Directed by Steve McQueen
For me, the most powerful
moment in Shame comes in about
halfway through. Brandon is in a moment of beautiful intimacy with a coworker,
a woman who has taken a liking to him. The sex they are sharing is not the
depressingly cold and mechanical sex that Brandon is used to indulging in. For
what seems like the first time in his life (and it may very well be, for all we
know), he is mutually sharing genuinely warm, personal, and passionate
intercourse. It is because of this that he ceases going any further with the
encounter. She leaves, confining Brandon in his shame before abruptly cutting
to aggressive, meaningless sex with a total stranger only moments later. It is
at this point when we truly realize the tragedy Brandon is trapped in. He is
incapable of emotionally connecting with a fellow human being.
Shame, the sophomore effort from Steve McQueen, is one of the
finest dramas of the 21st Century, earning a spot in my top 10 films
of the decade. Though light as far as plot is concerned, it makes up for this
in its mastery of observance of the emotions and psychology that underline certain
human behaviors. Like the greatest of dramatic films, we are only permitted to bear
witness to a certain chapter of its subjects’ lives – context, as far as what
happened to them prior and where they’re going after it’s over, is completely
irrelevant here.
From an outsider’s perspective,
Brandon (Michael Fassebender) is perhaps the ultimate Lady’s Man. He’s a hunk
of a man, complete with handsome face, great hair, and a tightly fit body, both
of which he maintains and grooms meticulously. Additionally, he’s got a nice
condo to himself, funded by a good job. To top it all off, he’s a man of few
words, which gives off a vibe of alluring enigma. In turn, he has little to no
issue picking up women: it can take this man literally no words to get a woman
to join him in between the bedsheets. To
that outsider, he hasn’t mastered the art of picking up women; it’s simply second
nature. That outsider might be envious beyond belief and ask Brandon for all of
his tips and tactics. What they cannot possibly understand is that Brandon’s
effortless sexual escapades are not a quality or an advantage. They are his
greatest burden.
Whether at work, at home, or
on the street, Brandon must achieve orgasm of some kind, preferably with another person. At work, where his computer is getting a virus removed as a result of
internet pornography, he must resort to masturbating in the bathroom stall if
he can’t take the time off for a prostitute. And then there’s his off-time,
where he’s free to scour the clubs and bars for his next orgasmic encounter, or
he can just stay home and indulge all of the porn in his possession. Is he
content living this way? Well, he doesn’t much talk to anybody alone, let alone
about his sex life, but his face during the act doesn’t exhibit much pleasure.
But, hey, at least he’s free to indulge all he wants.
I have no desire or intention of judging Brandon's sexual pursuits exclusively. Yes, sex is a pleasurable and lovely experience to share with another person, so much so that we are always on the prowl for the next encounter, to the point of being a borderline necessity. Is this our own instincts driving this seemingly insatiable hunger for coitus, or some sort of societal pressure? I'm not sure, and the movie is not terribly concerned with this. Regardless, though, Brandon still becomes a brilliant obliteration of the so-called "ideal" of being an unstoppable sex machine.
Shame was rated NC-17, primarily for its blunt portrayal of physical sex, yet there is only one scene that I would say is erotic. This is the scene I talked about to open this piece, and how interesting that the encounter doesn't culminate. From this point, the sex scenes go from a sterile and mechanical tone to more and more tragic. In a climactic scene (now, now), Brandon is engaged in three-way sex. Enticing, yes, but the focus is always on Brandon. The closer he reaches orgasm, the more pain we see in his face. Once again, obliteration of the perceived ideal: in the most enticing sex in the movie is where we see Brandon in his deepest and most agonizing shame.
Something like a plot develops with the introduction of Sissy (Carey Mulligan), Brandon's sister. She unexpectedly barges into Brandon's apartment, as well as his life. She needs a place to stay, which seems to be indefinite for now. Brandon makes it perfectly
clear to both the audience as well as Sissy that he doesn’t want her there, placing
the secrets Brandon has tucked away out there in the open. In spite of his
contempt, there’s a mutual level of comfort that very few relationships share,
let alone with siblings. Both characters are confronted by the other naked, in
close quarters. In these moments, though, they don’t seem to be repulsed by
their nude sibling. A phone message from Sissy at the film’s final act suggests
a traumatic upbringing – perhaps even sexual abuse. Shame wisely avoids any backstory. After all, the past is the past –
what matters here is the present.
I saw Shame in theaters in January of 2012. I had seen Michael Fassbender in the movies from time to time, but it was with Shame that I really took notice. Brandon is a very quiet and self-conscious man, no doubt to keep his lifestyle away from public view. Fassbender may not have much to vocally say, but what he lacks in voice he makes up for ten-fold in insinuation. We can read every thought just from the subtlety in his eyes and facial expressions. Take, for instance, an early scene when he is flirting with a fellow subway passenger. These two don't say a single word to each other, and we barely know anything about Brandon's person. He's extremely minimal and subtle in his expressions, but we know very well what he's after. If only the Oscars were more welcoming of NC-17 films.
Shame walks a number of tight and narrow lines that are easy to
fall from. The subject matter alone may be greeted with juvenile snickering, if
they haven’t been repulsed at the idea of Brandon already. But then there’s Brandon
himself, man whose coldness makes him difficult to like. Writer-director
McQueen knows exactly how to portray this character, avoiding making him a predator
or serial rapist, or any other such melodrama and clichés. It’s difficult to
imagine such a person exists, let alone to believe that such a lifestyle be
unpleasurable to the one living it, and Shame
makes the subject very real (contrary to, say, von Trier’s Nymphomaniac). As cold a character
McQueen as written in Brandon, he does not look on with judgment or
condemnation; he is very sympathetic with his subjects.
The city that the characters
of Shame inhabit is unwelcoming in
one of the most unusual ways I’ve seen yet in a film. It is not gritty with
urban decay, but rather it is strangely sterile. Yes, everything is very orderly
and well-lit, but there’s a complete lack of any kind of life. The streets are
noticeably empty. There’s no flair to the walls and décor, as if the city has
as big a secret to hide as Brandon does.
In almost every synopsis and
review I’ve come across for Shame, my
peers are quick to call Brandon a sex addict without batting an eye. And then
there’s me. Though I use the term for the sake of argument, I must admit that
I’m not comfortable with it. Aside from believing the label is a means of
stigmatizing what the powers that be deem “immoral”, I think it is more
appropriate to view Brandon’s insatiable need for orgasm as a symptom.
When I came across a post from
Psych Central entitled Compulsive
Masturbation: The Secret Sexual Disorder, the puzzle of Brandon’s psyche
begins to make a bit more sense: “Because many individuals view sexual
self-stimulation as shameful, dirty, or sinful, those who engage in the
practice compulsively are unlikely to discuss it with others, even a therapist.
If and when a compulsive masturbator does seek help, he or she is unlikely to
do so for his/her sexual acting out. Instead, that individual is far more
likely to report anxiety, depression, feelings of loneliness and isolation, and
the inability (or lack of desire) to form intimate relationships with other
people.” Brandon rarely masturbates in the film, yes, but when he does engage
in sex with a fellow person, does that person really exist as a human being in
Brandon’s experience?
After all is said and done, though,
is Brandon a bad person? Some will certainly say yes. On the surface, maybe, but
overall, I don’t think so. He’s simply a man who has been confined in his own
world for far too long, to the point that his abilities to interact with people
and the outside world have been warped. The climactic third act exhibits that
he is able to care for a fellow person, but the film ends just around that
point. Will Brandon come out a better person? Will he be redeemed? We’ll never know, but to borrow a
clichéd phrase, it is always darkest before dawn.
