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Shame: This Is Not an Exit

By Brock Wilbur · December 5, 2011

I am broken.

I learned that this year. There was an active campaign of personal re-invention, and today, I am Version 2.0. While this "better" me is real, and a much truer extension of the intentions I'd always held, 2.0 is still just an update to 1.0. There is a forward, but there is never a restart. Which means I will always be broken. 3.0 may one day move me closer to the man I dream of being, but the circuitry of the original design will always remain. Hence, my shame.

The specifics of Steve McQueen's film Shame, and the scope of the main character's consumption, are likely not a representation of your life. But Shame doesn't ask you to project your insecurities; it takes them by force.

Michael Fassbender plays Brandon Sullivan, a New York executive with a good job, a nice apartment, and a crippling sex addiction slowly destroying his life. His younger sister, Sissy (Carey Mulligan) is an unstable musician who surprises him by moving in; and destroying his comfortable routine in the process. When she begins sleeping with Brandon's boss, he's forced to find new solutions to feed his cravings, forcing him further down the spiral.

It's a beautiful film, gorgeously composed as only a director from the art world could. McQueen frames shot as if they were meant for a gallery, never as coverage. Of which, I suppose, there is little in the film. Shame takes its time, comprised of mostly extremely long takes. Some are technical marvels, like tracking Brandon jogging through 3am NYC. Others are miracles of acting, like a fifteen-minute long first date that contains all of the film's genuine laughs. But the strongest sections of the film are completely wordless: Brandon alone with himself in his apartment, internally struggling against his self-hatred and despair or riding a train and sizing up the married woman sitting across from him. This scene alone should launch a career for Lucy Walters, who delivers a hauntingly memorable performance with no words or movement, simply eye-movement carrying volumes of information. I'd go so far to say that this complete unknown surprised me with her mastery of the craft; I'm far more impressed with her than Michelle Williams doing an entire film as Marilyn Monroe. She's that good.

One of the great dynamics of this film is the sharp divide between the deplorable lifestyle of our protagonist versus how awful and immature everyone else seems by comparison. Sure, Brandon hires strippers and dissolves all links to his humanity, but he comes off as a pleasant, well meaning, and controlled human being. To contrast, his boss is an average yet bro-centric rich kid, who desperately tries to seduce every woman he encounters; tactlessly pointing out nice asses and forcing himself on waitresses. It's all highly offensive to Brandon, and to the audience, even though in reality this philosophy and lifestyle has become accepted as the norm. Also, consider Brandon locked in his bedroom, pleasuring himself to internet pornography, all while he overhears his sister's desperate phone call to her boyfriend. She falls to pieces, begging for more of him at any cost, and proclaiming her undying love. Brandon may die alone and unloved, but is a life of heartbreak, misery, and depending on others worth the trade?

The film proudly wears its NC-17 rating. Yes, there are quite a lot of shots focused squarely on Fassbender's junk. None of this is gratuitous though. His penis is the central character, after all. In fact, everyone is naked at some point in this film, usually while involved in graphic sexual acts. But I imagine this, and not the aforementioned junk, is the heart of the ratings debate. While the sex is frequent and vicious, it is never arousing to watch. In rare moments, it is beautifully honest about the fumbling and uncertainty of two people trying to make love for the first time. But more often, it leaves any notions of tonal sexuality behind, replaced instead by detached passivity that treats Brandon's objects of lust as meat instead of soft skin. Like a man trying to lose weight, these women represent the exercise machines that he must use daily to accomplish his goals. Video taping Fassbender on a Bowflex would probably look the same.

What this all results in is the single greatest serial killer film of all time. No one dies, but much of the film is spent in tense anticipation that such an event could occur at any moment. Long takes and tight framing through psychotic arguments forces you to learn backwards in your chair, for fear that a jump scare could sideswipe you. It would be impossible for me not to draw parallels to American Psycho, which shares so much visually and thematically with Shame. But where Patrick Bateman was a dark void of cold nothingness hiding in plain sight as a yuppie, Brandon is a yuppie drowning in the overwhelming tides of his emotion. To their friends and the world, these stoic natures and points of pride would seem interchangeable, but the internal struggles are polar opposites. Even if that makes for incredibly similar journeys. The final shot in Shame echoes the final moments of Ellis' book so perfectly; both are essentially signs reading "This Is Not An Exit."

Without exception, life is a war we lose to ourselves. Brandon's disintegration is so singular and focused; his fight is easy to watch. The despair of everyone else in his world is multi-faceted, complicated. Maybe Brandon is luckier than most. He has one problem and he knows what it is, and everything else is under control. Smartly, this is also the one issue that no one in Shame ever talks about. Brandon never admits a thing, confesses a problem, declares a plan, or begs an apology. No one knows but him, and no one could help if they did. This also means the viewer never knows what he thinks about the situation. He takes baby steps in some directions and falls off the cliff for others.

Maybe Brandon knows there will never be a Brandon 2.0, and maybe he never wanted one. And that's the honesty that makes Shame a must see movie. Shame knows that despair is a cycle we give to ourselves. Shame knows there is no escape from that inevitability and the fight is already lost. Shame knows you much better than you think. Shame just wants to talk about what is in your blood.