Here's a movie I never thought anyone would make: a biopic about Ian Curtis, the short-lived songwriter and lead singer of one of the most storied bands to come out of the immediate post-punk era, Joy Division. But if anyone were to make that movie, it would have to be Anton Corbijn, the photographer who shot the band (and so many others) for British music weeklies and many other publications.

Control is Corbijn's first film, but it shows the studied eye of an experienced helmsman. That he is so intimate with the subject matter, and relied on someone even more so -- Curtis' wife, Deborah, and her biographical book about her tormented husband and their marriage, Touching from a Distance -- reveals itself, ironically, in the distance that surrounds Curtis (Sam Riley, a gifted newcomer) throughout this film.

If you're still at "who?" at this point, let me explain: Joy Division put Manchester's scene and then-nascent Factory Records on the map. The band released only two studio albums, riding a meteoric rise to stardom in the UK and Europe leading to the inevitable American tour, which never happened. Ian Curtis, the band's epileptic lead singer, killed himself on the evening before the band was scheduled to fly across the Atlantic. Exit Joy Division; enter Joy Division's far-reaching legend, as well as the band that arose from JD's ashes, the far-better-known New Order. (All together now: "Oh!")

There is nothing simple about Curtis' story. A reluctant rock star who never looked the part, Curtis lived two lives: public service employee and young husband by day, lead singer for garage band Warsaw in the local Manchester scene by night. A sensitive soul, he brought his haunting, heartfelt lyrics to Joy Division's odd blend of metal riffing-via-post punk sensibilities, sparse arrangements, and Velvet Underground/Bowie-influenced rhythms to create a band that sounded at once familiar and completely incomparable.

 

Control traces his life from his Macclesfield (a gray suburb of Manchester) youth as a rail-thin, smoke-sneaking Bowie fan who falls in love with his best friend's girl, Debbie (Samantha Morton, in yet another riveting performance). He connects with the other guys in a band at a pub, and they start gigging after seeing the Sex Pistols play. Debbie and Ian fall in love, and Ian suggests they marry, even though both are teenagers. They do so, and before long, Ian's suggestion that they become parents leads in time to a young daughter.

Meanwhile, the band gains a following, slowly at first. But a name change (to Joy Division, a name taken from alleged German concentration camp brothels during World War II) and increased local visibility, along with an EP release, builds momentum. Their sound draws attention from local music industry insiders, then from the UK music press at large, leading to a clamor for tour dates and record releases that the four young men struggle to satisfy.

As the pressure starts to mount on Curtis, he experiences his first epileptic seizure. Circa 1980, medicine for his type of epilepsy was a trial-and-error affair, and Ian's battle with the disease and the side effects of the powerful medicines he's forced to take in turn take their toll. Complicating matters still more, he meets a Belgian fanzine writer and embassy employee, Annik Honore (Alexandra Maria Lara), with whom he falls in love and carries on an affair.

And thus is Curtis torn; he's a husband and father, and feeling the pressure to be just that, even though he senses he's failing by being in this band. He can't handle the growing fame, even to the extent its grown. He is plagued by guilt over his love for his paramour, yet can't bring himself to break it off. Riley portrays all of this without sinking into tortured artist kitsch; his Ian Curtis remains approachable, just another Manc bloke in a band, but with a head full of woes.

The band's live performances are captured convincingly by the four actors who portray Joy Division's members. That James Anthony Pearson, the actor who portrays Bernard Sumner, reportedly learned to play guitar in the two months before filming started is amazing.

To Corbijn's immense credit, no effort is made to dress up Curtis' personal moral failings, to overdramatize any of what was a very sad, short life. And both Corbijn and screenwriter Matt Greenhalgh steadfastly avoid the temptation to speculate as to why Ian Curtis finally decided to end his own life. It remains a mystery, as it must, even though the weight of his inner life is the easy culprit. By the same token, his inner turmoil and profound distance from everyone in his life is conveyed every bit as clearly, thanks to a Greenhalgh's sparse script and above all, Riley's often chilling, yet very sympathetic performance as Ian Curtis.

Joy Division fans will, of course, make this required viewing for them. But I daresay it will appeal to the curious, as well. Control is no feel-good film, but it is a respectful, honest, and utterly engaging account of an enigmatic singer who left a musical legacy that far, far outstrips his brief time among us.
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