January 19, 2012 § 21 Comments
I am not a film critic so I am not expecting anyone to give a shit about what I thought of Shame. Still. I thought it was amazing. Someone said the film was boring. It was not boring. It was brilliantly and bravely directed by Steve McQueen; Fassbender and Mulligan gave unflinchingly raw performances, and my throat felt tight throughout. Darkness hinted at, but explanations never fed to us via Mothercare pastel-coloured soft spoons as is so often the Hollywood case. A refreshing assumption about the intelligence of the audience. Inference to the fore.
Came out of the cinema all shaky and heart-beaty and feeling that human beings are really very ugly – not literally; Fassbender is indisputably handsome and sexy – but in all their myriad, miserable, shitty, fucked up ways.
From a plankton perspective, it served to make one feel even more jaded about some men’s predatory and soulless sexuality and their searing struggles with intimacy. Of course, the film was representing Brandon’s “addiction” (I am yet to be convinced that sex addiction exists: a convenient Get Out of Fidelity Free card, no?) extremely bleakly, wasn’t exactly portraying it as something exciting and fulfilling to which we should all aspire but ,even so, you came out feeling, fucking hell, there are some seriously sad and damaged and twisted folk out there haunted by the ripples of unspoken pasts. Such gaping holes in so many of us of yearnings and vulnerabilities and sadness and indeed shame.
Well, I knew that, of course. Levelling to have it confirmed now and again, and so cinematically to boot.