There's a real disappointment that occurs when movies that are generally well-conceived contain one or two disparate elements that seem to unravel the envelopment which a film had previously been building. These elements, though singular and/or intermittent, cast rain clouds over a grand landscape, just enough to taint your experience. It's that kind of nag that prods at the back of your mind, the "why did they do that?" sentiment repeated over and over, forcing any good feelings you might have had to be watered down. The goodness still remains, but the badness has gradually taken over due to sheer frustration, like a fly in your soup.
Steve McQueen's Shame falls into this unfortunate situation. Looking at the film in broad strokes, it's a smart, visually precise experience that shines light on the inner-conflict of a sex addict, played by Michael Fassbender. However, there are three particular sections of the movie that seem to ram home a hammy poignancy, under the "cool" guise of the dark modern art house drama. These sections, which occur at the beginning, near-end and end of the film, act like shitty, hastily constructed bookends for an otherwise powerful experience.
The story of sex addict Brandon Sullivan is framed by camera angles that refuse to budge - be it Brandon laying in bed, his sister, Sissy, singing in a club, Brandon and Sissy having an argument on the couch - it's a satisfying and intrusive visual aesthetic that seems to presuppose the audience's judgement against Brandon's character. Equivalent to staring hard at someone who has done you wrong, Shame gladly forces you into the role of naysayer. Yet, as the movie follows Brandon through his daily work, his relationships with prostitutes and his obsession with internet porn, a portrait slowly builds of a man tormented by his impulses. Though the air of critique remains, an undercurrent of pity begins to take shape as the film goes on.
It's not to say the entire movie is all stationary shots that invade the moral compasses of the characters, though. There is fluidity in the film and McQueen applies it expertly. The best example is a gorgeous tracking shot, that dollies from a medium distance alongside Brandon as he goes for an impromptu jog in the middle of the night. Stricken by his boss and sister having sex in his apartment, Brandon decides to get the hell out of there. Throwing a gentle piano sonata on his MP3 player, he jogs down his street in the middle of New York, the early hours of the morning weighing down upon him. The camera moves along with him, never attempting to collect a close-up here or a coverage shot there. The scene doesn't end anywhere special, but the action of Brandon leaving his own place to avoid a monster of mixed emotions is all that's needed to propel the simplified sequence to great heights.
By far the most interesting aspects of Shame are Brandon's implied incestuous relationship with his sister and his attempted relationship with his co-worker, Marianne. When Fassbender and Carey Mulligan (who plays Sissy) are onscreen together, it's pure fireworks. The two play out their respective roles with a deep, underlying frustration - an active, tormenting curb to their wild instincts. In the flourishes of violent arguments, ignored phone calls, tearful admiration and joyful reposes, you can tell that they so desire a certain passion to be affirmed, but as to what specifically, they don't even know.
For Brandon, it's a frustration that feeds directly into his doomed relationship with co-worker, Marianne. When the two embark on their first date at a fancy restaurant, Marianne speaks fondly of monogamy and marriage, which Brandon promptly laughs off. He attempts to explain to her the uselessness of relationships, that the idea of devoting yourself to one person is ridiculous. Yet, it makes an impact on him. He attempts to make a clean break from his addiction and pursues something more with Marianne, but when he whisks her away to a hotel to get down to business, he finds himself impotent. It's an incredibly powerful scene that cements Brandon's inability to indulge himself in the face of responsibility.
So far, Shame sounds like an intriguing and stylish film, but it's about time I talked about those shitty bookends. Employing a montage format, McQueen drops a nuclear bomb of dramatic goo with scenes of Brandon fawning after a girl he sees on the subway and a night where Brandon goes around having anonymous sex, whilst ignoring pleading calls from his sister. These scenes are set to painfully yearning string arrangements that would make John Williams blush. Considering how downplayed the rest of the film is, these moments blast their way in and out of consciousness, and you're left wondering what the hell happened. Yes, I understand that Brandon is tormented by his addiction. No, I don't need swirly bear strings and throat-shovel montages to reinforce the already clear-cut narrative.
It's funny, because I felt similarly when I saw McQueen's other film, Hunger. He has these great scenes and well-developed characters, but it's almost like he doesn't feel confident they'll get the message across. So, he inserts clunky transitions, heavy-handed music and little aside situations that he hopes will solidify things, but they drag his movies down instead. Essentially, that is what Shame boils down to. It's a good movie with solid performances all around and a strong visual construction, but it's brought down to a mediocre experience thanks to this insistence that we won't get the point without a good dose of spoon-feeding.
