VINNY SAYS:
Having seen Steve McQueen’s
previous work with Michael Fassbender, Hunger; I was expecting good, if
slightly uncomfortable, things from Shame. Shame did not disappoint and was
thought provoking, sad, uncomfortable, yet one of the best films I have seen
for a long time
Michael Fassbender gave a
riveting performance as Brandon, a lonely sex addict in New York City. Being a
personal prude I was slightly apprehensive about seeing a film all about sex,
however I managed to sit through the explicit scenes whilst only hiding behind
my hands a few times. Said scenes I found the most uncomfortable parts of the
film, showing how the protagonist managed to completely annihilate himself
through pornographic self degradation.
Shame offers an interesting (and
possible truthful) view of sex, in opposition to a large selection of Hollywood
blockbusters, where the male ‘hero’ is often portrayed a lothario who is able
to sleep with many women, raising him in status and viewing sex on a more
casual basis. This film however seeks to explore how sex can although be seen
not only as a physical pleasure, but also as an escape for more internal and
complex issues through an assault on the flesh. The climatic montage of
degrading sex acts nearing the end of the film removes any ideas surrounding
the lightness of casual sex, instead leading the viewer to question why Brandon
is putting himself through such brutality.
I really enjoyed the way the film
looked and the small details that McQueen used to convey the emptiness of
Brandon’s life. Details like the sterile atmosphere of his apartment and lack
of furnishings added to the confinement of Brandon’s addiction and demonstrated
how lonely he felt. The continual drinking of red bull and eating of leftovers
by the character added to this empty and oppressive character, with no pleasure
or comfort experienced apart from the impersonal sex acts that Brandon takes
part in.
McQueen also used his well known,
close up long shots of faces and landscapes to great affect, the most moving
being the shot of Brandon’s sister (played by Carey Mulligan) singing New York
New York. This stylistic approach to film making was what enamoured me to
Hunger (and won McQueen the Camera d’Or for a first time director at Cannes)
and worked again with Shame. McQueen’s artistic background (he won the Turner
Prize in 1999) was definitely used to his advantage, with his unflinching
camera shots enhancing the voyeuristic tone used throughout the film.
The film appears to leave its
opinion of sex addiction ambivalent, only making a slight reference to a
chequered childhood, which could have contributed to Brandon’s condition. I
thought this lack of judgment was a bold move, leaving the audience to ponder
the causes of sex addiction, and more interesting than other films which try to
excuse or sugar coat their protagonist’s actions in order to endear them to the
audience.
I was very impressed by Shame,
and although felt slightly empty afterwards and in need of a stiff drink.
Although the content and message of the film is harsh, unforgiving and
shocking, it was well worth seeing and will stay with you for days. However I
would advise that you do not see this film with a family member, member of the
opposite sex or someone who are not that well acquainted with, as all will
undoubtedly lead to awkwardness during a large proportion of the film.
IMOGEN SAYS:
We staggered out of the cinema totally zoned
out. It wasn’t just the sun-spots-rub-your-eyes disorientation from leaving the
blanketed darkness of the auditorium and emerging when its still light out.
Shame offers no resolution to the viewer, no tangible insights to hold on to for
comfort as the camera takes you deeper, darker into the messy reality that the
gloss of porn does well to cloak. This irresolution is of course necessary: addictions
aren’t particularly presupposed to neat wrap-ups. Sex addiction is often commented
upon with apostrophes either side as if it is one of those exclusive celebrity
neuroses or an affliction only to be found in the ‘real life’ columns of
Glamour and Company, managed by a brief spell in the Arizona desert.
I spoke to
my Mum on the phone before I left for the cinema. When I told her what I was
going to see her response was ‘I hear it’s a little pornographic…’ - cue
awkward silence. Yet, surprisingly the porn content was less than one might
expect. Sure, the audience would likely leave shell-shocked if they sat through
two hours of hardcore porn flashing up on the screen but it would be too
obvious and also unhelpful to producing any kind of nuanced understanding or empathy
of the problem. This empathy is, however, tested as the viewer is made to feel
increasingly disconcerted: the opening scenes with the prostitute belong to Pretty
Women territory by the time the film nears its climax with the graphic scenes in
the brothel and the threesome. Brendan’s
addiction is all-consuming, he desperately clears his apartment crammed full of
magazines and videos, the effluvia of his obsession almost suffocating. Sex is
not pretty and far from loving in this light; its brutal, animal, shoved up to
the lens like the figures having anal against the apartment window glass. If
there’s a difference in the terminology of sex from making love to fucking,
this is definitely the latter. Clearly the soft-focus lens was missing on this
set.
However, this is not to say McQueen has imposed a judgmental gaze. The
film is morally ambiguous, it is not declaring Brendan’s activities as
reprehensible yet neither do they seem desirable. Cissy tells him, “We’re not
bad people, we’ve just come from a bad place”. This made me think of Freud and his
theories on repression, how the repressed will out but in a distorted way. I
wonder if McQueen is showing the damage done by the condemnation of sex, how
its pushed to the margins way underground, and that ultimately these attempts
to neatly contain it are futile, it just seeps out anyway, only worse and damaging.
To label it a film about sex addiction is too narrow, instead it seems to me to
be a film about human relationships or rather relationships with varying degrees
of humanity about them. A small token of hope is offered in the last minutes,
as Brendan strokes his fingers over the scars of Cissy’s mutilated wrists, one wonders
if here is evidence of real contact: from
flesh to human.
