Michael Fassbender's cock. Carey Mulligan's muff. Let's get them out of the way to begin with, since both take a starring role in Steve (not that one) McQueen's grim new critic's fave and potential Oscar-botherer Shame. I'm sure both genital organs are very nice if you like that sort of thing. Maybe I'm getting old.
For a movie about a predatory sex addict, Shame is a curiously cold and unerotic affair. Of course, that's the point. There's nothing remotely sexy about Brandon Sullivan's addiction. It's mundane and grey, much like the rest of his life. Porn viruses infecting his work pc, crafty wanks in the office toilets, nameless couplings with strangers in grubby car parks. The one time he does come close to a genuine relationship with an actual human being (Nicole Beharie's charming Marianne), he can't even get it up. Ironically, this is the only remotely erotic scene in the movie. And yes, that's the point.
When Brandon's crazy sister Sissy (Mulligan) moves in, she threatens his life of monotonous depravity. Brandon, meanwhile, threatens her plans for drinking, self-abusing, and shagging his oaf of a boss. And they should both learn to lock the bathroom door. There's probably a point in that too.
Shame isn't a bad movie: it's engrossing, atmospherically shot and features some top notch performances (Mulligan is very annoying... but she's supposed to be). My only complaint was that it felt a little too much like a film that was trying to make a point... and it didn't offer much in the way of resolution either. Kinda like this review...
