I watched it a second time, enjoying careful compositions and suggestive mise-en-scene. Cinematography is also reminiscent of this period, with its careful black-and-white observation of working class streets. It is the kitchen-sink, downtrodden existence that her Debbie inhabits. Morton, in the Q&A after the Edinburgh premiere, links the film to Saturday Night and Sunday Morning. As potential home-breaker, it is tempting to hate her, yet her character is shown with the intellectual appreciation and chemistry that Debbie can no longer offer. Established Romanian actress, Alexandra Maria Lara, succeeds in making Annik far more than the two-dimensional bit-of-fluff that would have been an easy course.
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He demonstrates fine shades of teeth-gritting tolerance, explaining to the band, seconds before their first live TV show: yes, 'large dog's c*ck' counts as swearing, and would mean the broadcast is pulled. Craig Parkinson is record producer and late TV presenter Tony Wilson (to whom the opening screening at the Edinburgh International Film Festival was dedicated). "Where's my £20?" asks a hapless stand-in as Rob deals with an emergency. Toby Kebbell, fast-talking manager Rob, lifts us out of the depressive mood with wisecracks enough to make legless monkeys jump. Supporting cast members come through with believability and sincerity, sparkling with well-honed contrasts. As a feat of interiorisation, Control puts her as a contender in the shoes of Meryl Streep. She contains her expressiveness for the camera to pick up (rather than thrusting it on us). With Samantha Morton, it's not what she says but what you see going through her mind. Relative newcomer Sam Riley plays Curtis with alarming energy. The film carries viewers away with blistering intensity.
And the knowledge that doctors don't have a cure. Prescription bottles grip with morbid fascination. Drugs and their side-effects no longer a schoolboy's recreational laugh. From warholian, carefree screen-dream of youth, he has arrived at a place where he doesn't want to be. A band and fan following who want more than he can give. "Ian, let me in, love," says his wife, "there's room to talk." Responsibilities as husband and father. In a telling scene when he is under hypnosis, the camera revolves around his head as we hear voices speaking to him. "It's like it's not happening to me but someone pretending to be me. But what is dealt with in much more detail is his growing sense of isolation, coping with epilepsy as the pressures of touring build up, and the distraught domestic relations he is embroiled in with wife Debbie (Samantha Morton) and romantic-interest-from-afar Annik (Alexandra Maria Lara). "I wish I were a Warhol silkscreen, hanging on the wall," he muses. Control uses Curtis' love of poetry, as well as the more familiar songs-that-tell-a-story device, to provide at least scant insight into the music. It is based on the biography of his widow. Control covers a period from his schooldays to his end in 1980 (aged 23). Recognition in the music biz (especially by other musicians) was perhaps even greater after the death of lead singer, Ian Curtis. So why is this different? Joy Division, for non-initiates, were a post-punk Manchester band of throbbing guitars and dark, doom-laden lyrics. And films made by ex music video directors about yet another load of rockers rarely raise eyebrows. Joy Division, a respected band of the 70s, are hardly a name on everyone's lips. Control, a biopic about a band from Manchester, is getting serious attention from around the world.