominates his life. But it's not women he's controlling. Rather, his anger is directed at men. He competes with dominant alpha-male types and authority figures, giving them the finger: Ha, your girlfriend wants me, not you, and Ha, I just went home with the woman you chased all night. A lot of people read incest into this film, and yes, it's there, clear as a bell. But whoever screwed up Brandon and his sister was male, and I can't get a read on whether Brandon was also sexually abused (she shows classic signs) or if the abuser beat him.
I haven't begun to speak about McQueen's cinematography. Suffice to say: watch the backgrounds. Every detail matters, even the signage on the subway gives away hints, like the symbolism of a medieval painting. This film is art.
Of course, I spoiled myself about almost every plot point as I hovered around the film, wondering if I would find it depressing, dispiriting, dripping with self-conscious "Indie film-itis" (which I generally find pretentious and dull). Did I just want to see Fassbender naked? (Answer: yes.) Was I going to be disappointed, as many are, by the unsexiness of his character's misery in this role?
I slowly decided that emotional trauma playing out in sexual dysfunction--well, that's a personal fascination of mine and lot of what I write. Hello, Last Port Of Call, much of the Beg Me For It series, Here Again, Not My Affair? Not to mention Little Boy Blue.
My research, alas, left no plot to be revealed.
What remained was Michael Fassbender's performance and Steve McQueen's cinematography. And wow.
Fassbender's face and body language speaks volumes. He shifts from near mechanistic smugness, to badly shaken vulnerability, to utter awkwardness, catching every sexual cue and missing all the personal ones. At one point he genuinely doesn't know what to do, and his confusion manifests in a host of half-started motions, followed by curling in a child-like ball, and then finally running away.
A lesser actor could not have played this role. The most painful, miserable scene is the one that should have been the sexiest, and it's all in his face and eyes.
There are few verbal cues, and with actor like Fassbender (and his co-star, who was a breath of honesty and fresh air) you don't need them. But bring your appreciation of angst and unromantic sexuality. This is not an opportunity to romanticize Fassbender but rather to relish a complex role Fassbender plays.
Interestingly, it seems like his character, Brandon, is using sex to be in control, even as it paradoxically controls him and dominates his life. But it's not women he's controlling. Rather, his anger is directed at men. He competes with dominant alpha-male types and authority figures, giving them the finger: Ha, your girlfriend wants me, not you, and Ha, I just went home with the woman you chased all night. A lot of people read incest into this film, and yes, it's there, clear as a bell. But whoever screwed up Brandon and his sister was male, and I can't get a read on whether Brandon was also sexually abused (she shows classic signs) or if the abuser beat him.
I haven't begun to speak about McQueen's cinematography. Suffice to say: watch the backgrounds. Every detail matters, even the signage on the subway gives away hints, like the symbolism of a medieval painting. This film is art.