The American Film Institute's 20th European Union Film Showcase opens up with Anton Corbijn's "Control" (UK), portraying the life of Ian Curtis, a captivating frontman of the influential post-punk band Joy Divison. This 2-hour black-and-white film, that won Cannes Youth Prize award in 2007, was based on Debra Curtis' autobiography "Touching from a Distance".
On this openning night and in silent reverie I asked myself, "Where have all the flower-freaks, dressed in black and dazed with thoughts of Nitze and gothdom, gone?" I can remember way back when (yes, I'm rather an old one), from Manila to Naples to Berlin, whenever there's some kind of something or an event related to Joy D. that a following of freaks (note the tongue-in-cheek intent) and related social outcasts and introverts would come together..... Tonight there seemed to be a lack of them. Perhaps I am blinded by my own stereotypes. Perhaps I didn't see that the freaks were there, only in different, perhaps even toned down, clothing. It matters jack'shit anyway because this opeening night was packed. Every seat it seemed was taken, save for a handful. And it matters jill'shit as well because I was there as a fan of this band, and enjoyed every single minute of it, staying almost to the end, forced to leave only by an excruciating run to the Metro for the last train home.
Not that I claim to be of superior intellect, nor aspiring to be one. I do not have the mental capacities for such lofty desires. In fact I am an idiot. Pure and simple. But I have been in the company of friends and enemies and undecideds alike who were well versed in the philosophies and politics of Kant and cunts; in love and life and the oceans of lies in between....Blahfreakinblah...
What I like about this film?
The choice of a green-grayish tint of black-and-white puts the drama, at least for me, into a timeless perspective. On the surface, it may bring you back to that time in recent history while simultaneously transcending the boundaries of time as it delves deeper into the drama of the human condition. The nostalgia that it ellicits is only punctuated by the silence inbetween the soundtracks. There simply isn't the superficial lonesome piano notes or tear-jerking violins, nor was there a need for dissonant chords to build suspense or angst. Silence did it all. The backdrop of silence uplifted the dialogue and made Joy D's songs interspersed throughout the film all the more powerful.
The snippets of lyrical poetry hauntingly portrayed, recited by necommer Sam Riley, is simply beauty captured in a film. For example, it opens with, "Existence well what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future.The present is well out of hand," and closes with, "So this is permanence, love's shattered cry. What once was innocence, turned on it side..."'Nuff said.
The epileptic seizure is one of the most violent and painful scenes I had ever scene. Perhaps more so than most blood-and-gore or war movies I had ever scene because this had the factor of isolation--that of being completely alone in suffering. I wonder what the epilepsy society think of this potrayal. The ending could make you teary-eyed.
What I like about Joy D: the pseudo-tribal pounding rythms of the drums, the deceptive simplicity of the construction of the tracks, almost naked honesty, and the beautiful fusion of words and imagery and intellect. More recently, I can only recall the Denmark-based trio, FRANKTOWN, to generate a somewhat similar level of lyrical prowess. As we all know, in our age of digitally produced, enhamced and manipulated music, it is quite rare to come across bands with such powerful words crafted to convey thoughts as much as ellicit imagery and feelings.... with such deft and simplicity.
The pounding rythm of the songs seems to ceaselessly remind you of both the beauty and the horror of the human condition while the solidity of the lower end seem to ensure hope and security in a world that is increasingly chaotic. Timeless themes echoed by the guitars and synths with lullaby-passages to our lives long lived. The nasally pseudo-deadpan voice seem to murmur that despite the black and the blue and the white and the gray of our facade, deep inside us all are hearts beating, in slow and steady silence, as one.
With this film the energy of my youth, that ever-gnawing sense of hope with all things new that has been drowned by time and information, seems to have been renewed (a renewable energy) with a welcome flashback to the early 1980s somewhere far when I first heard "Radio Live Transmission" through the barrage of static-laden, ionospheric intercourse of the country's rebel-radio DWXB-102. As in Ian Curtis' words for this song, "Listen to the silence. Let it ring on..."
The European Festival at the American Film Institute's Silver Theatre is on from November 1--20. More info: www.afi.com/silver.
Comments