You want sex. Sorry if you think that’s crass or forward of me to say, but it’s true. We all do. You do. I do. We are biologically programmed to desire it and, more than that, we live in a culture that’s absolutely soaked in it. Yes, we want to forge healthy relationships, achieve success in the workplace and travel the world, but at the end of they day, everyone just wants a good fuck.
Maybe that would change if Steve McQueen’s “Shame” became required viewing.
Brandon Sullivan (played exquisitely by the now ubiquitous Michael Fassbender) is a man who, like most people, loves sex, but for him it has become an obsession. Every day he lives is a carefully choreographed dance from carnal pleasure to carnal pleasure. Each new day is filled with an almost constant indulgence in sexual desire in almost every form imaginable: masturbation, Internet porn, prostitutes, random girls from bars and even women whom he courts and takes out on dates. It’s difficult to gauge how much enjoyment, if any, Brandon extracts from his constant “getting off” as it soon becomes clear that he suffers from severe sex addiction and maybe even OCD.
Brandon’s routine is interrupted and complicated by the surprise arrival of his sister (a refreshingly vulgar Carey Mulligan), a free spirit lounge singer as emotionally muddled as her sloppily bleached hair. Her presence, as well as the budding possibility for an actual romantic relationship with a coworker, acts as a catalyst for Brandon as he begins to unravel and feel, yes, shame for his debauchery, but is it too late? Is the cycle too firmly set?
“Shame” is such a powerful and effective movie because it forces the viewer to come to terms with the uncomfortable truth that too much of a good thing is, in fact, a very very bad thing. To watch something we all love and crave be turned into such a dirty, poisonous thing is unsettling, but in an intellectually fascinating way that isn’t in any way manipulative or preachy. The film ultimately asks the question, “Yes, you can indulge in your wildest fantasies, but at what cost?” And it’s a great quality of “Shame” that that question isn’t answered by Steve McQueen in the 101 minutes that the movie plays on screen, but is in fact answered in the mind of each individual viewer in the hours and days to follow.
It doesn’t hurt, either, that the film is spectacularly made. Every frame is an exercise in potent minimalism. The soundtrack is an aching dirge to unattempted intimacy. The editing is smooth and effectual. And the acting is nothing short of masterful subtlety from everyone from Fassbender and Mulligan to the smaller roles such as Brandon’s promiscuous but well-meaning boss, the crimson-haired temptress who catches Brandon’s eye on a morning subway ride and a totally incompetent waiter (in the absolute best use of comedy in a dramatic film in at least the last five years).
It’s a wonderful thing to see a movie so extremely focused, compelling and artful, even if it makes me second-guess even the most biological of my instincts. I might never have sex again, but at least I got to see “Shame.”
5 out of 5