Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan c. Queenie & the dew
So dominant has the hype been for Shame that part of me thought I knew what I was in for. But even if every review I devoured had indulged in laying bare each character and giving away the entire plot, there is something about the power of brilliant cinema that stirs the soul. Steve McQueen’s second feature film presents a brave and uninhibited portrayal of sex addiction – a condition that has rarely been tackled seriously by mainstream media – and, as with any addiction, its threat to destabilise relationships and life itself.
Brandon is, on the surface, a high-flyer: generic-yet-well-paid job; dashing good looks; swanky Manhattan apartment; an achingly trendy number of LPs. But his obsession with sex has invaded his life. By day he stalks women on the subway and relieves himself in the toilet cubicles at work; by night he visits prostitutes, sex clubs and has sex in the street. By the end of the film these encounters feel so familiar that the chronology is cleverly confused – though of course this doesn’t matter.
I was anxious that the film would basically be pornography. But nothing prepared me for the social implications of Brandon’s addiction, and how crippling it is. Like many addicts, he has no healthy relationships: those who criticise porn for its ability to disconnect the user from sexual reality will recognise Brandon’s inadequacy to engage emotionally.
He goes out with a fun, beautiful woman who most men could only dream of, and yet not only is he socially awkward – cracking jokes at inappropriate moments and telling her he doesn’t see the point in relationships – but he can’t perform in bed. Instead he hires a prostitute and spralls her out across the glass of a high-rise building.
But it is Brandon’s relationship with his sister that is the most heartbreaking. Trusting, carefree and vulnerable, Sissy (Carey Mulligan) is like a wannabe Edith Piaf or Amy Winehouse: a jazz singer with that combination of fragility and intensity that is easily exploited. It takes a while for me to warm to Mulligan’s questionable American accent, but this is only a slight glitch; as Sissy makes herself comfortable in her brother’s apartment, Mulligan takes on the role as her own.
Sissy, like her brother, is emotionally damaged – but she is in a way the antithesis of Brandon. While he cannot connect emotionally, she connects too much. She is that needy individual we all know – and, like Lesley Manville in Mike Leigh’s Another Year, brilliantly acted.
There are hints at an incestuous relationship between Brandon and Sissy. Our first sighting of the latter is when Brandon walks in on her in the shower, and neither of them seem embarrassed at her naked body. She is physically very close to him, fawning on him and clearly making him feel uncomfortable – but perhaps it is all part of her desire for human contact. Perhaps, too, they came from an abusive upbringing: at her most desperate, Sissy cries, “We’re not bad people… We just come from a bad place”. Which makes it all the more heartbreaking that Brandon’s condition prevents him from helping Sissy when she most needs him.
I cannot review this film without nodding to the beautiful combination of simple screenplay from Abi Morgan (The Iron Lady, The Hour, Birdsong) and the symphonic and recurring original score by Harry Escott – at once haunting and sorrowful, summing up perfectly Brandon’s situation.
And however disturbing one might find the characters’ mental instability and, for the more prudish, endless sex, Fassbender and Mulligan immerse themselves in eerily realistic performances.
I came out of the cinema feeling completely despondent and a little bit sick. But such is life for several people – and this is a condition that can no longer go ignored. Shame may have gone home empty handed at the Oscar nominations this week, but that shouldn’t put anyone off. This film deserves to be watched.
Originally published in The Student Journals
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Emily Wight 