True Fiction: Steve McQueen’s “Shame”

Once every few years, a motion picture would come along and show us the ugly truth of being human.  For 2011-2012, it is undoubtedly the challenging, NC-17-rated Shame by director Steve McQueen, a psychological drama about sexual addiction that pulls no punches. The subject matter, needless to say, is unpalatable to the ordinary moviegoer; but if you are one constantly in search of thought-provoking materials and are unfazed by uncompromising directors such as David Lynch and Lars von Trier, then you will do well to give yourself over to Shame.

Stigmatised from the start and labelled by the press as the “sex addiction movie,” Shame must overcome its unsavoury image before it can even begin to convince its audience that it contains within its sordidness a message so universal any man living in an urban jungle in the 21^st century could relate to. The good news is the film is elegant and captivating right from the opening shot (we get to see a naked Brandon – a career-defining role for Michael Fassbender – lying in bed with his lower body covered, deep in thought – and the motionless scene lasts a little longer than one would expect). A languid and weighty mood is instantly established. The world we are about to be ushered into is one crowded with private demons.

As the film unfolds, we learn more about Brandon. We know that he is preoccupied with sex and pornography, is constantly on the look-out for casual sexual encounters, and seems to live from day to day with no greater purpose than getting “hooked up.” When Brandon’s estranged younger sister Sissy (a fantastic role for Carey Mulligan) shows up at his apartment unannounced, his narrow, strongly forted world is disrupted. She demands his attention, his care, his love – none of which he is capable of giving. This is not because Brandon does not love his sister; it is because he does not know what it is like to love. His heavily sexualised existence has caused him to detach emotionally from everyone around him, and with no-one to show him what love looks or feels like, he has no inkling what it is that Sissy is demanding. The moment he encounters intimacy, he becomes uncomfortable and recoils. Intimacy even makes him impotent and drives him to despair.

Does Brandon, then, have no emotions? McQueen subtly shows us that Brandon is in fact a cauldron of emotions about to bubble over. One of the most effective scenes comes early – the lounge scene where Sissy – a jazz singer – croons "New York, New York" (“If I could make it there, I could make it anywhere.”). Her singing and the ironic lyrics (considering Sissy’s dysfunctional life) bring tears to Brandon’s eyes, but he quickly wipes them away when she joins him at the table, ashamed of this sudden surge of emotion. Shame is filled with such scenes – scenes that quietly and stylishly expose the protagonist’s vulnerabilities, bringing the viewer a few steps closer to the sensitive man hiding inside.

In the film’s pivotal scene, when Sissy’s demands become too overbearing, Brandon storms out of the apartment and loses himself in Manhattan nightlife, attempting to fight the clinginess of intimacy with the impersonality of random sex. On this night he falls much deeper than he could ever imagine, and discovers, in the cruel morning light, there are grave consequences to his approach to life.

The film as a whole is coolly emotional – an oxymoron that perhaps describes it best. The veneer is smooth and impeccable – like Brandon’s looks – but underneath the coolness there are swirling pools of emotions that could drown a soul. The film’s haunting instrumental pieces, composed by Harry Escott and Glenn Gould, work the same way – calm and collected one minute, cathartically cascading the next.   

The tragedy of Shame lies in the fact that it is true fiction. In the alienated times we live in, broken individuals such as Brandon are a dime a dozen. We do not acknowledge their struggles because they are largely invisible and repulsive to our sensitivities. They do not show outward signs of degeneration, so it is easy for us to pretend they are wholesome, successful members of our community. The truth, however, is much uglier. When you do get to peel back the veneer – which hardly ever happens – you will find a contorted face that weeps and pleads for help soundlessly. This face could also come across as familiar. You might recognise it as your own – and that is the reason why Shame is so hard to watch, and so easy to embrace.