What is most shameful about "Shame"

Ingmar Bergman had written and directed back in the 1960’s a film called Shame. It was psychoanalysis of human behaviour during a time of war. The film investigates what shameful acts one is willing to commit when threatened with violence.

What Steve McQueen’s Shame tried to portray is slightly different. There is no war where the action of McQueen’s film takes place. Yet the title suggests that even in the time of peace there is still something we should be ashamed of. Brandon Sullivan, superbly played by Michael Fassbender, is a 30-something man living in contemporary New York City. His life revolves around the office work and sex parties after hours. There isn’t much more than that to his existence, sex seems to be Brandon’s only source of entertainment as suggested by his plainly looking apartment where the porn-filled laptop is the usual point of interest.

Brandon’s existence is disturbed by the arrival of his overly-sensitive sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan). She wants to create a bond with her brother by forcing him to spend some time with her while she gets her life back on track. The two are the complete opposites; Brandon is very introverted, expressing himself only through sex, while Sissy gets very emotional with everyone around her, becoming extremely vulnerable to pain and suicidal at times. Very early in the story it becomes rather obvious that Brandon will at some point become inevitably influenced by his sister’s behaviour and that will result in some kind of disturbance in his life.  

The story of Shame is pretty straight forward and there are very few surprises awaiting those who trusted the film’s PR campaign promising some kind of controversial content. The only outrageous thing about Shame is how blatant McQueen is in imposing his insolent morals on the audience. The film not only disappoints as a story with its cheap rom-com moments and predictable outcomes, but it also angered me as a libertarian. The single-handed assumption that the main character’s frivolous life-style deserves some form of moral retribution is shameful in itself. Why should Brandon be condemned by having lots of sex? The director seems to be unable to answer that question himself. I purposefully recalled Ingmar Bergman’s film of the same title, as his investigation into the emotional power of shame had a psychological foundation. There is no such enquiry done in McQueen’s film. Through the character of Sissy we see Brandon’s shortcomings in the sensitivity department and we are probably to assume his lack of moral conduct which transgresses into sex. Far-fetched assumption indeed!

The Russian Hours - "Elena"

Intricacies of human relationships – especially those bound by the institution of family – is the most evident theme recurring throughout Zvyagintsev’s filmography. Yet while both The Return and The Banishment worked best as allegorical assessments of the Russian society, Elena shifts slightly to a neo-realist convention.

Elena is forced to choose between remaining an obedient wife or proving herself as a caring mother; When asked by her unemployed son for financial support she is confronted by her husband who has no intention in indulging his step-son’s needs. She is however convinced that she has an obligation as a mother to give the support that is asked for – especially that her middle-class husband can afford such expense.

Elena lives in two worlds. One is the world of obscurity symbolised by the old apartment block in which her son resides together with his constantly growing family. The other is the world of luxury which she entered upon marrying her wealthy husband, a source of comfort but loneliness at the same time. The financial differences between the two worlds are not however what bothers Elena the most. Her conundrum resonates from an inability to switch between two different moral codes both worlds appear to operate on.

Zvyagintsev reflects on Russia as a whole through Elena’s self-conflicted character. She personifies two different aspects of the Russian society – the post-communist Russia, troubled by social instability and bound by religious dogma, and the modernist Russia, financially secure but cold and calculated in its pragmatism. Elena’s paradox is that by following her moral principles she commits a crime which inevitably turns her into a cold pragmatic. In the end, Elena’s sense of morality is tied to her emotions and these lead her to carry out questionable judgments.

Zvyagintsev’s story has definitely less mysticism to it than his previous films but that only shows that the director can inject some diversity without compromising his style of filmmaking. The music used in the film is slightly too evocative of Philip Glass’ score to The Hours. However, assuming that this parallel was intentional, the music emphesises perfectly the heroine’s emotional state. Zvyagintsev’s ability to identify with his female alter-ego is remarkable to say the least. The feminine element is present in all of his films, but with Elena Zvyagintsev pushes the boundaries even further. He channels his female lead Yelena Lyadova to a level comparable with what Ingmar Bergman once achieved through Liv Ullmann. Yet no matter how masterful, he remains unassuming in his craft, making sure that our whole attention is directed at no one else but Elena. And very much so, Elena portrays precisely what the title promises to deliver.