Shame (2011)

Shame

Directed by Steve McQueen

Written by Steve McQueen and Abi Morgan

Cast

Brandon -- Michael Fassbender

Sissy -- Carey Mulligan
Marianne -- Nichole Beharie
Samantha -- Hannah Ware
David -- James Badge Dale

Shame reaffirms the impression I got from Hunger that Steve McQueen indeed knows how to make each frame a piece of art. He is visually masterful at loading each static shot with dynamic emotion and letting images speak louder than the dialog. Using long takes and hardly variable framing, the artist tries to instill empathy in the audience's mind toward Brandon, beneath whose suave façade lies an alienated existence enslaved to a seemingly perpetual id-ego dialectic and therefore inevitably living a double life. 

 

The opening sequence is effectively compact in that, by intercutting between a subway scene and a scene set in Brandon's apartment, it quickly establishes sexual addiction is part of his everyday life, and that it's a joyless routine inducing pain rather than pleasure: get out of bed, piss, go to work, masturbate in the office toilet, watch porn while eating, or maybe pick up a girl at a bar to have sex with, then finally go to sleep.

                                          

The sequence also introduces his sister, Sissy, through her unanswered calls and voice messages that disturb his "ritual," foreshadowing an ironic plot development later on that Sissy's unruly presence forces him to set boundaries and becomes his sort of moral anchor. So at the very outset, the film posits a constant conflict between Brandon's addiction and his self-awareness, including his brotherly responsibility, fear of his addiction being exposed, and angst that any vestige of lurking incestuous desire might get the better of him, though such possibility of transgression is only vaguely suggested.

As much as I appreciate McQueen's attempt to explore the themes of addiction and the dialectic mentioned above, I think that here he tends to assume the role of superego and moralize over Brandon's behavior and its consequences, furtively casting a judgmental eye on him. Throughout, Brandon agonizes over something he clearly doesn't take a smidgen of pleasure in. The climactic sequence, in particular, seems to shove a quasi-either/or choice and its painful ramifications down his throat, as in the near-catastrophe that would have forever deprived him of any hope of redemption or recovery, which looks like the price he has to pay for prowling the streets for sex, instead of taking care of Sissy. Thankfully, McQueen did not opt for a devastating end to the story. But through the whole movie I found it rather excruciating to watch him getting backed further and further into a corner, as if he weren't suffering enough already. I kept asking myself, "Why does it have to look like he's being punished for some kind of sin he didn’t commit?"

 

Perhaps I'm overthinking it. At any rate, that’s my initial reaction to the movie. When I take another look at it, I might discover some aspects of it that I let go underappreciated this time, though there’s one thing I’m sure I won’t change my mind on: its powerhouse cast. Though we don’t get to delve much into Brandon's afflicted psyche, Fassbender succeeds in communicating the varying dimensions of emotion associated with his character’s malady. Even with his back to the audience, with only parts of his body present on-screen, it seems a no-brainer for him to convey all those feelings. Mulligan gets more adventurous with her role as probably the only person Brandon can depend on to free himself from the anguish, in spite of her own fragility. Chillingly shot against the backdrop of New York City streets in colors of aloofness, McQueen's second feature enthralls you with its daring minimalism and both actors' heart-rending performances.