Maybe I’m becoming cynical in my quarter-life crises, but all biopics seem like nothing more than a stab at an award. Admittedly, they often have mildly impressive performances, such as Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon as Johnny Cash and June Carter in Walk the Line, or Philip Seymour Hofmann in Capote. But as films, none seem to stand up. Capote was a dour attempt to criticise the writer, but failed to show us why the man was so highly regarded, and Walk the Line was a mere TV movie with two big names. The latter is a prime example of the problem with most biopics, which endeavour to chart the life (or at least rise to fame) of a particular celebrity and have no particular interesting slant, or in most occasions, a theme.

Control is slightly out of sorts with the typical rock biopic, as it charts the very brief life of Ian Curtis, lead singer of Joy Division, a cult band at the time whose music was inspirational through the 80s and 90s, and even up to now, with acts like Interpol, Bloc Party, and Editors all “influenced” by the band. Despite the popularity of their “Love Will Tear Us Apart” (and its inappropriate inclusion in a Heineken ad), Ian Curtis is far from household names like Ray Charles, Johnny Cash, or even Edith Piaf. Curtis formed the band in the late 1970’s, was popular in the local Manchester scene, toured Europe briefly, and after recording their second record, and primed to tour the USA, Curtis committed suicide at the tender age of 23.

The film was directed by Anton Corbijn, usually known for his music videos for the likes of Depeche Mode, U2, and even Joy Division themselves, and Control is his debut. Corbijn’s visuals certainly do feel like a music video, but in this case it’s a benefit. The film is shot in strong black and white, with each scene displaying careful composure.

The performances are impeccable, most notably Sam Riley as Curtis. Essentially a newcomer, Riley dived into the role of this tormented lead singer, and can alternate between the tortured rock star and the alienated and often childish father/husband that Curtis seemed to be. Samantha Morton plays Curtis’s wife, Deborah (whose book Touching from a Distance acts as the spine of this film), and for a 30-year old actress, she does a wonderful job at playing a 20-year old small-town, often naïve shy woman who pines for her husband’s return.

Control doesn’t attempt to be the broad story of fame that so many clichéd biopics end up becoming. It is a much more insular tale of a man discovering success and ending up stuck between his domestic life with a wife and child, and his touring life with a sexy Belgian girlfriend. While this is not exactly an original story, Curtis’s youth and immaturity certainly add a level of anxiety not seen in other, similar films. The film does play down Curtis’s epilepsy a tad. Sure, there are scenes where Ian battles over the decision to take medication, and thus kill his creativity, or risk another seizure but retain his identity, but towards the end of the film his panic over performing live (which was apparently quite evident) is not highlighted. Curtis had to insist the gig venue’s lights were turned down to prevent another attack. I suspect that his condition was as much a factor in his suicide than his relationship troubles, and this film fails to acknowledge that.

There is a key scene in the film, where Ian, after being diagnosed with epilepsy, calls a girl he worked with who also has the condition. Ian discovers that the girl has died. We cut to later at night, with Ian writing the lyrics of “She’s Lost Control”, one of Joy Division’s most distinct songs. The problem is that rather than focus on Ian’s anxiety over the possible consequences of his condition, the film is more concerned with showing the audience how the song came about. This makes the film more of a fan’s journey into the origin of the music, rather than a solid drama.

Ultimately, Control feels rather dissatisfying. For a two-hour drama, you expect to get into Curtis’s head a lot more than you do. In failing to do so, the film feels more like a shallow tribute to the music than any in-depth investigation into the mind of a brilliant but troubled writer. This is the second film to deal with Joy Division, after 2002’s 24 Hour Party People, and Winterbottom’s film is vastly superior, being both funny and very playful with its narrative. It doesn’t attempt to deify Curtis, but spends its first 30 minutes going as much into his heart and soul as Control does in its entirety.

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